Page 134 of Wounded King
Not her.NOT HER!
I keep my body angled to protect hers, we're fucking sitting ducks on the airstairs, and move us back up toward the plane's entrance. I bend over her too still body, rage rushing through me, and with a defiant scream, I pull my gun and aim.
The chopper is veering now, ready to lift and make a retreat.
Not a fucking chance.
I raise my gun and steady my arm. The first shot misses, the second wings the side by the open door through which one of the shooters leans forward. I hit him, and he falls forward. Gravity does the rest and pulls him to the ground, where his body shatters in a silent splash, too insignificant above all the other noise to make a sound. I change tactics and aim for the cockpit. Three, four, five shots—the windshield shatters, the chopper veers, pilotless. The tail rotor hits the ground and explodes in a burst of fire and smoke.
My men swarm forward from all sides of the airstrip, chasing down the surviving shooters. Luciano's voice roars over the comms, barking orders as prisoners are taken. From my peripheral vision, I see red hair as Pippa throws a burning man to the ground, extinguishing the flames with her body, while simultaneously hitting him in the head with the butt of her gun. This woman really does have a good head on her shoulders.
But all this is happening like in another life. Like a movie on a screen. The moment the chopper goes down, all my attention is back on Violet. She's all I can see. Her body, so lifeless in my arms, blood drenching her hair, running down her face. She looks so fucking pale, as if she's already dead, but I feel a faint pulse.
"You goddamn stubborn girl," I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. "You don't do that. You don't take bullets for me."
My voice cracks, but no one hears it over the sound of burning wreckage. "You don't get to leave me. Not like this. Notever."
But she doesn't answer.
I will kill every last motherfucker who thought it was a good idea attacking us like this.
"Violet," Pippa rushes up the air steps, but I push her away, rising with Violet in my arms.
"Get the car ready," I yell.
"Get those prisoners interrogated. I want to know who is behind this," I snarl, climbing into the SUV, keeping Violet pressed against my chest.
"You got it, boss," Luciano replies darkly. For a second, his eyes take in Violet, and I see the fire of retaliation burn in his. But that is nothing compared to what is raging through my body.
On the way to the hospital, Violet's body seizes twice in my arms. Unshed tears of pain and fear of losing her burn in my eyes. My chest feels heavy and constricted. So does my throat, as if someone is choking me. No worse.I can't lose her, I just can't. I know I won't be able to live if that happens. I might keep on breathing, but I would be nothing without her. A zombie. It would be better if I died with her. But I can't. I still need to find Sophia and get rid of Edoardo. I need to find whoever is behind this and kill them, too. But the pain of taking another breath without her will be the end of me.
Pain! With sudden clarity, I realize why this pain is so blinding, so all-consuming, so crushing. It's more than just the fear of losing her; it's not just fury against whoever did this.
It's the unbearable weight oflove—new and raw and wild—pressing in on me from all sides, like the world is trying to cave in around my ribs and suffocate the part of me that only ever belonged to her. I love her. It's been there all this time, and I pray with all my heart to a God I've never believed in not to take her from me. How can I lose her now, when it's finally becoming clear to me that I'm capable of love? How many times has she saidI love you? How many times have I felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate the words? Have almost resented her for saying it, because I thought myself incapable of it? Well, the joke is on me now, because I keep saying it to her, over and over, and she can't hear me. "I love you, tesoro. Ti amo."
Luciano calls me just as the doctors and nurses whisk Violet away from me. The urge to go after her, to be with her, is nearly as strong as the one to smash my phone against the wall. With a herculean will, I stop myself from doing either and pick up the call instead. I need something to distract myself. I'm not sure where my self-control comes from, but years of being a boss must have left their mark on me, and my first question is regarding the other casualties.
"The girls are all okay. Shook up, but physically unharmed," Luciano informs me. Thank fuck for small favors. Their well-being was and is my responsibility. I took it on the moment I offered to take them home so Toni and Scarlet could enjoy their honeymoon. I'm not going to lie and say I cared one way or another about the women, but if anything had happened to them, especially Gigi, it would have put a heavy strain on Toni's and my relationship.
"Three of our guards are dead. Two are wounded; Doc is taking care of them." Luciano continues listing the facts. Which I prefer, I don't need anything sugarcoated. I need the facts to figure out how to go from there.
"I'm not going to be able to inform the families myself this time," I tell him. There's no way I'm leaving this fucking hospital until Violet is in the clear, and probably not even then, not until she gets to go home with me.
"I'll do it. Pippa is with the women right now, setting up security details for them, but more than likely, they were only collateral damage."
I agree.
"How is Violet?" He tries to hide it, but the strain in his voice is evident. He cares for her. Hell, who wouldn't? She is the most likable person I've ever met.
"The doctors just took her back. She was shot in the head, and she… seized twice…" I trail off. Both of us know what that means, and it doesn't look good. "I didn't see a bullet entry, but there was so much fucking blood…" Again, I trail off, clinging to the idea that headwounds tend to bleed a lot. All I could do was press my shirt against it to staunch the flow. But her seizures worry me.
"Did we get any of them?" I need a distraction.
"We got two alive, the rest are all dead. Want me to interrogate them?"
I want to be the one doing the interrogation. I want to make them bleed. I want to feed them their balls and make them eat them for what they did. That would mean waiting on the interrogation, though, because I'm not leaving this hospital. Waiting isn't an option either, because Toni will want answers. Soon.
An idea forms in my head, "Bring them here, to the morgue."
