Page 24 of Murder & Mayhem

“He’s not back yet,” someone else responds as I’m unceremoniously dumped onto a chair. I grunt out some sort of incoherent response as I struggle to think through my murky thoughts and work out what to do. Fucking hell, I really need to get a doctor on my payroll.

“Yeah, you do, Boss. But since you don’t have one right now, what do you want us to do?”

Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

I squint up at Razor—huh, maybe it was him that helped me in—who is frowning down at me, but his gaze is steady and sure. “Whiskey,” I bark out. With a nod, he goes off to do as I ordered, and I let my head fall back against the sofa while I wait. Some whiskey will chase away the pain and help me think straight.

My eyes drift closed and I hear Evie’s voice. Looking around, I peer through the oppressive darkness surrounding me until I find her, bathed in sunshine and calling my name as if welcoming me into the light.

“Evie? What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for you, big brother. Aren’t you coming?”

“Where are we going?”

Her grin is as bright and angelic as I remember, and I take a step toward her, not needing an answer to my question. I’d follow her goddamn anywhere. “You’ll see. It’s beautiful. You’ll love it.”

I take another step toward her, but the movement twists my vision, allowing a ray of light to pierce my sister. Pausing, I stare at the spot where the beam passes right through her, as though she’s not really there. It hits me, knocking the air from my lungs.

“You aren’t real.” The hopelessness in my voice is unmissable. “You’re not here.” Lifting my gaze to meet her teary eyes, I state the cold hard truth for both of us. “Evie, you’re dead.”

She shakes her head as if she doesn’t want to believe what I’m saying, and she holds out her hand, pleading with her eyes for me to take it. “Please, Cain. Just come with me. I miss you.” That honest admission threatens to rip open my chest, and I very nearly cave to her pleas.

It takes everything in me to stand there and shaking my head, I whisper, “I can’t. Not until I’ve gotten my revenge on the men who took you from me.”

Evie shakes her head, and I can see her gearing up for a fight. “I don’t care about any of that, Cain,” she argues. “I just want you.”

For once, I refuse to give in to her demands. “Not until they’re all dead,” I promise her.

Her lips part, but before she can argue her point further, the world seems to tilt on its axis, and the vision before me blurs, becoming fuzzy.

“Evie!” I call out as my heart thrashes in my chest, not wanting to lose her already. “Evie!”

The world tips into darkness as Evie is once again lost to me, but just when I think I’m lost to the void, my eyes blink open, and I stare into the most beautiful set of piercing blue eyes.

“About fucking time, you wimp,” Red snaps, but relief shines in her eyes—eyes that I can’t stop staring at. Were they always that vivid and full of life? “You’ll go down in history as the most pathetic gang leader of all time if you let a minor bullet wound take you out,” she continues to gripe.

Her words bring me crashing back to reality, and the pain in my shoulder flares to life, making me groan. “Where the hell is that whiskey?” I grouch.

She shoves a bottle into my hands, and I tip my head back, guzzling it down and barely noticing the burn as it hits my stomach. Warmth radiates out, quickly dulling the pain to a manageable level, and I find I can focus more sharply on the gorgeous, fiery woman standing in front of me, closely inspecting my injury.

“Please tell me you have a decent first aid box with a suture kit?” she asks someone behind me. My attention is going in and out, though, so I miss their response, only zoning in again as she barks more orders at them. “I need the saline solutions you find in first aid kits—as many as you can get your hands on. Or if anyone wears contacts, I need their lens solution.”

When she returns her attention to me again, she slides a short, thin dagger out of a holster attached to her thigh.So fucking hot.

She smirks at me, twirling the blade in her hand.Dammit, I must have said that aloud.

“You did,” she states, sounding far too smug. Palming her blade, she works it through my t-shirt until she can strip it off.

“If you wanted me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask.”

Her laugh is low and husky and goes straight to my dick, even though she’s barely paying me any attention, too busy studying my wound as she uses the balled-up fabric to wipe around it.

“What’s the consensus?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from her to look at the injury. The belt is still strapped around my shoulder, and a slow trickle of blood runs down my chest. She swipes at it with the top before answering me.

“Well, I’m no doctor, but Ithinkyou might just live.” I grunt out a response. “Bullet’s lodged in there, though”—her gaze flicks to mine—“I’m going to have to dig it out.”

I don’t respond, instead bringing the bottle of whiskey to my lips again and downing several large gulps. I’ve had to get a couple of bullets removed in the past, so I know they hurt like a motherfucker.

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