Page 87 of Vicious Redemption

Strong arms wrap around me, and as they catch my limp body, I realize I was falling.

“No, no, no, Tia, no!” Leo screams as he lowers me gently to the ground.

And for the first time in my life, I hear fear in his voice.

It terrifies me.

I fight to control my heavy head as I search for Leo’s face, needing its familiar strength for comfort. A frigid cold seeps from the hard floor into my body, settling deep inside my bones. But Leo’s warm, solid chest cradles my shoulders, supporting my back as one strong hand cups the back of my head.

He’s so strong, so immovable.

And yet, when I peer into his eyes, I can see that same fear in his voice reflected in their hazel depths.

“Please, Tia. You’re alright. You’re going to be alright,” he insists, his eyes shifting down the length of my body.

I follow his gaze, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Somewhere behind me, I can hear my sisters softly sobbing. I want to turn and comfort them, but I can’t take my eyes off the blood staining Leo’s palm. He’s covered in the terrible crimson liquid.

Oh god, I wasn’t fast enough.

“Are you hurt?” I gasp, grasping his palm as I try to process what’s going on.

His hand is on fire, searing-hot, and I wonder if a fever is common for a gunshot victim. Then my eyes land on the red stain slowly spreading across my cobalt-blue evening gown.

“Call a fucking ambulance!” Leo bellows to someone behind me.

Heavy footfalls grow steadily softer.

And as my vision starts to swim, the realization hits me that I’m the one who’s hurt. Pain blasts through my core, as if spurred to life by the realization. I groan, protectively curling around my injury. But every small movement sends a wave of nausea blasting through me.

“Stay with me, Tia,” Leo pleads, and it terrifies me to see tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m right here,” I promise in my pain-laced daze.

Lifting my hand, I wipe the tears from his cheek. My stomach knots when I leave a crimson smear in my wake. So much blood. Where can it all be coming from? Panic follows a moment later as I look down to realize I’ve been shot in the abdomen. I don’t know where exactly, but does it really matter?

A thought so horrible I scarcely dare to think it rises unbidden from the depths of my subconscious. But as my vision starts to fade to black, it’s all I can think about. What if the bullet hit our baby?

Leo’s bloody hand presses against the saturated hole of my dress once again, trying to slow the bleeding. And the pain sends a fresh wave of nausea through me.

I want to throw up, but I’m so dizzy, I can’t determine which way I should turn.

Then, a still, heavy darkness envelops me.

41

TIA

A steady beep drags me slowly from my heavy, dream-filled sleep. The images that flash behind my eyelids are haunting, troubled ones, scenes full of blood and violence—some at Leo’s hands, others at my own.

And always, the crimson liquid stains our palms, reminding me of what we’ve done.

It takes several moments for me to realize the beeping I hear isn’t an alarm telling me to wake up. It’s a heart monitor, and the beeping intensifies as I drag my heavy eyelids open to find myself in a hospital room—the same one where we visited Leo’s father.

Every inch of me feels like I was in some kind of car wreck, and I slowly turn my head as I try to make sense of what happened.

Leo’s asleep in the chair beside my bed, his neck bent in an awkward position, as his body tries to find a way to recline in the seat that’s too small to accommodate him. He looks ragged and pale, his chin unshaven like he hasn’t shaved in days.

My heart aches to see him in such a state.

---