Page 88 of Dragonfly

It takes a second for the noise to quiet enough for me to realize that someone—that my husband—is talking to me.

His face is bloody and beaten, eyes so swollen I’m not sure he saw any of what just happened, but when he says my name, it’s like a prayer on his lips. “Savannah… my Savannah.”

To hear this man say that? I’m not Georgia. I wasn’t sure I’d always be Savannah. But maybe… maybe I will.

He’s alive. The realization that he is, that he survived, hits me a second later.

“Damien!”

I never dropped the stiletto. With the dead man’s gun in my right hand, I held onto the knife in my left. I swap them back now, then, shaky and surprisingly exhilarated, I stumble over to where Damien is tied to the chair.

I have every intention of cutting him free from his bonds, but he stops me with a shake of his head.

“Vin,” he rasps out now, nowhere near as musical as when he said my name. “Check on Vin first.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

With his hands trapped to the arm rests, he can’t point. And though I’m sure it hurts his head, he nods toward the other wall, where the corner meets the glass door that is, surprisingly, still standing despite the rest of the windows being a glittery mess on the floor.

Vin is laying motionless on floor. He’s not bloody, though, and the glass only covers one side of him. I move toward him, still clutching my knife, and almost cry when I see his chest.

He has one shot in the shoulder. The other is lower, mid-chest. He got shot in the back, but his shirt looks like they managed to go clean through. Bloodstains blossom in his center, but he’s breathing at least.

For now.

I start to get up, prepared to tell Damien what state his cousin is in. However, before I say a word, someone climbs out of the shadows in the corner opposite of where I am.

“Dr. Liz?”

She’s clutching her own shoulder, blood leaking through the gaps of her fingers. Her hair is a mess, and when she shakes it, it glitters with glass.

“I’m a doctor. I can check him.”

How did I miss her? I guess it makes sense. She was hiding in the corner, ducking low, nursing her shoulder. She must’ve been another victim, hoping for help, and now that I’ve provided it, she can use her training to check out Vin.

Only…

“Dr. Liz? What are you doing here?”

Damien looks over at the disheveled doctor. If looks could kill, she’d already be six feet under, but since I still haven’t cut the rope tying him to the chair, staring at her is about all he can do.

“Don’t you know, wife? She sold me out.”

Sold him out?

“What?” I look at the three corpses I left in my wake. “These guys? What the fuck for? Why would you want Damien dead?”

“I didn’t!” she explodes. “I wanted you dead!”

Oh. “Why?”

Damien snorts. Not because the injured doctor seems to have lost her mind, but because he’s often pointed out how I ask many questions and rarely answer any myself.

But, seriously, why?

“Because I wanted to be Damien’s wife!”

Oh. Well. That doesn’t really explain things, but I guess it makes a little sense.

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