Page 42 of Vicious Prince (Violent Kingdom)

She mouths my fucking name while he’s raping her.

Rome…

And she lets out a little breath of air as she moves her mouth. The smell of sex and sweat and blood fills the tiny room we’re in, and inside my chest, my heart slows down.

I’ve been stabbed before. Walked through fire - I have the scars up my arms to prove it, or at least I did until I tattooed over them. But being shot?

Being shot is a first for me.

And I’ve gotta say, it hurts like a motherfucker. It hurts more than being stabbed, but less than being burnt alive. The pain from standing in the middle of a burning building as flames lick your flesh is a pain that consumes your every nerve ending until your entire body screams. Being stabbed is more dull, especially when it’s in the back, and you weren’t expecting it. When I was stabbed in prison, I thought I’d been punched at first. The knife was sharp, but the pain was dull. It wasn’t until the asshole who stabbed me wrenched his knife out of my side and plunged it back in that I understood what he was doing. The sharp edge of pain wouldn’t come until much, much later, in the aftermath, after he’d been wrestled to the ground and I was being stitched up in the infirmary with no painkillers.

But beingshot.Sweet Mother Mary, being shot is a whole new level of agony. It’s like being stabbed with fire, the pain localized as it throbs in tune with my heart.Thump.Thump.Thump. I can feel more of my blood leaving my body with every beat of my heart, and that freaks me out. I put my left hand over my right shoulder, feeling the mess of broken flesh underneath my palm, the rush of blood as it finds its way out of my veins and slides down my arm. Between Avery and I, it’s like a damn slaughterhouse in here, and the only man left standing is a man whose identity I have no idea of.

Chapter Sixteen

AVERY

You know those moments where you thought you knew what was happening, only to have your whole world crumble as the illusion you believed was reality broke apart and showed the truth?

That moment, for me, is when the bullet hits Rome Montague’s shoulder and embeds itself in his body. And the moments after, as I watch him hit the wall behind him and slide to the floor, his eyes wide with shock, his bullet wound spurting blood.

You don’t shoot your co-kidnappers.

And that’s the moment I realize the man I thought was part of my kidnapping - maybe even the mastermind of it - isn’t a part of it at all.

Rome Montague is a hostage, same as me. I didn’t understand at first, because he was unbloodied and untouched and I was — well, very bloodied, very touched — and he was just so fucking arrogant when I woke up.

He gave you his clothes, and you were a bitch to him. Guilt crashes into me like waves crashing into rocks, hard and fast and unrelenting.

He literally gave you everything he had on him, save for his underwear, and you thought he was your enemy.

Well, he’s still my enemy, but in this room, in this hell, he might be the only ally I have.

My ally who is bleeding to death before my eyes.

We’re alone now. After our captor finished with me, he left, the heavy steel door leading into the room closing with a resounding thunk.

The room is almost dark again, save for the tiny kid’s nightlight in the shape of a puffy blue cloud that sits in the corner. It casts an eerie glow across the room, making Rome look like some kind of tattooed vampire. A tattooed vampire covered in blood. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much blood in my life. His and mine, all mixed together in here, wherever here is.

With difficulty, I crawl down from the table to the floor, fresh blood slick between my thighs as I try to ignore the sharp throb in my belly. I tug Rome’s shirt back over myself, the edge grazing the tops of my thighs. I forget the jeans. By the time I find them and put them back on, Rome might be dead.

If he isn’t already.

“Rome?” I whisper, crawling to him. He’s slumped on the mattress now, his eyes closed. “Fuck,” I whisper. Tears bite at my eyes, and I’m too tired to stop them from falling. I pull Rome onto my lap, using my hands to apply pressure over his wound. “Rome!?”

He doesn’t rouse. He’s still breathing, though, and that spurs me. Instinctively, I know I have to find something to stem the bleeding. If I have bandages on, then there must be some, somewhere. I look around the room, and that’s when I notice the cameras for the first time.

“Oh, God,” I choke. I want to know who’s watching us. I want to kill them. But first, I want to get their attention.

“Hey!” I scream, looking up at the cameras in my sight. “Hey, asshole! He needs a doctor or he’s going to die!”

I look back down at Rome, my hair falling over his face like a veil. His eyes are open, now, bloodshot and blue, and he’s trying to sit up.

“Oh my God, you’re awake.” Without thinking, I lean down and kiss him on the lips. It’s nothing, really, barely a brush of my lips across his, but some of the color returns to his cheeks. His eyes widen when I do that. I swallow back panicked sobs, nervous laughter bubbling through. “Don’t move. You’ve been shot.”

One side of his mouth quirks up, with difficulty. “No shit.”

I ignore his sarcasm. If he’s still able to mouth off, he’s not that close to death. At least, I hope.

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