Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
DAMIAN
Neve crashes beside us, a ragged sob ripping through her chest as she throws her arms around Lo. I sit back on my ass, barely able to sit upright, blood wet and heavy in my shirt. My breath wheezes, my body throbbing with pain and something close to relief.
I glance across the ruined stage, and my eyes land on Bridger.
He looks stunned. Shell-shocked. His eyes are locked on Clay’s body, like he can’t believe the bastard is actually dead.
Cody’s got his arm around him, half-holding him up.
There’s blood everywhere. On Bridger’s shirt.
On Cody’s hands. On me. And yet—Cody’s smiling. Actually fucking smiling.
“You guys good?” I croak, every word scraping my throat raw. My chest is on fire, and I know there’s a bullet in me, somewhere above my heart, but right now I don’t care. I just need to hear them say they’re alive.
Bridger blinks like he’s just been asked if he wants cream in his coffee. “Dad shot me,” he says, stunned.
Cody lets out a dry, deranged laugh. “He shot me too.”
And I don’t know why—maybe it’s the blood loss or the relief or the fact that Clay’s lying dead beside me, his blood soaking into my jeans—but I laugh.
A short, broken, breathless thing that turns into something real.
The sound of it spills out, catches Lo, catches Neve, catches them all.
Lo’s still clinging to me, tears drying on her cheeks, red welts around her throat.
It kills me to see them, but when she laughs too, I can’t stop.
Bridger coughs out a breath. “This,” he says, waving a hand at all of us, “is called a trauma-induced inappropriate affect. It’s a common psychological response to—”
“Shut up, Bridger,” Cody and I say in unison.
We’re still laughing when Lo leans in, kisses my temple, and whispers, “You’re really okay?”
I hold her tighter, but the pain behind my ribs is sharp. Deep. “Are you, Angel?” I ask, and glance over at the mess that used to be Vick’s head.
Lo’s voice is soft, almost lost in the mess of everything. “He stepped in front of me,” she says, her hand still clinging to my arm. “Took the swing for me. Pushed me out of the way.”
I glance at Vick’s eviscerated face. I nod once. “Well… then he finally acted like a father.”
Her breath hitches and I feel her fold against me again, her face buried in my neck, her fingers twisting in what’s left of my shirt. I just hold her tight.
“What do we do now?” Cody asks, voice cracking through the quiet. He sounds too calm. Which means he’s probably not okay.
Bridger groans like he’s been reminded he has a body. “I’m fucking shot.”
I let out another broken laugh, my arm around Lo tightening. “Yeah. I think we need medical help.”
Lo lifts her head just enough to look at me.
Her face is stained with blood and streaked with tears.
Her lip trembles—but her eyes are dry. Steady.
“I don’t know any veterinarians here,” she says with a faint smirk.
“Last time you needed medical help, we ended up in a vet’s office.
” She lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, then presses her forehead to mine.
“Oh, God. You’re really bleeding a lot,” she whispers.
“I’ve bled worse.”
Her eyes flash. “That’s not comforting.”
Somewhere behind us, I hear Neve shuffling around, probably checking on Bridger. Cody’s crouched now, breathing heavy but upright.
I don’t even know how I make it to my feet.
Everything hurts. My shoulder’s soaked with blood, and my head’s buzzing like a hive cracked open.
But I wrap my arm around Lo and push up, dragging us both off the stage.
She’s trembling, but she moves with me—limping, bruised, strong as hell.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I rasp.
The others follow.
Neve’s got her arm under Bridger’s, helping him walk. His shirt is half-off and dark with blood, his face pale. But his eyes are alert. Cody’s behind them, limping, his face split in a grin like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole damn life.
We make it to the double doors, busted and crooked from where I tore one off the hinges. Outside, the light slaps us like a resurrection.
Lo gasps beside me.
The air smells like wet grass and gasoline. The heat clings to our skin. Cody leans against the side of the car, dragging in gulps of it like he’s never breathed before.
Neve opens the Jeep’s passenger-side door and eases Bridger in first. Lo helps me into my SUV. I exhale and lean back into the hot leather seat.
The door slams and Lo runs around the front and slides in the driver’s seat next to me. Cody climbs in back as she reaches for my hand. Her fingers are sticky with blood. Mine too. But they fit so perfect together.
“I’m high on adrenaline and spite,” Cody says from behind me. The engine rumbles to life. Gravel kicks up behind us. “Think we’re still making our flight?”
I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them back up Lo’s driving, but her knuckles are white against the wheel.
I’m half-slumped in the passenger seat, the seat belt digging into my chest where the blood hasn’t stopped leaking.
Cody’s voice is behind me—he’s saying something, but it’s underwater now. Everything is.
Neve’s behind us in Bridger’s Jeep, following tight. I see it in the side mirror as we tear into the hospital parking lot. Then the hospital doors open. Hands are everywhere. People shouting. I’m on a gurney. Cold air slaps my skin as they lift me.
“He’s losing too much blood. Get a line in, now!”
I hear Lo’s voice. Frantic. Cracking. “Don’t let him die—please, don’t let him die!”
Is she talking about me? Bridger? Cody? I can’t tell. I don’t know who’s bleeding. Could be any of us. Could be all of us.
I try to lift my head and find her. Just one more time. She’s running beside the gurney. Her face is streaked with tears, she’s a fucking mess, and still she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
The overhead lights blur into white lines as they roll me faster, shouting orders, pricking things into my veins.
I sink deeper, my body giving out, my mind stretching thin like it's slipping beneath water. But before the dark closes in completely, I try to reach out my hand and grab for Lo. Now the lights streak above me like comets. My body’s a war zone. But my mind—my mind is peeling away.
Then I feel her hand—warm, shaking—slip into mine.
And suddenly the world narrows. I’m not in a hospital anymore.
I’m in that bar. The first night. Watching her pour red wine into six glasses and load them on a tray.
As she lifts the tray some drunk asshole knocks into her and the wine flies at me.
She gasps, grabs a towel, starts dabbing at my jeans—mortified.
I laugh. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she gasps, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Her voice is raspy, sexy. I had wanted to hear it since the moment I saw her walk in.
"Don't I deserve dinner before you feel me up?"
Time speeds up. She’s leaning over the bar, “Make no mistake,” she says, smiling. “I can go from funny to filthy in the smack of an ass.”
The memory shifts. Her in my hotel room, skin glowing under lamplight, eyes soft but fierce. Her jeans sliding from her hips, slow and sure. Her breasts—perfect, high, the nipples peaked from the cool air, or maybe from my stare.
The long, smooth expanse of her stomach rising with every breath like she was bracing for me. And those electric blue eyes—lit with something wild. She looked at me like I wasn’t broken, and me thinking—that’s it. That’s the moment when the monster inside me went quiet.
In the bakery with Joel that first night. The fluorescent lights above buzzing to life. I whip around, crowbar raised, muscles snapping tight.
And her voice, "What the fuck?"
She stands barefoot in the doorway, wearing nothing but a scrap of black panties and a tiny cropped tank top that clings to the curves of her bare stomach, her thighs gleaming under the harsh light.
Her hair is messy from sleep, her mouth parted, her eyes wide and burning.
All I want—all I can think about—is hauling her against the nearest wall, yanking those panties aside, and sinking into her again, filling her until she is gasping my name. I want her to know my name.
Then months later, her in a short skirt bent over her desk, waiting for me, the sweet, soft taste of her cunt. The way she moans my name when she comes, like I’m a god.
I see her laughing in my hoodie, feet on my dashboard, her hair whipping wildly from the open window. Sleeping with her hand curled under her chin.
Looking up at me with fire in her eyes, saying, “I love you.”
And then—her now. Covered in blood. Crying. Fighting like hell to keep me alive.
God, she’s always been fighting for me. Even when I wasn’t worth it. Even now. The light pulses above me. My grip slips from hers, but the last thing I see is her face.
There are hands all over me. Lo blurs and I can’t feel my chest anymore. And I remember the vow I made to her. To burn the fucking world down for her. To kill for her. Bleed for her. Die for her. And if I claw my way back from this—Then the next vow I make won’t be made in blood.
It’ll be in front of her. On my knees. Ring in my hand.