Chapter 2
TWO
VALENTINA
“Valentina?” Feet pound near the ground at my head. Panic consumes me—where’s the shooter now? Is he coming to finish the job? “What the hell?” It’s Mateo’s panicked voice from somewhere above me, and I continue to lie there, frozen, locked in a terror-filled nightmare with nowhere to go.
He was shot.
McCrae took a fucking bullet for me.
“Help him,” I plead, fear lacing every word. If he dies because of me, I don’t know what I’ll do. He’s my lifeline, my savior and safety—he’s everything everyone else is not.
“Shit, he’s bleeding bad. Careful,” someone hisses, and I fight off a sob. Warm liquid pools around my body, a contrast to the normal liquid I prefer to drown in, and panic punches through my system.
“Oh God, Valentina, are you okay?” Faith asks, and I feel her hand brush through my hair. I glance at her, but a light shines behind her head, making it impossible to make out her expression.
“Is McCrae okay?”
“Did you shoot him?” someone barks, and rage coils within me at the implication.
“No!” I scream, clinging to the sides of his leather jacket. They begin lifting McCrae off my body, and even though it’s a million degrees out, a chill sweeps over my skin, bringing with it a wave of gooseflesh.
I scramble to sit up, the sand mixing with the blood beneath me, making a thick paste over my fingers.
“Stay down.” My eyes snap to the commanding voice, and I’m met with a glare that’s like McCrae's but not.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Augustus,” I hiss, ready to channel every ounce of my rage and panic into one point: the man who’s done nothing but hurt McCrae for years.
“Valentina, what happened?” Faith asks, and I reluctantly look at her.
The memory of the enormous figure once more pushes to the front of my mind, and I look around Faith, tracing the shadows where he’d been standing only moments ago.
I come up empty as Faith whips her gaze to where I’m looking, calculation taking over her soft features.
“Who?” she whispers.
Before I have a chance to respond, Mateo steps into my line of vision, his chest heaving, blood covering the sleeves and front of his white shirt. My stomach rolls at the sight, and I have to fight off the overwhelming urge to gag.
“You better tell me what the fuck is going on. Why are you here? Why do you have a gun? And damn it, why the fuck is McCrae bleeding out?”
His questions are too much. I can’t see straight, much less think straight.
“We have to get him to the hospital,” I cry, pushing up off the ground again.
“An ambulance has already been called. They’ll be here soon, so you better fucking talk. A bullet wound isn’t something they’ll ignore.”
I sneer up at him, panicking at the realization he might actually think I’m capable of shooting McCrae.
And then, I feel the press of the revolver against my back where I must have fallen on it, and I remember I was here with the intention of shooting my brother, or Adalene—whichever would inflict the kind of pain I feel clawing through my own chest.
He’ll never believe me, no matter what I say, and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe me either. Everything’s so fucked up, and I don’t know how to fix it.
“I didn’t shoot him.” I look at Faith as I say it, and her glittering eyes soften a fraction. Licking my lips, I continue to stare at her, trusting her to understand what the others will refuse to see. “I don’t know who it was, but they were right there—”
Her pale eyebrows push together in confusion. “Who?”
“What did they look like?” This time, the voice doesn’t come from Mateo, Faith, or Gus.
I reluctantly lift my gaze to Adalene, who’s standing near the porch railing, her hand wrapped lightly around her throat.
A blonde woman holding a baby against her chest, with eyes that could kill a demon with their heat, stands behind her.
She’s formidable, and even I have the good sense to look away.
“What is it?” Mateo asks, his formerly cutting voice softening as he steps toward Adalene. His rigid muscles relax beneath his shirt, and I see the physical effect she has on him, all but melting the fight from his bones.
I remember when he used to be as tender with me, and then I ruined that too.
I shake my head. “I couldn’t see; they were just big and dark, like a shadow.” My voice wobbles, the words ridiculous even to my ears.
“That’s convenient,” Gus growls, stepping toward the deck—and his wife and child, no doubt—a gun gripped tightly in his fist.
How can I explain any of this to them in a way that’ll make them believe me? They clearly have their minds made up about what happened, and nothing I can do or say will change that. Why bother?
“Was that why you were here?” Adalene whispers, her eyes dropping to where the gun still lies on the ground beneath me.
I open my mouth and then slam it shut. I won’t lie, even if it would be easy to now. That’s not who I am—I’ll stick to the truth even if it kills me and everyone I know, and if I can’t admit the truth, I shut down, saying nothing.
It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s also the only way I’ve ever been able to compartmentalize the life I’ve endured and the baggage I carry.
“No,” I finally huff, looking down at my hands. I notice again that they're caked in blood, and acid pools in my mouth. No one else speaks to me, but I’m faintly aware of every single pair of eyes on my face.
There’s a groan in the background behind me. “Help him,” I plead. It’s the only thing that matters now.
“They’re three minutes out. I’m going to take him to the entrance in the truck to save them some time.” Gus stomps toward the truck, where McCrae’s fighting for his life. It’s all my fault.
“The bleeding has slowed, and he’s upright and talking. It’s not good, but I don’t think it’s fatal. It was in his shoulder,” Faith offers, and I blink rapidly at the sudden rush of water against my eyelids.
“Go home, Valentina,” Mateo states, his tone leaving no room for argument. I look down at my hands again, the blood beginning to dry in the oppressive Texas heat, but I nod.
“I’ll drive her.” Faith stands, extending her hand out to me. I stare at it and then down at my own. She wiggles her fingers, and I bite my lip as I take her waiting grip.
“What? No—” The blonde woman takes a step down the stairs toward us, and Faith turns on her. I don’t see her expression, but I hear the iron in her voice, and not for the first time, I admire this unsuspecting woman.
“I love you guys, but you don’t need me right now. She does, and I go where I’m needed.” No one fights her as she helps me fully up, her grip never wavering from my blood-coated one as she walks me around to the passenger side door of my car.
She opens it, but before I can slide in, she pulls a jacket from my back seat and spreads it over the leather of my passenger side. A fresh wave of tears fills my eyes, and this time, I can’t fight them off.
We climb in, and I watch the taillights of Gus’ truck fade into the horizon as he races to meet the ambulance.
McCrae has to be okay.
***
“Can I make you anything while you shower?” Faith strides into the kitchen like she’s done it a million times, and I stare after her. I don’t feel at home here—I don’t think I ever will—but Faith seems at home wherever she goes, and I envy that about her.
She’s unassuming but so confident in herself—in her safety—that she’s always at peace, at home.
“You can go.” I don’t have it in me to fight anymore. I just want to shower off the evidence of this horrible day, crawl into bed, and hopefully never wake. Or rather, wait to hear that McCrae’s okay and then never wake up.
“I’m good.”
I grind my teeth, the overwhelming urge to tell her to get the fuck out of my house sitting like poison on my tongue.
“I didn’t ask,” I bite out.
“You don’t have to.” Faith comes around the corner once more, her shoes off, a towel slung over her shoulder like she’s been here all along. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Why? Because you think I’ll go back over there and finish what I started?”
She rolls her eyes. She actually fucking rolls her eyes at me, and I hate that it makes a spark of admiration light in my chest.
“No. You were never going to ‘finish’—” she adds air quotes around the word finish, “anything. I’m not leaving you alone because someone tried to kill you tonight, and no one should have to be alone after that.”
I blink, the fact that someone tried to kill me all but forgotten until this moment.
“You believe me that I didn’t shoot McCrae?”
Her face twists, and she leans against the door frame. “Yes. I’m not dumb. The shot came from the back, which would have been impossible for you.” She pauses, her gaze scrutinizing but kind. “You sure you didn’t see who it was?”
“No,” I bite out, tired of defending myself.
She nods, accepting it. “I know you’d never hurt McCrae. He’ll be okay, Valentina.” She pats my arm.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. She seems so sure, so certain.
“Because you know me so fucking well?” I hiss, stepping toward her. I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me, certainly not the one thing I secretly consider my weakness. Because Reyeses don’t have weakness.
Her eyes narrow, like an annoyed mother talking to a toddler. “No, because he keeps you safe, and I know that’s ultimately what you want. You’d never risk him.”
She doesn’t say more, and she doesn’t have to. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not wrong either.
“He should have let them shoot me.” I deflate, staring down at my hands again.
“And what good would that have done anyone?” There’s anger in her voice I don’t understand.
I walk toward my bedroom without another glance. “Then they’d be safe from the one thing that could truly hurt them.”