Page 85 of This Thing of Ours

Nico smirked. “Guess I’ll be slitting more throats.”

Marco chuckled. “You’re a sick motherfucker.”

“No more than you, my friend.”

They cleaned up as best they could in the bathroom then went out to meet Ricky.

“Any problems?” Nico asked.

“All quiet here, boss.” Ricky eyed them. “Looks like you two slaughtered a cow.”

“No. Just an ass,” Marco replied.

Ricky laughed, then asked, “We checking the other rooms?”

Nico nodded. “Don’t want anyone at our backs as we’re leaving.”

An additional two rooms searched, two more men dead, and the place was officially clean.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Ricky said as they headed downstairs.

An ice-cold beer did sound good, but Marco thought a steaming hot shower sounded better.

“Yo, you ladies just gonna stand around twiddling your thumbs all night?” Ricky yelled across the garage to Tony and Sal. “Or are you gonna come over here and congratulate us on a job well done?”

Ricky was an idiot, but he did get Tony and Sal’s attention, getting their asses in gear so they could get the fuck out of there.

Movement from the corner of his eye caught Marco’s attention. The fucking front door was opening. Four guys spilled in. Shouting occurred. Rushing feet hit the pavement.

They were easy targets, out in the open. The good news was, the guys rushing them were in the same boat. Marco raised his gun, took aim, and fired, hitting a guy in the arm before pivoting on his heel in search of Nico. He was in back and to the right of Marco about fifteen feet away.

But another guy had Nico in his sights and was raising his arm to shoot. Sprinting full speed, gun out, Marco fired, hitting the guy in the chest. But not before the guy took his shot.

Diving, Marco collided into Nico’s side, throwing him off balance. He felt the burn as the bullet hit. Felt the weightless gravity of his fall. Felt the impact of hitting his head.

And then he felt nothing at all.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dead bodies litteredthe floor before him, and as Nico crawled to Marco’s side, he prayed his friend’s wasn’t one of them.

Gutshot.

Blood was already turning the white of Marco’s shirt red. He reached out a tentative hand, his fingers shaking as he searched his neck for a pulse. Faint, but steady.

He whipped off his jacket, rolling it into a tight ball before using it to apply pressure to the wound. He looked up and caught Ricky’s eyes. “Call Greene. Have him meet us at our clinic. Tell him Marco’s been shot and it’s a critical hit.” He turned to Tony and Sal who were hovering with concerned looks on their faces. “Help me lift him and get him to the car.”

Johnny ran in through the back door and came to a halt, panting, “I saw them come in. I got down here as fast as I could.” It took him a second to realize what was going on, then blurted, “Oh fuck. Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Nico growled. He would not let his friend die. “Johnny, open the door.”

Tony took Marco’s shoulders and Sal, his feet. “On the count of three. Lift,” Nico said, keeping pressure on Marco’s stomach by sliding his other arm under him and holding his back as he was lifted off the ground.

Johnny already had the back door open, and once they were through, he ran to Nico’s car and opened the rear door.

As carefully as possible, they maneuvered Marco onto the back seat with Nico still keeping pressure on the wound by leaning in through the open door. Every little thing he could do to keep Marco alive was crucial. They didn’t have very much time, and they were too fucking far away from help for Nico’s peace of mind.

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and grabbed his keys. “Ricky, you drive,” he said before climbing in the back and kneeling on the floorboard. “And drive fucking fast.”

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