Page 7 of Ripper's Redemption

She’s pressing down on Bama’s stomach, blood seeping through her fingers.

“It was the Commander,” she breathes out, her voice trembling. “He was sending a fuckin’ message.”

“Motherfucker,” I mutter, dropping to my knees beside them.

Bama’s face is pale, his breaths shallow. But he’s still alive—thank God.

“Hang in there, brother,” I whisper, gripping his hand.

The warmth of his blood coats my fingers, a stark reminder of how fragile this all is. “We’re gonna get you outta this. You’re gonna be fine, you hear me?”

“Ripper...” Bama’s voice is weak, barely more than a rasp.

His grip tightens on my hand, almost like a silent plea, or like he’s trying to tell me how scared he is.

“Stay with me,” I say, my voice firm. “You hear me? You stay with me." You’re not gonna die.”

Stiletto nods, her jaw set in determination.

Together, we keep pressure on the wound, our hands slick with blood.

All that matters right now is saving his life. “Have you called an ambulance?”

Stiletto nods, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Yeah, I called them before you. I didn’t want him to die, so?—”

“Don’t over explain yourself. You did what you thought was best. How about Zane?” I press harder on Bama’s stomach, trying to slow down the bleeding but it’s no use.

She shakes her head, tears flowing down effortlessly. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, I just…I thought calling the ambulance and you was the best thing to do.”

Inhaling sharply, I don’t know what to say. “What the hell were you two doin’ out here anyway?”

Stiletto’s eyes drift up to mine for a split second, her voice cracking in the process. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that Bama doesn’t die.”

Her tone is guarded, almost like she was doing something she shouldn’t have been doing.

I change the subject completely, figuring I can talk to her about it again later. “He’s gonna make it, okay?” I tell Stiletto, though it feels more like a promise to myself.

In the distance, I hear the faint wail of sirens.

They’re close, and they’re going to get Bama loaded up and to the hospital quickly.

“Hold on, Bama. Just a little longer, okay?” I whisper, squeezing his hand.

His grip tightens, a silent promise that he’s not giving up either.

I know he doesn’t want to die, but the blood is oozing out of his stomach no matter how much pressure we’re putting on it.

I smirk at him, putting on a brave face. “You’re a stubborn bastard,”

The sirens grow louder in the distance. That’s it—get here before it’s too late.

Bama grunts, managing a ghost of a smile. “You’re way worse than me.”

“Keep talking, man,” I urge, locking eyes with Stiletto for a split second. “Just keep talking.”

“The Commander...,” he breathes out, eyes glazing over for a moment.

“Forget about him,” I snap, voice firm. “The only thing that matters is us gettin’ you out of this mess. Focus on that.”

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