Page 95 of Vito

Ambrose's training and skills take over; he's injured but still in the game. He drags me to the parked cars at the sidewalk, pulling me down.

I turn to rapidly inspect the damage: a wound is pouring blood under his collarbone, no exit wound on his back. I put pressure on it while he's braced up against the tire, ashen, and has his gun out.

"From the entry of the bullet, the shooter is across the street." We're protected by the parked cars… at least for now.

"Get your ass in your car and get out of here," he grits, fisting his gun. "I'll give you cover."

"Not a fucking chance." I shrug out of my jacket, take his gun in my bloody hand, and put his hand over his wound, using my jacket to staunch the blood flow. "Put as much pressure as you can."

"Ed."

He's already weakening. "Now, Ambrose," I grit, taking stock of our situation.

It's almost three in the morning; the street is deserted.

The shooter is close. Help won't get here fast enough.

Especially since I can hear the soft thud of boots getting closer.

I only have Ambrose's weapon.

We're too far from Gilly's door; we'd be in the wide open if we made a run for it. Glancing at Ambrose's soaked shirt and his deathly pallor, I don't even know if he'll make it to his feet.

"Go, Ed," he rasps.

"No."

I flick the safety off Ambrose's gun, listening for the attacker. They're on the street, and from the sound of the steps, the attacker is coming up alongside the parked cars behind this one. I look underneath the car we're crouched behind, but don't see any feet of other attackers.

We're sitting ducks here, so I pop up with the gun ready to fire and see the assailant dressed in black combat gear, a balaclava, and gloves. Flashbacks of watching Aiken attacked by three in similar garb hit me, but I shove them back as I pull the trigger and fall to the ground.

I wasn't exposed for more than a few seconds. My heart is hammering with adrenaline because I fully expected to get shot.

The pained grunt tells me I hit the attacker, but before I can celebrate or plan our next move for getting us out of this alive, a body comes flying over the hood of the car. They grab my hair as they slide off the vehicle, tucking into a roll and ripping me along with them like a rag doll.

I have no time to contemplate where the hell this bastard came from as heat and pain lance through my skull. I can't stop my cry of pain as my hair is used like a goddamn leash. Ambrose reaches weakly for me but slumps to his side and doesn't move again.

A strong arm comes around my neck from behind. On instinct, I tuck my chin at the first feel of the arm to prevent it from fully choking me out or crushing my airway. I sink my nails and teeth into their forearm, not doing the damage I hoped because of the fabric of their long-sleeve shirt, but I have a flare of satisfaction from the pained grunt. Both attackers sounded like males.

My gun fell out of my hand when I was pulled ass-over-tea-kettle by my hair, and my assailant kicks it out of reach.

Panic rises. There are at least two attackers; I'm in the clutches of one, my gun is gone, and Ambrose is bleeding out. He's either dead or will be soon.

The arm is trying to clamp around my neck, but before it can tighten, I twist like a corkscrew, somehow getting low enough to pop free. Without hesitating, I lunge for Ambrose's gun. My hand closes over it as my shoulder hits the pavement. Ignoring the pain from the impact, I roll, swinging the gun up to shoot.

Before I can take the shot, the assailant jerks back violently and then stumbles. The deafening crack of a gunshot splits the air, then another. I watch, transfixed, as the assailant is spun around by the impact of the bullets. His back gapes open from the exit wounds. He crumples to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling around him.

I spin toward the sound, my gun raised, my instincts and Ohith's training taking over.

Lixin jumps out of the way, holding his hands up, a Desert Eagle in his right palm. "Ed, it's me!"

I scramble to my feet, keeping my gun raised, and take stock of the carnage. The guy I shot is lying in the street, his head at an odd angle. The one who grabbed me is lying with a crater in his back after Lixin's kill shot.

I shake my shock off and rush to Ambrose. "Call an ambulance, Lixin!"

I flick the safety on the gun and kneel beside Ambrose; he's lying on his side, unmoving. Turning him over quickly, I put both my hands over the still-bleeding wound.

He's still bleeding. That's good, right? Means his heart is still pumping. Right? Right? Fuck, I don't know!

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