Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lucian
The moment I realized what was happening, I lunged for the gunman. There was so little time, the best I could do to protect Erin and Gregory was to throw myself at him, hoping to grab the gun, or at least, change the aim.
I failed. Erin was hit. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.
The wound isn’t deep. We’re fortunate. I was able to deflect the shot enough so that the bullet aimed at her chest only grazed her side.
The doctor called it an ‘elliptical furrow’ and said the primary risk is infection.
So of course, I have done everything I can, including making Gregory wash his hands every time he enters a room, and gone to war with every invisible bacterium and constant cleaning.
The skin on my hands is raw from bleach.
There’s a basket of candy on the nightstand beside her, all her favorites, courtesy of Gregory. I sit in the corner chair, my usual spot lately, watching her as she sleeps.
She stirs.
“Lucian?” Her voice is small, hoarse. Vulnerable in a way she rarely lets me see.
Must be the drugs. I should give her pain meds more often. Turns my little tiger into a kitten.
I cross the floor and crouch beside her. My fingers push damp curls from her cheek. “You’re safe,” I say softly. “I’m not leaving.”
She moves to sit up on her side. Wincing as she does.
“Stop!” I say, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “Lay back down.”
“Lucian. It was just a graze. I’m eventually going to have to leave this cottage.”
“I’d pin you to the bed if I could.”
“You try.” She smiles. “But I have to get up. By myself. Right now.”
“Why? I can carry you anywhere you need to go,” I offer.
“You know I have to pee sometimes, right? And you taking me to the loo is one thing I’d like to avoid if I can.”
“Fine.” I stand, crossing my arms over my chest to keep myself from scooping her up into my arms.
She groans as she sits up, and I want to push her back down. She smiles when she sees the candy. “Gregory! He’s too sweet. But you have to tell him he doesn’t have to. I don’t want him going out of his way.”
“You never want to put anyone out, do you? That’s how we ended up here in the first place.” I reach out a hand to her, helping her up. “Easy,” I say, nice and slow.”
Clinging to my arm, she tries to hide the pain in her face as she stands. “You know my heart was in the right place.”
“Is there anyone you wouldn’t die for, Erin?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Not if they are important to me.”
“You’re more like us Bachmans than you know.”
“Speaking of,”—her eyes snap up, demanding—“did we get Rory?”
I brush a finger over her cheek. “Not this time, babygirl.”
My chest clenches, the memory of that moment, her leaving my side, throwing herself in front of my brother; there was no thought of Rory after that.
Only her.
I walk her to the bathroom, hovering by the door, watching her brush her teeth.
My throat goes tight. “I was trying not to get you into these mafia messes in the first place.”
“Too late,” she says. “I guess if you’re meant for the mafia, it finds you. Takes hold and doesn’t let go.” She smiles up at me. “Kind of like you with me.”
“Damn right. I won’t ever let you go.”
I imagine her in a white dress, dripping in diamonds, a gold crown on her head. Is it possible? Could she be one of us?
Marry me, take our last name?
Erin Bachman.
It has a nice ring to it.
“Speaking of being meant for the mafia.” She looks up at me through her lashes, flashing that sweet smile she knows I can’t say no to. “There’s one more thing.”
“You’ve just been shot. What more do you need to accomplish?”
“Grazed,” she corrects. “Only lightly grazed thanks to your quick thinking.”
She gives me that look. The one that says she’s not backing down.
I hold in an exasperated sigh. “What is it?”
“Gretchen.”
“The last girl to disappear?”
She nods. “Mary risked everything to help me trap Caleb that night. I want to find Gretchen for her. If I can.”
Fuck me.
“Gregory is doing everything he can to help. He’s working with the King’s. They’ll track her down, I know it.”
Here she is, recovering from taking a bullet to save my brother. And now she wants to risk it all for a girl she’s never even met?
I leave the room without a word so that I won’t yell at my girl, or worse, turn my gunshot victim over and spank her ass for even suggesting such a thing.
I go to the kitchen where Gregory is poring over a stack of old school paper maps.
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “For getting Erin even more caught up in this.”
Fully enthralled with his project, he barely looks up. “Did she like the candy?”
“Yeah. Loved it, the little maniac.” I pause. “But she doesn’t want you thinking you owe her anything.”
“She took a bullet for me. I’d say I owe her.”
I wince at his words.
Is it completely fucking impossible to keep the ones you love safe?
“What a fucking week,” I grumble. I slam the cabinet door too hard, stomping to the stove with her mug.
I step outside, make a few calls, and wait for the kettle to boil.
When I return with her cup of tea—two sugars, one milk—she’s in the bathroom getting ready for her day. She’s wearing a soft, cozy outfit I bought her for recovery: a cream-colored, cropped sweatshirt with loose, wide-legged matching bottoms.
I hold the tea out for her.
“Thank you,” she says, quietly. “Can you put it on the counter for me?”
“Sure.”
I set the mug down—her favorite, the blue pottery one with the little yellow flowers.
I watch her while she brushes her hair in the mirror, one-handed, her other arm folded over her bandaged wound. Her mouth is pulled tight, her jaw tense, not from pain.
She’s planning. Already halfway out that door, running on her own to get what she wants.
“I made calls,” I say without preamble.
She freezes, the hair elastic looped in her one hand.
I take the brush from the counter. “Let me.”
She eyes me. “You know how to do hair?”
“Babygirl, I can tie your wrists to the bed with one hand. I think I can manage a ponytail.” I hold out my hand for the elastic hairband.
She relents, watching me in the mirror as I work. Softly, I stroke her hair up and back until I’m holding it in one hand. God, wouldn’t I love to get behind her on her hands and knees and give this a good tug.
But I won’t touch her until she’s fully healed.
I finish the high ponytail I’ve seen her wear before.
She admires it in the mirror, “Thanks! That’s really good.”
I pick up the tea and hand it to her. A peace offering. This time, she accepts.
I stand there, ass leaning against the edge of the sink, arms crossed over my chest, staring at her in her beauty and strength as she wraps her hands around the mug.
“Tell me more. About the calls.”
“I got in contact with someone who can help.”
The tail of that pony swishes as she cocks her head to the side to study me. “Who?”
“Freya.”
“A woman?”
“Yes. The female head of the Bayne clan. And apparently, an outstanding lawyer.”
“I like that. A mafia queen.” She flashes a smile at me. “Think I’d make a good mafia queen?”
I lean in, lips close enough to brush hers. Her warm breath smells softly of tea. “You’d have to marry a mafia king, first.”
She steps back, tension rising in the air. “Not necessarily.”
“Bayne’s right-hand man is Callum. Freya is his sister. They grew up on the island. Callum’s in Glasgow now, and Freya and her husband, Frederick, are close by. Her men will have eyes on Gretchen in under twelve hours.”
Her gaze sharpens. “And what does she want in return?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s not.”
She glares. “Are we partners in crime, or not?”
I clear my throat. “I said you don’t do it alone.”
Her shoulders fall. She turns, suddenly small in the oversized shirt.
My hand brushes her cheek. “I love you.” She doesn’t pull away.
And she says it back. “I love you, too.”
“Love me enough to run away with me?”
She gives me a look. “By running away, you mean to a predetermined yet to be disclosed secret spot to rebuild the Bachman empire?”
“Maybe.”
“I have to think about it. You know that. Now, when are you going to get us back to New York? I can’t take any more of these demanding texts from Cass. I have to give her a date to get her off my back.”
“As soon as you’re healed.”
“I’m as good as healed.” She takes a breath, “But I’m not leaving till Gretchen is found.”
“Why are you so stubborn?”
“You love it. And you love me.”
“And do you love me?” I ask.
“You know I do.”
“Say it again. Let me hear it.”
“I love you, Lucian.”
And my mouth is on hers.