Page 118 of Crave Me

I push my legs out, hoping I’m going in the right direction. I spit out what might be blood halfway through, almost crying with relief when my hand touches a tire.

“Alfred, call Curran.”

My head falls against my arm as sirens blare in the distance. I don’t hear the phone ring, I only hear Curran yelling. “Where the fuck are you? We got a call about shots fired at Evan’s place.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

“Wren? . . . Wren. Talk to me . . . Are you there? Me and Deck, we’re coming.”

My lips move. The words don’t come out.

“Wren, God damn it—”

“I . . . hurt.”

“What?”

My words are slurred and my head throbs with each breath. My back is drenched. I shudder feeling my body temperature drop.

The sirens are closer. Just up the road. “I’m hurt,” I manage, my words barely audible. “Bryant . . . shot me.”

Curran doesn’t hear me. Declan does. “Wren, you stay with us! You hear me? Don’t you fucking leave us, Wren.”

“Da hell?” Curran asks.

“She’s in trouble,” Declan bites out his voice cold and controlled. “Bryant shot her.”

A clicking sound follows. “This is Officer Curran O’Brien, Philadelphia PD en route to 1239 Mount Pleasant Road, Villanova. Armed gunman in vicinity. At least one person shot and in need of immediate medical attention. Victim is my sister, repeat, victim is my sister.”

“You stay alive—You hear me?” Declan says. “You and Evan both—God damn it, don’t you leave us.”

I want to tell them that Evan is fighting Bryant. That they need to help him. I don’t get the chance.

More fluid leaks from my mouth and Evan is suddenly with me, cradling me in his arms.

His image is blurry, but I know it’s him. I recognize the way he tucks me against him and how my body conforms so perfectly to his.

“Wren,” he says, stroking my hair away from my face. “Baby, can you hear me?”

My lips part as I grip the front of his shirt. I want to sleep. God, I’m so tired. “Stay awake,” he tells me, passing his hand down my throat to my sternum. “Don’t close your eyes. I know it hurts, but you have to fight. For me. For us.” He spits out a curse. “I don’t want to live without your smile.”

He thinks I’m dying. But I’m not the only one. I release his shirt when I feel how wet it is, the leaking fluid drenching my hand. “Evan, this isn’t my blood . . .”

My eyes close. The last thing I feel is the partial weight of his chest, pressing against mine as he lowers us to the ground.

That, and how much I love him.

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