Page 90 of Velvet Betrayal
Alek set his jaw, looked at me. “Get her the fuck out of here.” Then he turned to handle the evacuation.
The second he was gone, I grabbed Ruby’s arm, covered her head with mine, and shouldered us both through the emergency exit behind the dais. The stairwell was instantly silent—the kind of hush you only get in old buildings, after hours, when even your echo is scared to come back. I almost carried her down the first flight, then realized she was stone-steady under my grip and let her pace me, her heels clicking like a countdown.
“Ruby,” I said. “Where are you hit? Tell me. Right now.”
She pressed her palm to her ear, then peeled it away so I could see the streak. One drop had already dried in her hair. “It’s a graze,” she said, voice flat. “I’m not concussed. I’ve bled worse off the playground.” She stopped on the landing, braced her hands to her knees, and made a guttural sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh.
“We’re going to go,” I said. “You’re getting in my car and we’re leaving.”
She didn’t argue, which meant yes, which meant hurry before Alek found us and locked down the block. I hustled her out the fire door, into the side lot where the cars were spitting exhaust into the frost—and, sure enough, right at the curb was my blacked-out Tahoe, brought right to this spot by one of our men. He got out and gave us a nod, scanning the street for a threat as I got to work taking care of Ruby.
I got her into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. I didn’t even feel the cold, didn’t think about the seatbelt. I just drove, yanking the wheel too hard on the first turn because Ineeded the world to tilt under me. Needed motion. Something to outrun the sound of the shot still ringing in my ears.
She was sitting sideways, holding her head at an angle so the blood wouldn’t hit her blouse. Her eyes were glassy—but not in the dazed, post-trauma way I expected. This was something else. Something wrong.
“Do you need a hospital?” I asked, too sharp.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I got lucky. I just—do you have a plastic bag or something?”
I shook my head, but dug through the glovebox, came up with a crumpled Dunkies bag. She pressed it to her temple. The blood soaked in fast, blooming across the waxed pink and white like a party favor gone to hell. I might’ve laughed, or choked on something worse, but she beat me to it—let out a startled cackle, like the whole night had tipped sideways and she was the only one in on the joke.
Then her face twisted. “Wait. I’m gonna puke.”
“Jesus—”
Too late. She bent forward, quick and brutal, and emptied her stomach into the bag. Tied it off like a pro, wiped her mouth on her wrist.
“Donuts,” she said. “Kieran, I swear to God—when this is over, you’re taking me to get a chocolate cruller and a Diet Coke. Fountain only. I am not kidding.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind,” I said, checking the rearview. Nothing behind us but red strobes and a crowd with cameras. “You get shot, puke in my front seat, and your first move is placing a donut order.”
“Correct.” She leaned back, weak but smiling faintly. “Where are you taking me?”
“Anywhere but here. We need to disappear for a minute.” I dug a napkin out of my pocket and handed it to her. She dabbedat her cheek, then paused when she saw the blood streaked with mascara.
“You’re probably nauseous because of the adrenaline,” I offered. “That’s normal, right? For gunshot wounds?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me. Long and steady.
“What?” I asked. “Talk to me.”
“Kieran,” she said, quiet now. “I don’t think it’s that.”
I blinked. “You don’t think what’s that? The adrenaline? You just got shot—”
She looked out the window for a beat. Then back at me.
“No,” she said. “There’s something else. I didn’t want to do this now, but—I don’t think I get a better time.”
“What is it?”
She was pale. Tired. Still bleeding. But her voice was sure…and what she said next threw my whole world off its axis.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
Oh.Fuck.
