Chapter 18 #3
“The only bad choice my son ever made was your daughter.” Each of the man’s words dripped with venom. “But this is better,” he said, his face lighting up with a savage smile as he swung his gun back on Duncan. “Now she can watch you die.”
“Don’t,” Haven screamed, pulling his attention her way, just as Solace’s gut-wrenching, “No,” sounded. In that split-second, a shot rang out, immediately followed by another. Before Duncan could move or brace for the hit, familiar arms wrapped around him, tackling him.
Solace brought him down, her anguished, “Ahhh…” blending with the distinct and familiar, sickening, wet thud of a bullet hitting flesh. Her arms that had held him tight went lax before they hit the floor, while warmth spread over his abdomen.
Through the pounding in his ears, a woman’s wailed, “Daddy, no,” sounded from somewhere while muffled, stampeding feet heading his way pounded on the carpet.
“Solace,” he roared, rolling her limp body beneath his, then lifted himself slightly to stare down at her closed eyes in a too-pale face. “Angel?” His gaze traced over her body to where blood soaked the midsection of her black dress.
“No, no, no,” he nearly sobbed, sitting back, before ripping open the fabric around the bullet hole. Blood pulsed from the obscene, ragged wound just below her breast. Beneath her, a pool of blood formed. “Oh, god.”
Sirens blared in the distance, while he carefully turned her body to look at her back. The entrance was clean, but there was no telling what damage might have been done on its way out of her body.
Garrett, Declan, and Cal went to their knees beside him.
“Colonel, let us?—”
“Don’t touch her,” he yelled at Declan, who had been reaching his hand out, but quickly pulled it back.
No one spoke again, as he pressed his palms against the exit wound and his blurry gaze went to those of his family and team, finally landing on a teary-eyed Haven.
“I’m sorry,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I?—”
“Later, Dad,” she murmured, her voice watery. “Later.”
“Yes… Gunshot wound…” Duncan’s eyes flashed to a composed, clear-eyed Mercy staring down at him with her phone up to her ear.
“An approximately thirty-two-year-old female… I don’t know,” she said to who he assumed had to be 911.
“Colonel, where was she hit?” She grabbed hold of his shoulder and squeezed, then slightly shook him. “Where, colonel?”
“Upper right back entry, with the exit below her right breast,” he answered. He needed to remain clearheaded. For Solace.
“Upper right back entry, with the exit below her right breast,” Mercy repeated.
“No, she’s not conscious, but she’s breathing and…
Hold on.” She did a lady-like squat next to Duncan.
“There might be a slight hissing sound… Yes, the bleeding is heavy… No foam.” She stood back up and he dropped his gaze back onto his woman. “No, she’s not coughing up blood.”
Silence followed, while Mercy listened to the 911 operator and Duncan kept pressure on the wound. Unable to stop himself, he leaned down to brush his lips against her cool ones.
“Angel, don’t leave me,” he whispered against her cheek. “Please.”
“Yes, pressure is being applied… Colonel, keep pressure on the exit, but turn her on her right side.”
The idea of moving her terrified him. The look he threw at Mercy had to have shown that. How was he supposed to keep pressure and move her at the same time?
“They’re doing it now,” she said, with a pointed look at him.
A silent command flashed toward Declan. The man immediately took over the pressure just below her bra, allowing Duncan to reposition himself on his knees behind her.
Once in place, he immediately replaced Declan’s hand with his own—bracing her body against his legs—while Mercy continued the call.
“We will,” Mercy said, her voice still calm and in charge. “But there’s one more thing. The patient is around three months pregnant.”
Pregnant.
He nearly stopped breathing.
“What…”
“She can’t be pregnant…”
“Is that why she left…”
His chest heaved and eyes burned, as he blocked out all the voices filled with questions and concern. Guilt stabbed at him. She’d been dealing with this alone after he’d been an asshole to her. He kept pressure on the wound with one hand, then pressed his other, bloodied hand low on her stomach.
His heart pounded hard, almost as hard as his breathing. Because something was different. He’d memorized the dips and curves of her body. Every beautiful inch that he’d made his own. But a slight roundness underneath where his hand rested hadn’t been there before.
“How long before the ambulance gets here?” He didn’t bother to look up at his question.
“Less than two minutes now,” Mercy answered.
“They’d better be,” he said low, choked. “She can’t die.”
“Oh, Dad,” Haven sobbed, bracing herself with his shoulders to get to her knees beside him, then wrapped her arms around him. No one else said a word, as Haven whispered in his ear, “She won’t.”
“I know,” he said, his resolve strengthening. “I’m not losing the woman I love or my child.”