Page 33 of Breathe
“Real,” Cash croaked, turning his head weakly, his eyes glazed. “Where’s Apollo?”
“He’s fine,” Real lied through his teeth.
The last thing that Cash needed was more stress. There wasn’t a damned thing they could do about Apollo until he got out of surgery. Which was taking a lot longer than the doctors had planned. Apparently, the bullet had shattered into several pieces.
The ongoing surgery was already reaching the second hour mark.
“You can see him after you rest,” Real assured the young man.
“The gunman…seemed familiar.”
Real had to lean closer to hear the hoarsely whispered words cutting in and out.
“Did you know him?” Real asked, keeping his voice low and soothing.
“No.” Cash groaned and closed his eyes.
“You got a good look at him, though, yes?” Real said.
Cash blinked open his eyes and stared at him. Then frowned. The confusion in the man’s eyes was clear to see.
“Maybe I knew him…His face is…gone,” Cash whispered.
The blank spots were from trauma after being bludgeoned by the butt of a handgun. Real had seen the signs before. Hell, he’d experienced it a time or two himself.
“Don’t worry about it, just relax. The campus has security cameras. I’m sure he’s on video,” Real assured Cash, and the boy closed his eyes.
Real turned to Stone, and unspoken, they both stepped out into the hallway and slightly pulled Cash’s door closed, leaving it open in case the boy called out.
They found Dave along with Winter and Rip sitting in hard plastic chairs that lined the hallway.
All three men stood when they walked out.
“How is he?” Dave asked.
“He’s got a major concussion,” Stone said. Placing a hand on Dave’s shoulder, Stone gave a gentle squeeze.
“What the hell is going on? You say that someone is looking for you?” Winter turned on Real.
“The gunman went there looking for me. Me and Stone dropped Apollo and Cash back at Pepperdine this afternoon.” Real didn’t need to glance at his watch.
The shooting had taken place a little after noon. Apollo had gone into surgery a little after 2 PM. It was now 3:45 PM.
The call to Azrael had been roughly an hour and a half ago. The distance between the Angeles National Forest and UCLA Medical Center could vary depending on the traffic. Either way, it could take Azrael between one to two hours or more to get here.
“Real!”
He closed his eyes when Azrael loudly called his name.
Spinning toward the young assassin’s voice, he saw Azrael standing at the end of the hospital hallway that led to the waiting room.
Without another word, Azrael raced toward him. Boston, Beck, and Rebel raced behind, following quickly.
And so help him God, Real tried not to do it, but he couldn’t stop himself, he opened his arms.
He caught Azrael when the younger man launched into his arms.
Holding Azrael’s slender form against him, Real bent his head and breathed in the slight scent of soap.
