33. Sam
T he crack of gunfire shatters the evening calm. I duck behind my Aston Martin, the cool metal against my back a stark contrast to the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Another shot rings out, pinging off the car's hood.
When my security alerted me that Matthew and some thugs he's collected were pulling up to my house, I knew I needed the distraction, so I had them let him in.
I went outside, expecting a fight when I found Matthew. But imagine my surprise when the asshole actually grew some balls and pulled a gun on me. I, of course, already had one on me, and I was more than ready for something to take my mind off what was going on with Kim.
Besides, Matthew is an idiot. He's outraged at me for destroying his image and wants revenge. But he's sloppy, angry, and has no clue what he's up against.
I'm just a cat playing with a mouse right now.
"Come out and face me, you coward!" Matthew's voice carries across the driveway.
I can't help but chuckle. This little pissant thinks he can take me on? In my own home? The audacity is almost admirable.
"What's wrong, Matthew? Upset I ruined your side hustle?" I taunt, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
A bullet whizzes past, too close for comfort. I hear footsteps approaching from the left. One of Matthew's goons, no doubt. Amateur hour.
I wait, timing it just right. As soon as I see a shadow, I spring into action. My fist connects with his jaw, a satisfying crunch echoing in the night air. He drops like a sack of potatoes.
"That the best you got?" I call out, grabbing the fallen man's gun.
Matthew's response is another volley of shots. Glass shatters somewhere to my right. Great. Now I'll have to replace those windows.
I spot movement near the hedges. Another of Matthew's men trying to flank me. Not today, buddy. I take aim and fire. He goes down with a yelp.
"Two down, Matthew. How many more you got?" I taunt, unable to keep the grin off my face.
This is almost fun. The thrill of the fight, the knowledge that I'm in control. It's intoxicating.
"I'm going to end you, Warwick!" Matthew screams, his voice cracking with rage.
I laugh, loud and mocking. "You couldn't even pass me the puck on the ice. Couldn't stop me from beating the shit out of you. What makes you think you can take me now?"
My security team is also nearby, taking out Matthew's remaining goons with practiced efficiency. Gunshots echo through the night, but I barely register them. My focus narrows to one thing: Matthew.
"He's mine," I growl, signaling my men to back off.
I spring up from behind my Aston, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Matthew's eyes widen as I advance, his gun wavering.
"Not so tough now, are you?" I taunt, my lips curling into a sneer. "Thought you could come to my house and play gangster? Amateur hour, Matthew. You couldn't even frame me properly."
Matthew's face contorts with rage. "Fuck you, Warwick! You ruined everything!"
I laugh, the sound cold and mocking. "You ruined yourself, you pathetic piece of-"
Something changes in Matthew's expression. His eyes dart to the side, focusing on something behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I whirl around, my heart stopping as I see Kim standing there, framed by the light of my mansion. She's wearing her dress, her hair still wild around her face. She looks beautiful, ethereal... and completely vulnerable.
Time slows to a crawl. I see Matthew's grin in my peripheral vision, see his arm lifting, the gun barrel swinging towards Kim.
"No!" The word tears from my throat as I lunge forward.
My body moves on pure instinct. I reach Kim just as the deafening crack of gunfire splits the air. I wrap my arms around her, shielding her with my body as we tumble to the ground.
Pain explodes through my shoulder, hot and sharp. The bullet tears into me, a searing agony that threatens to overwhelm my senses. But all I can think about is Kim.
"Are you okay?" I gasp, my voice rough with pain and fear. "Kim, talk to me."
Her eyes are wide with shock, her hands trembling as they press against my chest. "Sam... oh God, Sam, you're bleeding!"
I grit my teeth against the pain, forcing a smirk. "It's nothing, little dancer. Just a scratch."
The world spins as Kim drags me slowly behind a nearby bush. Pain lances through my shoulder with each movement, but I grit my teeth, refusing to show weakness.
"Sam, we need to get you inside," Kim urges, her voice tight with worry.
I shake my head, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. "Not yet. Matthew's still out there."
As if on cue, more gunshots ring out. Kim flinches, but I pull her closer, shielding her with my body despite the agony it causes.
"Stay down," I growl, scanning the area.
Through the chaos, I spot my security team advancing on Matthew's position. The tables have turned, and now it's Matthew who's cornered.
"Give it up, Harley!" I shout, my voice carrying across the driveway. "You're done!"
Matthew's response is a string of curses, followed by more gunfire. But it's clear he's panicking now, his shots going wild.
"Sam, you're bleeding too much," Kim whispers, her hands pressing against my wound.
I look down at her, struck by the determination in her eyes. Even now, she's fierce, beautiful. "I'm fine. Just a scratch, remember?"
She shakes her head, lips pursed. "Don't lie to me, Sam. Not now."
Before I can respond, a commotion draws our attention. My security team has Matthew surrounded, their weapons trained on him.
"Drop the gun, Harley!" one of my men orders.
For a moment, it seems like Matthew might try something stupid. But then his shoulders slump, and the gun clatters to the ground.
"On your knees!" another guard barks.
Matthew complies, his face a mask of defeat and fury. As my team moves in to restrain him, our eyes lock across the driveway.
"This isn't over, Warwick," he spits.
I can't help but laugh, even though it sends fresh waves of pain through my shoulder. "Oh, I think it is, Matthew. Enjoy prison."
As if on cue, the wail of sirens cuts through the night, growing louder as they approach. I try to push up off the ground, but Kim presses me back as she pushes the fabric of her dress against my shoulder, stemming the flow of blood. The pain is a constant, throbbing presence, but I force myself to focus on her face.
"What were you thinking coming out here?" I manage, my voice rough.
Kim's eyes are wide, filled with worry. "I had to make sure you were okay." Then, under her breath, she adds, "Good thing I came, too."
I can't help but chuckle, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of pain through me. I don't point out that I took the bullet for her. I just try to sit up again, and she glares at me. "Just a flesh wound. I've had worse in hockey."
She shakes her head, a mix of exasperation and concern on her face. "This isn't the time for jokes."
The screech of tires announces the arrival of the first responders. Suddenly, we're surrounded by a flurry of activity. Paramedics swarm around us, their voices a cacophony of medical jargon.
"Sir, can you hear me?" One of them asks, shining a light in my eyes.
I bat it away, annoyed. "I'm fine. It's just my shoulder."
They ignore my protests, efficiently cutting away my shirt to assess the wound. I hiss as they prod at it, the pain sharp and immediate.
"Looks like it might've hit something," one of them mutters. "We need to get him to the hospital."
As they prepare to move me onto a stretcher, I grab Kim's hand. "You're coming with me, right?"
She nods, her grip tightening on mine. "Of course. I'm not leaving you."
The ride to the hospital is a blur of motion and noise. The ambulance sways and jerks, each movement sending fresh spikes of pain through my shoulder. Kim sits beside me, her hand still in mine, her presence a calming anchor in the chaos.
"You didn't have to take a bullet for me, you know," she says softly.
I turn my head to look at her, managing a smirk despite the pain. "'Course I did. You're mine to protect, little dancer."
Her eyes soften, a mix of emotions I can't quite decipher flitting across her face. Before she can respond, we're pulling up to the hospital, and it's another whirlwind of activity as they rush me inside.
The emergency room is a cacophony of beeping machines and urgent voices. Doctors and nurses swarm around me, asking questions, checking vitals, prepping for surgery.
Through it all, Kim stays by my side, her presence a constant comfort. As they prepare to wheel me into surgery, I tug her close.
"Don't go anywhere, okay?" I murmur, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. "I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."
As they wheel me away, the last thing I see is Kim's face, worry etched in every line, but determination shining in her eyes. And despite the pain, despite the chaos, I can't help but feel like the luckiest man alive.