Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Dark
Grittin’ my teeth, I rip my belt off, wrap it around my bicep, and pull the goddamn thing tight enough to stanch the geyser shooting out of my arm.
I’m over this entire year.
Over.
It.
Posting up in front of me, acting as my human shield, Pops eyes me over his shoulder, brow arched. “You about done?”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off.”
He smirks, looking at my crappy tourniquet job. “You’ll live.”
Yeah. I’ll live. But I’m out of ammo, holed up in some kinda office, waiting for backup. They’re taking their sweet ass time. Sure, we got past the security stops. Pops’ van is toast, and we’re covered in blood—some of mine, but mostly a whole bunch of dead fucks.
Someone had the bright idea to drive his van through the resort’s front glass doors, right into a giant water fountain in the center of the lobby, and that’s when all hell broke loose.
All three of us started shooting. Somehow, Angel ended up separated from us, and Pops saved me from dying by dragging me here.
Running a hand through his hair, Pops sighs, pulls his phone from his pocket, and makes a call.
“Where the fuck are you?” he barks with the speakerphone on.
“We just—” The call ends, and the walls shake as something explodes. Two panels in the ceiling fall, raining dust everywhere.
Knowing what’s good for us, we drop to the ground just as another explosion goes off.
“Fuck,” Pops growls, then coughs roughly as he covers his mouth so he doesn’t inhale whatever fiberglass, asbestos shit they’ve used to build this resort. “Gas main?” he rasps.
It’s either that, or, given the yelling outside, it’s from a certain brother with PTSD, too much military experience, and a love of explosives.
“You let Monster come,” I accuse, shoving Dad in the shoulder just as our door explodes inward and wood shrapnel decides it’s game on, motherfucker. I dive on top of my father to cover him, turning him into a pancake. ‘Cause if one of us is gonna die, it’s gonna be me.
And I do.
Pain sears through every nerve ending…
And I scream.
At least, I think I do.
Blackness clouds my vision for a blip.
Then I blink, and I’m somehow on my back.
Overhead lights blind me as I blink again to get the damn grit out of my eyes. My ears ring. Dad’s blood-speckled face hovers over me, blotting out the worst of the brightness, giving me a chance to focus on him.
His lips move.
But I don’t understand.
He jerks my shoulders, and I gasp for air.
It hurts.
Everything hurts.
Fuck.
The familiar tang of blood fills my mouth.
I try to spit it out, but it just keeps coming.
When I try to breathe again, liquid rushes in.
Filling me.
In.
In.
No air.
Fingers brush my cheek, and those same eyes I was born with bore into me, etched with fear. I try to move, to hold on, to say or do something, but the world fades, and a calming warmth pulls me under, into the bosom of sleep—where a woman with mismatched eyes tethers her soul to mine.
Forever.