Page 73 of Dark Succession
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” Despite the situation, he grinned. “I missed you, angel.”
“I… I missed you, too.”
“And if you ever think of trying some shit like this again—”
She pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Can we talk about this when we aren’t in danger of being killed?”
“If you insist.” He kissed her, light and quick, and then turned to survey their options. The fence was a few short yards away. There was every chance that there were more men on the other side of it, but as long as they were onthis side, they were sitting ducks. He motioned. “I don’t suppose you can climb that?”
“Give me a boost and I can.”
It would slow them down, but there wasn’t any other option. “Okay. Count of three.”
A shout went up behind them and someone opened fire. He glanced back to find Aiden and Carrigan pelting away from them. “Three!”
She flew next to him, keeping up easily. He hit the fence first and went down on one knee. “Up.” She didn’t hesitate to put her foot into his cupped hands. He lifted with all his strength, regretting her startled yelp as she soared over him, but there was no time for courtesy. He barely waited for her hands to disappear off the top of the fence when he jumped, grabbing the rough wood and hauling himself to the top.
Pain blazed through his side, almost sending him toppling back into the Hallorans’ yard. He clung to the fence, gritting his teeth.Fuck, fuck, goddamn it, that hurt. It took all his strength to fall on the right side—the street side. Teague hit the ground hard enough to drive what little air he’d retained from his lungs. He wheezed out a breath and rolled onto his back, his entire world made up of a red haze of pain.
Instantly, Callie was next to him, concern in every line of her body. She lifted a hand and gasped. “You’re bleeding.”
“I think… I was shot.” He managed to get a breath in, but the sheer agony of it made him regret his decision. Did he really need to breathe?
Voices sounded on the other side of the bushes shielding them. “They came over around here somewhere.”
“They couldn’t have gotten far.”
He tried to keep his harsh breaths quiet, but it was nearly impossible. He was vaguely aware of Callie shifting her stance on the gun in her hands. She touched his chest, though whether it was in comfort or warning, he couldn’t say.
The bushes in front of them parted, and she raised the gun. The man’s startled yelp was cut off halfway through, the shot knocking him back. She looked sick but determined. “You can’t run, but you need to move. I’ll draw them away—”
He grabbed her arm with all the strength he had left—a pathetically small amount. “Don’t you fucking dare. You did the noble thing once…” An agonized breath. “No more.”
“They will finish what they started and kill you.”
He wasn’t sure what clued him in. It might have been a scuff of a shoe on pavement. Or maybe the slightest shifting somewhere below the level of consciousness. It didn’t matter. He yanked Callie down on his chest a second before shots fired, biting the fence where her head had just been.
She rolled off him almost immediately, aiming once again, but she didn’t pull the trigger. “What if I kill someone in the building across the street?”
“Empty,” he gasped.
“You’re sure?” Her voice wasn’t anywhere near calm, but her hands were steady.
“Yes.”
She didn’t ask again. She shot once, twice, a third time, and whoever was on the other side of the bushes gave a pained cry and sounded like he crumpled to the ground. She glanced at him. “We need to move.”
“I know.” But he suspected he couldn’t. His thoughts were fuzzy, and he wasn’t sure if that was the pain level or the blood loss.
She knew it. Damn it, he could see it in her eyes. Callie dropped the gun and yanked her sweatshirt off. He didn’t have the strength to cry out when she pressed it against his side with all her might. “Don’t you dare die on me, Teague O’Malley.”
Spots danced in front of his eyes that had nothing to do with it being night. “I love you.” Then the blackness swallowed him whole.
Callie knew the moment he passed out. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the pressure she was putting on his still-healing ribs or because of blood loss, but she dearly hoped it was the former. As long as they didn’t puncture anything, broken ribs wouldn’t kill him. A gunshot wound surely would.
A car pulled up on the street near them. She cocked her head to the side, tracking its movement as it stopped and the doors opened. This was it. There was no escape for either of them. By her count, she only had five or six shots left, and to grab her gun, she’d have to take her hands off Teague’s wound. Since the fabric was already wet with his blood, she couldn’t afford to do that.
She closed her eyes.I don’t know if you’re listening, God. I’ve made a grand mess of this. But spare Teague. He never asked for any of this. A silly, foolish prayer.
