Page 22 of Tempted By Poison

My main concern is Anita. My eyes narrow toward the mini bar I caught her jumping behind, the pounding in my chest won’t seem to stop until I have confirmed she’s okay. The swelling in my throat inflates like a gas balloon, constricting my breath as I kick past boots and limbs, the water sweeping the hem of my pants.

Was she shot in the crossfire? Did someone shoot at her, or did Bedford not see what he was doing? As soon as I approach the bar, Anita shoots up, gun in hand, aiming at me, blood coating her hands and cheek.

My eyes widened. “What the fuck?”

I rush over, ready to examine her inch by inch, until I notice Mal on the floor with a black fabric wrapped around her leg, her face paling only slightly. She looks up at me with hazy eyes. “Hey boss.”

Panic ensues in my body, and I scatter to the floor. My throat tightens as I touch her leg, looking over the damage. “Goddamn it, they shot you. We need to get you out of here now,” I say, darting my gaze to her face and leg as heat rushes up my neck. I ready myself to scoop her in my arms, all the thoughts of losing her going through my head. No, she can't fucking bleed out.She can't.

Anita kneels beside. “No one shot her. There was a glass shard in her leg. I pulled it out.”

“Yeah, I’m fiiiine. Just purfeck,” Mal slurs, raising a lazy thumb.

My body slacks.She’s okay.“What’s wrong with her?”

Anita pats Mal’s red leg. “She may have drank half the whiskey right there.”

I glance at the decanter. There's not a drop left. “Shit.” I lift her light body, her arms wrapping around my neck as she groans.

Boone rushes over; he barely shows emotion, but worry fills his face seeing Mal like this.

“Take her and leave. She needs immediate care. Bedford knows what to do.”

“What about you?” he questions, folding Mal into him.

I glance angrily over at the man who is wiping left over shards of glass off his suit. “I have something I need to handle.”

Boone hesitates for the first time, sweat over his forehead, and some blood from the glass on his cheek.

“I’ll see you there.” His jaws clench before carrying Mal off.

Then, without thought, I step to Anita, examining her sliced knees and the bloodstains on her hands and face.

“Are you okay?” My native language is coming out thick and heavy. I don't give her time to answer before I use my hand to search her, like a prison guard patting down an inmate. I need to make sure she is okay.

Please be okay.

That happening to Mal scared the fuck out of me. I searched everywhere because when adrenaline fills the body, you’d never know you were even shot.

“I’m okay, Ronan,” she says softly. I don’t stop until I’ve conducted my own thorough examination.

Once I see she is free from injuries, I lift her chin again, staring deep into her droopy eyes. And it was the moment I knew that I would go through the depths of hell for her. “Good. And now I am.”

I bite down on my jaw, steadying my gaze on her before gripping my gun. My thoughts go back to the man who killed his own people. The one that threw Mal in the room like a piece of meat.

He catches on and raises his hands as I advance on him. He’s not even presenting fear, he’s stoic with the understanding of what’s coming.

However, I need answers. He surprises me when he draws his pistol from his back. I form a smile. “Go ahead, do it,” I goad, directing the gun to the vicinity of his head. Anita appears on the other side with a gun on him as well.

“Figure it out, my man, because you’ll be the one to get shot,” I add, speaking low enough for him to hear me.

Sweat forms over his head. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Anita cocks her gun. “Then what is your purpose, besides the massacre you just pulled? Where’s your honor? You just killed your men. Why the hell would we believe you?”

He aims the gun at Anita now, and turmoil blazes in. “Don’t you fucking point that gun at her. Point it at me,” I grit gravely. “Do that again and the only thing you’ll be seeing is the pavement outside that window. Understand?”

He squeezes the gun, his finger flexing around the handle. He hesitates, pursing his lips, hating the demands I’m spitting at him. I don’t give a fuck. Nobody threatens her.Nobody.

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