Page 47 of Last Shot

‘The bomb detonated, Grey,’ Max said. ‘It’s over. We have to get out.’

He started to move. But not by choice. Someone was attempting to pull him off her.

‘Hold ON!’ he yelled in her ear. And she understood.

‘Get up!’ The terrified voice of the unflinching, consummate Giovanni Barbarani shook her whole body. But she didn’t move.

‘Hey,’ she whispered in Grey’s ear like he’d done to her back in the cellar. She wasn’t going to move him with threats or screams. He was somewhere else. ‘It’s okay.’

His body trembled. He pressed down into her even more, his stubble against her throat. She could barely breathe.

‘Greyson.’ He was everywhere. Her lips spoke into his skin. There wasn’t a breath between them. ‘You’re home. You’re not there. You’re home.’

There was a grunt. It came right from his belly, through his throat. She felt the whole thing.

‘Greyson.’ Her lungs screamed. ‘Grey, you’re not there. You’re here. I’m here too.’

The shaking was slowing, replaced with heavy breaths that pulsed through her like treacherous waves.

‘Get off her, Greyson. Goddamn it, boy, you’re killing her!Affrettatevi!’ The blur of Giovanni ripped at Grey’s shoulders. But he was already pushing himself up.

He hung there above her – suspended in a push-up position, breath ragged and hot.

‘We have to go,’ she said, straight into his eyes. His lips tightened. She could see the realisation of what had happened, of where he’d gone, darken his face like a storm. She wanted to tell him it was okay. But she couldn’t.

16

Grey

Smoke still billowed from the cellar as Jett put down the hose. Sweat glistened over his whole face like he’d been coated in oil. Grey guessed he looked worse. His entire body ached from where he’d fallen, jumping down Emilio’s cellar exit. If that old bastard hadn’t been such a paranoid freak, Grey would be dead.

Max would be dead.

Giovanni would be dead.

The shadow of what almost happened clung to him. If Max hadn’t been there ...

Don’t. Don’t think like that.

He hadn’t seen the backpack. He hadn’t recognised the threat. He was too busy ...

Don’t.

If Max hadn’t barged onto the Barbarani estate, would Grey have been thinking straight? Would he have recognised the threat of the bag instead of watching the way Max tucked her hair behind her ears and wondering who she’d assaulted to get stuck in jail for six months?

Or if she hadn’t been there, would they all be dead?

No. Grey would have noticed the bag. He would have been thinking clearly. Max saved them, yes. But it would never have come to this if she hadn’t been there in the first place, he was sure of that.

‘You okay, man?’ Jett clapped a strong hand on Grey’s shoulder. He felt himself sink into the ground. ‘You did good. You saved ’em. Don’t be hard on yourself.’

He swallowed hard. ‘Max saved them.’

‘She told me you picked her up and threw her down the chute. She said she froze, didn’t know what was going on.’

‘She was the one who worked out it was a bomb.’

‘Grey.’ Jett put his other hand on Grey’s left shoulder. ‘Look at me.’

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