Page 153 of Knights Game

I groan against the marble floor, blinking as the darkness subsides.

Again.

I’ve no idea how long I’ve been out.

“Black?” I ask, my voice croaky as his face comes into my blurry vision.

I blink rapidly, shifting the confusion; he holds me under my arm and lifts me to my feet. Pain ripples through my stomach, making me wince and hiss.

“What the hell happened here?” he asks. I look to the broken vase; the lilies are all over the floor destroyed along with water that has added to the carnage.

“Oh, fuck, Katy.” I push off him at the same time as the front door opens and Asher pulls out his gun.

“What the fuck?” It’s Roman, and his eyes meet mine as Asher holds me up.

“They’ve got Layla.” I push off Black as I stumble towards where Katy is on the floor. “Roman.”

He’s next to me in an instant.

“Oh, shit.” He drops to his knees, and looks at the bullet wound in her breastbone, her complexion pale.

“Is she breathing?” Black asks from behind us, still pointing a gun to the door.

I feel for a pulse in her neck. It’s faint, but it’s there. Roman sags, his face devoid of colour. “She needs a hospital,” I say, looking at the slight rise and fall of her chest.

“You need me here,” Roman says.

“If you stay, she dies. Don’t make the same mistake again,” I say firmly, and I can see how torn he is. He cares for her. I clasp my hand over his shoulder and nod. “Go.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

He gently bends down to Katy and places a hand under her knees and another behind her back, picking her up.

“Be safe.”

He nods at me. “Use your head, Luca. Don’t rush into anything, wait for the others,”

“You know me,” I reply and smile tightly, my head already spinning at how much time has passed, how much of a head start they’ve gotten.

“That’s exactly why I’m afraid.” He carefully navigates the wet marble floor and leaves the penthouse to save the woman who’s got under his skin.

I need to check the security cameras; I need to work out how long I’ve been out for.

I stumble to the study, Asher behind me, ready to catch me in case I fall on my arse. Which is a very real risk. I fall into my chair and pull up the security footage, and rewind back to see the moment the man, Terry Peyton, butted Layla with the base of a gun, having just shot Katy: 3:35. I look at my watch.

“Fuck.” I say gripping my hair. “They have a 35-minute head start. I need Henry, where is he?”

“I’ve not heard from any of them. When they didn’t meet at the warehouse I came here. Figured something went wrong.”

“Something went wrong alright.” I look down at my open, bloodied shirt and gauze-covered stomach.

It’s taking every ounce of stubbornness and determination to remain standing.

Adrenaline is a wonderful thing.

“I need painkillers,” I say. “Go to the bag at the table, I’m sure there are some good ones floating around.”

---