Page 52 of Hostile King

He jerks, his spine going rigid and drags his searching gaze from my belly to his navy waistcoat clotted in crimson. The more it seeps into the fabric, the bigger the stain becomes.

“Thank fuck.” He makes an odd sound like a sigh derailed by deranged laughter. “Christ. I thought he’d shot you.” His shoulders slump, decreasing his height.

A slippery hand envelops mine and the other gathers his revolver. We’re painted in blood like victims of a vigilante massacre. He glances over his shoulder and scouts for high up snipers, his breathing quickly becoming labored. “We have to get off the street…the roads are gridlocked.” As he angles into me, he winces. “There’s no point going back to the hotel and the convoy won’t be on the move anytime soon.”

“You’re losing blood, Tomás.” I blink at the fluid spilling out of him. This is bad. Fatal. Fucking cataclysmic. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

A bullet soars, whizzing overhead like a killer wasp on steroids. Another follows. His teeth bare, not from anger, but from sheer agony. “No hospital. That’s the first place they’ll look for us.”

My lungs cramp when he uses his body as a human shield and positions himself in front of me, snarling like a beast at the effort. “You need medical assistance, Tomás.”

Darkness descends over his tortured features. My pulse pounds so quickly it deafens all the external noise. All I see is him. All I hear are his strained breaths and witness his pained grimace.

“Fuck, Cari…” he mutters in a low voice. “All this time…I was trying to protect you from all of this.” His lashes flutter as power and energy oozes out of him. “Maybe it’s my turn to die…for you...this is payback for all the bad shit I’ve done,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “There’s a private jet waiting for us at Toluca International airport. If I don’t make it, get to the aviation ramp and board the plane. Mama will take care of you.”

What's left of his strength urges me backward, so we're nestled between two vehicles. “Why did you do it?” I choke out, scooting to my elbows and watching him crawl above me, acting as buffer for danger. “Why did you kill her…like that…in front of her family?” The lump in my throat grows harder, making it difficult to swallow.

Sunshine catches in his villainous eyes, flooding into the dark depths. Tiny flecks of light disguise all sorts of crazy thoughts and justification for violence. A shadowy figure in the distance darts from hood to trunk. I’m too preoccupied with worry, busily heaving him closer and hugging him against me to consider the movement a threat.

“They had to see it…but this street war… this wasn’t us…someone else planned it…you’re in danger, Cari. We need to find my brothers. They’ll help you get to the airfield.”

Sweat glistens on his brow, his skin ashen even though my hands are glued over the hemorrhaging hole. Inside of our bubble, my gut screams at me. He’s dying like a stray dog, right here in the streets of Mexico, and I’m helpless to save him.

If I screamed our enemies would descend on us like a horde of thieving ants. They’d swarm around the fallen king and pop a bullet in his precious brain without a second thought.

Outside of the sphere, my instincts tell me we’re sitting ducks. That he needs an ambulance, or he’ll finally meet his maker. The mercenaries are everywhere, readying themselves to close in on us. If they haven’t pinpointed our location already.

It’s move or die. Fight or fall.

His blood-streaked face is so close to mine, making it easy to count every inky fluttering lash. My skin prickles when the weight of him sinks on top of me, his mighty organs struggling to function as his veins weaken. He moves his head side to side to shake off dragging exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the side of my face. “I’ll go down fighting to protect you.”

“Don’t say that. I’ll get us out of this,” I palm his stubbled cheek. His sigh whispers over me in a gentle breeze, the last dregs of his breath a careful caress. A pause settles between us. “I promise you, Tomás.”

My tone doesn’t elevate to fear, nor does it spike with adrenaline to show how petrified I am. I’m not terrified from the carnage around us.

I’m scared he’ll die.

When he attempts to stand, his knees give way. A bullet hurtles through the air above our heads. His temper quickly darkens. “Motherfucker!”

He drops low, covers me completely, and unintentionally butts our heads together. “Don’t move,” he mutters, his voice raspy in a fight to ward off unconsciousness. “I’ll kill that bastard. When I start shooting, you run…”

Another slug of lead pelts the ancient brown car beside us. Tomás growls from the depths of his chest with so much ferocity I swear he’s slipped from humanity and turned into a satanic beast. He pushes up onto all fours, his body caging me within his limbs. I stay still because the expression on his shadowed features is so determined, his smoky aura evil.

My heavy heart hammers against my ribcage like a boxer walloping a punchbag.

He swipes a hand over his face and steadies himself in a hunched position with his knees bent. Every inhale denies him satisfaction. But his eyes, they’re lit with the challenge of taking out the target.

I want to tell him I love him. I really do. Except now isn’t the time to offload secrets and I’m still trying to process the cruelty this king is so easily capable of.

Tomás takes a shot, staggers a step, and slides down the car door we’re hiding behind. He swallows loudly, his head lolling and his eyelids straining to stay open.

“Fuck…” He wavers on his haunches, tips forward and spreads his hands on the ground. “Get the hell out of here Carina. I can’t keep them back for much longer,” he snarls, spittle flying with every forced word.

Another bullet clips the side mirror, this time a warning shot to tell us the mercenaries are too close. He angles around, dives on top of me again, and imprisons me beneath him. I’m at his protective mercy, and he’s at the mercy of his fatal injury.

My heart stills as his ebony eyes lose their starry sparkle and the wind leaves his lungs in a gust. He just lies there, perfectly still while blood loss takes its toll.

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