Page 39 of Dollhouse

King is standing his ground, shooting back, and in the distance, I can see faceless figures moving in closer toward us.

Rowen drops to the ground, limply dropping his gun at his side. I can only watch him for a second; I need to assist King now that these faceless fucks are coming in closer and circling us.

Vlad hauls Nico to the front seat of the SUV and starts it before coming toward me to cover King so I can go check on Rowen.

There on the ground beside him is Tate. She’s kneeling beside him and is shirtless, using her own cloth to apply pressure to his bullet wound. I kneel across from her, my hands covering her small bloody hands.

Rowen groans out in pain, his eyes finding mine. “Don’t die on me, brother. You stay with me, do you hear me?” I demand, and his lips curl up into a small grin.

Tate raises her head, her eyes widening as she looks over my head.

I hear it before I see it.

The single gunshot followed by a grunt and a thud.

Holy fuck.

Tate just shot someone with zero hesitation.

The gunshots stop, and I am assuming whoever Tate shot was the last one standing.

In an instant, Vlad and King are loading Rowen into the car and Vlad’s driving us back home.

Everything’s happening so fucking fast, my mind can’t catch up.

King is on the phone with the doctor, telling him to meet us at our penthouse. Our cabin is too far, and both Nico and Rowen need a doctor immediately and our penthouse is much closer.

I have Rowen’s head on my lap and Tate sits at the other end continuing to hold her shirt against his bleeding bullet wound.

He’s been shot in the chest, and she isn’t letting her grip slack even when King and I have both tried to take over. Her eyebrows are pulled together, her and Rowen staring at each other so intensely it doesn’t feel right to interrupt. They’re having a moment, as weird of a moment as it may be.

“You can’t die.” Her whispered words linger in the air for too long.

We’re five minutes from the penthouse when his breathing becomes shallow and ragged. Despite her applying pressure to his wound, blood is still oozing out and covering her hands.

“Stay with me, brother!” I yell, and King perks up from the backseat.

Rowen’s breathing is too fucking shallow for my liking. I can’t lose one of my brothers. I can’t. I won’t let it fucking happen!

With a smile, I watch as Rowen lifts a bloody hand to Tate’s cheek and caresses it gently. “Lee, my angel,” he whispers before his hand falls and silence fills the car.

Lee.

He called me Lee.

No one has called me by my real name in months.

No one in my new life knows who I am, or at least that’s what I thought.

How does Rowen know who I am? I thought I’d done a good enough job of covering my tracks and hiding my real identity.

As far as I’m concerned, Lee is dead. She died nine months ago at the hands of her abusive husband.

I’m in the living room of their penthouse, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window staring out at the city down below me. My mind is in a million other places and I’m mentally miles away from everything that’s going on around me. I’m lost inside my own head, only to be pulled out when King wraps his jacket around my shoulders and turns me to face him.

I’m shirtless, only wearing a red lace bra, and I still have Rowen’s blood on my hands and streaks on my cheek. It’s starting to crack and itch now, but I can’t wash it off. Not yet, not when I don’t know if he’s going to live or die.

“You should go take a shower. You can use mine. First door on the right upstairs.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. “He’s going to be okay, butterfly. The doctor is with him, go shower and then we’ll talk.”

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