56. Camilla
The ringing in my ears is so intense I can barely pry my eyes open, but it’s the pain in the back of my head that gives me no other choice.
Something happened. I know it did. But I can’t quite grasp onto the memory.
We were ambushed at the shipping yard and barely escaped to the safe house. What happened after that?
I rack my brain and come up empty for long moments, and then the memory of Crew’s body pinning mine to the door flashes through my mind and leaves me breathless, and then it all comes streaming back.
Elias and Leighton.
Resting on the couch.
The sound I heard.
The explosion.
I pry my eyes open and find Crew leaning out the doorway, his gun poised toward the bedroom door.
My eyes fall closed, and on my next blink, I realize we’re inside the closet.
Gunfire fills the small space, and I shove myself up onto my elbows, trying to assess how badly I’m hurt. My body is a little achy, and my arm is killing me, but it seems my head took the brunt of it.
Crew pops off a couple of shots, and the sound makes me wince, but I can’t allow myself to rest right now. There will be time for that, but it’s not right now.
I need a gun.
I shove myself up as carefully as I can, making sure to keep my head as steady as possible. I don’t think I have a spinal cord injury, but with the amount my body has been through today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was masking the pain until the fresh adrenaline wears off.
But before I can think to move or think about where they would have a firearm stashed, I hear Crew’s grunt of pain, and my eyes flash up to him.
He gets off a return shot just before his body falls to the ground, and I can’t swallow the scream that tears from my throat. Panic rages through my body as I launch myself forward, throwing my body on top of his and prying the gun from his hand.
“No!” I shout, pressing my palm into the middle of his chest to try to stop the bleeding, but dark crimson immediately pools over my hand.
Fuck.
This is bad.
Really fucking bad.
“Hold on, Crew,” I whisper as I grasp the only item of clothing I can reach, a T-shirt, and place it where my hand was, applying pressure. I need to get him out of here, but I have no fucking idea how many more men there are.
Footsteps in the hallway drag my attention away from Crew, and I keep one hand pressed on the T-shirt while the other lifts the gun toward the doorway.
I take a deep breath to steady my body, forcing it to calm down despite the emotions raging through me, and when a masked man steps into the doorway, I don’t hesitate to shoot him twice in the chest.
I need to get us out of here, and the only way I’m going to be able to do that is if I keep my composure. I can fall apart when I know we’re both safe. But not before.
I’m poised with the gun still on the door when three sets of footsteps close in, and I hold my breath. I’m outnumbered, and despite how much time I’ve spent at the shooting range over the years, I’ve never been in a real gunfight. I’m quick and I’m accurate, but when it’s the difference between life and death, will it be enough?
But it’s not a masked man who steps into the room.
It’s Bishop, and the sight of him has my entire body crumpling over Crew’s, but I can’t let go of the gun. What if I need it? What if I have to protect us? What if there are more of them still coming?
“We have to help him,” I sob, and it’s only now I realize there are tears falling against my cheeks. The idea of losing Crew, of losing any of them, makes my stomach churn uncomfortably and my heart ache in a way it never has before, and I realize just how fucking in love I am with them.
I allowed myself to fall for them, and now I have something to lose.
I have everything to lose.
Bishop drops down beside me and pries the gun from my hand. His touch is gentle but firm as he places it down beside us. “It’s okay, love. You did so good.” His words are calm and encouraging, but his entire body is rigid as he stares down at Crew.
“I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Camilla. He’s going to be okay, but we have to get him out of here, okay?”
I nod, and I allow him to help me move to the side, but I never let up on the pressure on his chest.
“We need to go to a hospital. Rogers won’t deal with this,” Kovu says as he moves around to the other side of Crew. He’s in business mode, and as I fall apart and Bishop barely holds on by a thread, I’m grateful at least one of us has our heads about us.
I chance a glance at Kaos, and the haunted look on his face threatens to break me all over again. Whatever he’s seeing, it’s not what’s happening here, and we need to get him back in the zone, even if I have no fucking clue how to do that.
Bishop nods and releases a shaky breath. “Kovu, you okay to carry him?”
He nods and makes quick work of shoving one hand beneath Crew’s shoulders and the other beneath his knees. “I need you to let go, Little Lamb. You’ve done such a good job, but we have to get him in the car.”
I swallow as my eyes drop to Crew’s unmoving body and the blood that’s already soaked through the shirt. He’s right, but if I let go, he could bleed out. He’s already hurt because of me. What if he dies? What if someone else I love dies because of me?
Bishop wraps his arms around me and carefully pulls me back just enough that Kovu can lift Crew into his arms, and then he swings me up into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. “Kaos,” he barks. “I need you to get your shit together, brother.”
The huge man seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and when his eyes meet mine, he jumps into action. He leads the way out the back and into an alley where his SUV is waiting.
Kovu lays Crew across the backseat, and I quickly clamber out of Bishop’s arms to climb in after him, my hands falling to the shirt to hold pressure on the wound again, all the while telling myself it’s going to be okay. It has to be. He has to be.
It’s only a few seconds before Kovu and Kaos take the front seats while Bishop takes the back, his phone pressed to his ear as he barks orders at someone. But I can’t hear his words. All I can focus on is Crew’s ashy face and how cold he’s getting with each second that passes.
I swallow heavily and rest my forehead against his, breathing in his cinnamon scent now tainted by blood. “Please hold on for me, Crew. Please don’t leave me.”
The words are followed by hopeless tears that I don’t bother wiping away.
What would be the point when they would only be replaced by more?