Page 79 of His Other Half

Chapter 29

Paco

Burning pain searedPaco's thigh. Roused out of the darkness, he grabbed for his pistol and rolled into a sitting position. Flashes appeared in his vision as his hand came away empty.

Panic flared in his chest as his head grasped what had happened. Josie!

Making out movement on the other side of the room, He squinted, trying to figure out where he was, but the pain in his leg distracted him.

He touched his thigh and jerked his hand away. Blood coated his blue jeans to black. Remembering the loud explosion, he instantly knew he'd been shot.

Fuck.

How long had he been out?

Twisting his body, he tried to get his leg under him. The slick surface underneath him made it impossible. He was lying in his own blood.

His teeth rattled, random memories of him in the truck leaving the casino flooded his head. He'd seen the cop, heard the explosion, and went down, twisting in pain, and spotted Shaw behind him.

Motherfucker.

Fresh blood pumped from his leg. He held still, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

He needed to get back to Josie.

He clenched his teeth, weighing up the likelihood that he wouldn't make it back to Missoula.

Men's voices grew louder. He blinked, studying the area through a haze of hatred. There were two men, but he couldn't make out their faces. He concentrated on the area closer to him. Where the hell was he?

A couch sat against the wall to his right, near a window. The head of a buffalo hung on the opposite wall. His fingers curled against the floor. There was a wooden floor under him.

He wasn't at the casino. There was no music, no noise, no crowd.

Hope surged. He could take down two men.

Hatred made him stronger. He could die today, but not before he took out Shaw and made Josie safe.

A man walked closer. Paco strained to see through the haze of pain. The agony from the wound drained his other senses, but always at the forefront was Josie.

He had to make it out of here for her. He had to return and make sure she remained safe.

He couldn't fail her, too.

Shaw materialized in front of him. He glowered at the man, knowing exactly who had shot him. The cops on the reservation were under Shaw's control.

The sick fuck thought he was above everyone. His level of revulsion rose, nauseating him.

Or, maybe he'd lost too much blood.

Shaw squatted in front of him and held something in his hands. Not taking his gaze off the man, he judged the distance, contemplating if he could reach him and put his hands around Shaw's throat.

He would either succeed or end up dead, failing Josie.

Breathing hard, he broke out in a sweat. She belonged to him, not Shaw.

"Look at this picture," said Shaw.

With sweat dripping into his eyes, he strained to see what was on the paper in front of him. The shadows took shape, and he made out the dark hair. He locked onto the details, highly attuned to every little detail he couldn't see in the picture.

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