Page 87 of Bulletproof Love

Orlov spins, still keeping his gun aimed at Falin. Adrenaline pumps through my system, every nerve ending wanting to fight. To kill. “Ah, the boyfriend arrives. The failed hero. This is getting to be so much fun.”

“Let her go,” I say as calmly as I can muster.

He laughs again, the sound making the hairs on my arm stand up. “Why would I do that? She’ll make me a lot of money. Just like your sister.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

“I did my research on you, Shea. You think you can fuck up my life and walk away scot-free. I’m afraid I’m not that nice of a man.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Falin pleads. “He wants to watch you squirm.”

“He should listen. I have so much to share. Like how she screamed in that London townhouse. How she?—”

I hear it before I see Falin move. Her gun aimed, the shot hitting Orlov in the chest. He staggers but somehow stays on his feet, his gun swinging toward me.

“No!” Falin moves faster than I’ve ever seen her, throwing herself between us as Alexander’s gun goes off. I sprint forward to grab her, spinning us both as a familiar white hot pain tears through my abdomen. I roar through the pain, holding Falin tight.

We stumble, landing on our knees just as Orlov loses his balance near the edge. His eyes bulge as realization hits him. His arms windmill but there’s nothing for him to grab onto. Only air. He screams as his body careens off the edge, echoing all the way down.

Falin clutches me as I sink down, both of us shaking with released adrenaline. My body burns, and blood soaks my shirt. She presses her hands against my wound, tears springing from her eyes. “Why?” she cries. She grabs her blade, tearing off the bottom of her shirt to hold onto my wound. “You dummy of a man. Beautiful, idiotic, frustrating… You weren’t supposed to come!”

“Baby…” I try to reach for her, but she holds me down.

“Don’t move,” she says, pulling out her phone. “I’m calling 911.”

I grab her face with trembling fingers, kissing her like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to taste her lips. “I knew something was wrong. I?—”

“Shh,” she says between giving the dispatcher our location. “Save your strength.”

“Bailey… London. We have to—” I can barely think straight. The pain is making me want to throw up right then and there. My eyes can hardly stay open.

“It’s okay.” She presses her forehead to mine. “We’ll find her. Together. But first we need to get you help. The paramedics are coming. And I need to warn the others about that warehouse.” She keeps one hand pressed firmly on my wound while texting with the others. “Shit. I’m fucking scared.”

I try to focus on her voice, but everything feels distant, like I’m being pulled underwater. Is this how it would have felt if I let the river take me?

Orlov is gone. We fucking killed him. Bailey’s in London. Or at least she was. Oh God, it hurts. I close my eyes and sink into that dark place where pain consumes me.

I don’t know how long I stay like that, lying on my back on the cold, hard ground. Falin’s voice pulls me back. She’s hovering above me. An angel to break through this hell.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough. That I couldn’t save her. You can leave me here… I’ll?—”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just stay with me,” she whispers. “Keep those beautiful eyes open for me.”

I blink hard, fighting to stay conscious. “The guys?” They better be okay. I won’t live with myself. She’s quiet as she keeps pressure on my wound. Too quiet. I ask again. “Did you get them?”

“They’re okay,” she finally answers.

Then why does she sound like something’s wrong? I force my eyes to focus on her face through the haze of pain. “Baby? What happened?”

“It’s Ray and his guys.”

I hear sirens in the distance getting closer. Falin’s hand trembles against my stomach but she keeps steady pressure. “Just hold on. Help is almost here.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

FALIN

Jasper’s in surgery.Fucking surgery. This waiting room is purgatory. Every step I pace along its stark-white floor brings me one minute closer to seeing him. To knowing he’ll be okay. Hours have passed, I think, marked only by the change of old comedy reruns blaring from the TV across the room, their laugh tracks taunting me.

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