Forty-Three #3
“All right.” I nod, drawing in a shuddering breath, pressing my face to his palm. “All right, we can do this.”
“I’ll be fine, Little Stray,” he says softly. “I’m not going to abandon you again.”
“Okay… okay…” He won’t abandon me. He never breaks his word.
With my help and the wall, he staggers to his feet, grimacing with the effort.
I slip beneath his arm, pressing up close, sliding an arm around his waist. “Can I touch you here?”
He chuckles through his pain. “You can touch me anywhere.”
“Damn it, Lukas…” He’s bleeding from three gunshot wounds, for God’s sake. I have the insane urge to shake him, make him take this seriously.
“This feels nice. I hope the nurses have silk robes too.”
That’s not remotely funny, but it’s just so… him. “Please don’t die,” I say through my tears.
“No chance,” he mutters as we stagger down the hallway. “It’s taken me too long to find you.”
We reach the stairs and he leans heavily on the banister, favoring his good leg. I don’t know how he’s even moving, but I do what I can to help.
The floor below is littered with bodies. The walls are riddled with shrapnel. The windows have blown outward, the glass and debris minimal on the floor, thank God, because we’re both barefoot.
“Keys?” I ask as we reach the bottom, but I see them in the same moment. A panel in the wall, now hanging half off. A secret compartment. No wonder I couldn’t find them when I wanted to escape.
“Grab the one with the Ms on it. The Maybach is bulletproof.”
“Are we not done?” I ask, hearing the desperate tone in my voice.
“Don’t know. Hope so.”
Even now, he doesn’t lie to me. I grab the keys. “Where the hell are the perimeter guards?”
He grimaces. “Dead.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if they weren’t, we’d have heard gunfire.”
I bite my lip. “I can’t get you to the garage,” I say quietly. “I’ll go myself.”
“No. It’s not safe—”
“Lukas, if there’s more of them, we’re fucked. You can’t fight, and I’m not in this league.” And I’ve just killed a man. But processing that will have to wait. “If this is over, then we need to get you to a hospital as fast as possible. Otherwise, you’re fucked.”
“Little Stray—”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me,” I snap, sliding from beneath his arm and leaning him against the hallway table. “Sit your ass there and don’t bleed out.” I back up. “If you want to stop me, you’ll have to pin me down.”
I turn and run, the front door open, my gun held ready. But outside it’s quiet, the night cool. I sprint for the garage, hitting the key fob as I approach, and the center door opens. I’m faced with the Maybach, and it’s not a small car.
I’ve never driven anything beyond a rental Camry, and not for years. But I push my doubts away, climbing in.
The leather is cool through my robe, and I’m smearing his blood everywhere.
But it starts at a push of a button. I don’t bother to adjust the mirrors, but shove it into drive and hit the gas.
It bounds forward, far faster than I was expecting, and I spin the wheel.
There’s a crunch as the rear catches the garage door, but ten seconds later I pull up outside the house.
Lukas has reached the top of the steps. I rush up to help him.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as he leans heavily on me.
“I’ve never driven a car like this before,” I tell him, voice wavering.
He stops with one hand on the car, the other on my hip, and pulls me against him.
His lips find mine, the kiss soft and slow, when everything else tonight has been anything but.
I kiss him back even though we don’t have the time, losing myself in his touch, the blood and the fear and the night falling away entirely.
“I love you, Little Stray. You’ll be wonderful. And I really don’t care if you scratch it.”
“Okay,” I say, breathless, tears in my eyes, only able to nod.
He loves me, he really does. He risked his life for me, and now I’m going to save his.
Bizarrely, it’s anger that I feel, running hot through me and giving me the strength I need.
“Don’t you die, you bastard. Not after a kiss like that. Not after those…” Three little words.
It’s not the first time he’s said them, but it is the first time I’ve let them in.
He grins, more grimace than dimples. “Yes, ma’am.”
I help him into the back seat, and he falls across it, his blood leaving smears on the cream leather. Under the lights of the car, he looks so much worse.
My hand covers my mouth. “Jesus, Lukas.”
“Get in, please.” His voice is strained, but he clears his throat, speaking as strongly as he can. “Call… Bastien.”
“I don’t have my phone!”
But a ringing tone fills the car, and I close Lukas’s door then jump behind the wheel.
“Do you know what time it is?” Bastien’s cultured tones fill the interior.
“Lukas has been shot!” I shout. “We’re at his house, in his car! Where do I go? What do I do?”
His voice sharpens. “Out of the gates, turn left. A field two miles down the road. Wait there. I’m sending a helicopter.”
“Okay… okay…” My hands are steady on the wheel. I don’t know how, but they are.
I can do this. I have to do this.
All that matters is saving my husband.