Spence.
I panted his name as his image streamed across my vision. He stood in the doorway, suspended in the dreamlike state I’d concocted, but in the same instant, I moaned and slammed into reality when his visceral roar and my agonized senses collided in ferocious harmony.
Pressure left my abdomen. Spence had rammed into the Skull and sent him sprawling, and then someone else was screaming near the door and holding a gun, but neither the Skull nor Spence heard or cared as they came at each other with bestial roars.
I gathered what strength I could and surged to my feet, limping and stumbling over to them.
“Emme! Stay back!”
The man with the gun—Knox?—yelled more verbal nonsense at me but it was swiftly ignored. Kill him. KILL HIM. A few blinks and staggers and leg-drags and the vision of the Skull, dead and vacant, gave me the momentum I needed to twist around and tackle the gun away from Knox. I propelled into him with all my weight and strength, the gun clattering to the side.
“Em…fuck…stop!” He hesitated in subduing me and I repaid the man’s reluctance by kneeing him in the groin. My injured leg hacksawed over his curled form and I was on the gun, lifting it, pointing it. I was right-handed. Could only use the left. Couldn’t shoot Spence. Kill the Skull.
Pain thrummed up my leg and into my spine. Spence and the Skull looked more like they were dancing than fighting. I widened my eyes, blinked, and weaved sideways while trying to steady myself.
They grappled, both rolling, rolling, snarling, Spence rising on top and aiming a punch. He went for the damage already curdling across the Skull’s face but was thwarted by a block and thrown into the nearest wall by sheer force of the Skull’s angry girth.
Chance.
The Skull strained onto his knees, fishing into his front pocket and pulling out a small blade with a flat handle.
Motherfucker.
I pulled the trigger.
The recoil had me flopping backwards, landing on my butt. Knox grabbed me by the shoulders, ramming the rest of me onto the floor and holstering the gun. He continued yelling, twisting his head to shout additional gibberish at Spence. More people streamed in.
Spence!
He bloomed into sight, his face, all angles and green eyes and beauty, becoming watercolor as my eyes teared.
“She’s not a danger.” Spence’s voice tunneled closer. “It’s all right. Emme, sweetheart, it’s all right.”
His hands came down, the gentle touch of him curving my lips into sorrow.
“Emme.” On his knees, he slid off his blazer, wrapping it around my shoulders but examining me at the same time, the answers to his brush of fingers surging into his eyes every time he found a bruise, a cut, a wince.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I clawed into his work-shirt and pulled him against me, his scent blossoming over the hurt, the scruff on his neck familiar sandpaper against my face.
His hand cupped my head. “I got you,” he said, voice cracking through my cries. He kissed my crown, my forehead, my temple, his other arm coming around and melding me closer to his warmth. “I got you, kid.”