Page 90 of King of Wrath

“He shot you,” Nia says on a gasping breath. “You’re hurt.”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline but I barely feel a thing. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

She’s pushes out of Roman’s grip, falling toward me, and wraps her arms around my waist. “Let me see it.”

“On the plane, love. You can check on the plane. But we’ve got to go.”

She gives a shaky nod as I wrap my other arm around her, and we climb back into our car.

Nia slides over the bench seat as I get in next to her. She instantly starts fussing with my shirt, assessing the blood. “Do you think it hit the bone? Can you move the arm? Did the bullet exit?”

Roman climbs into the passenger seat and Luke is already in the driver’s seat. The moment the doors are closed, he speeds off toward the plane.

“Nia, I promise, I’ll be fine. We should be talking about you. Toni is dead.”

Roman and Luke exchange glances as I watch the woman I love. I just shot her father…

She shakes her head. “Toni was dead to me a long time ago.” She squeezes me tighter. “You’re my family, which is why, the second that door closes, you’re showing me the wound.”

Roman meets my gaze over the top of Nia’s head. I know that he is realizing the depths to which he had it wrong. But Nia turns to him. “We’ll need a doctor.”

“I’ll take care of it, Nia,” he answers in a reassuring voice as we reach the plane.

It’s then that Toni’s car blows. Our car rocks with the blast and despite my arm, I hug Nia close, shielding her.

“Don’t worry,” Luke says pointing at the windshield. “Bulletproof glass.”

My arm is starting to ache, and I’ll be glad to be settled into one of the seats of the plane with some bourbon in hand, Nia tucked into my side as we fly far away from here.

Roman opens the door. “I’m going to speak to the pilot, see if he can take off with Toni’s car still on the runway.”

I grimace, realizing we have a witness outside the family. “Who’s the pilot?”

“Don’t worry,” Luke catches my gaze. “It’s a friend.”

I’m not sure what he’s getting at. I’m normally better at reading the meaning of his words but my arm is really starting to ache now and my head hurts.

Roman and Luke retrieve the bags from the back of the car and carry them up the stairs, behind us.

We enter the low-lit interior of the plane, and I immediately sit in one of the large leather captain’s chairs, my eyes closing.

I let out a long breath. My arm hurts like hell, but I can also feel that it’s a fleshy muscle wound and not the bone.

A few stitches, some antibiotics, and I’ll be good as new.

That doesn’t stop Nia from starting to fuss.

She starts undoing the buttons of my shirt, pulling it off my body. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” I murmur but she only clucks her tongue.

“You’ll let me be the judge of that.”

“Ever treat a bullet wound?” A slick accented voice calls from the front of the plane.

Nia lets go of my shirt, spinning.

My eyes widen as I try to glance around the amazing curve of her ass. Is that Gris?

If it is, that man is about to be toast.

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