Chapter Twenty-Four
Caitlin
I watched the men disappear into the woods, leaving me with no one but the one man leaning against the other car.
He was young.
Then again, so was the guy at the clinic with Salvatore.
I guess this was the kind of organization someone started working their way up in at a young age.
He was maybe in his early twenties at most with that long, lean look guys that age always still seemed to have.
Like they were always half-starved, no matter how much they ate.
But in five or ten years’ time, he would be a really good-looking man with his sharp features—his cheekbones so chiseled they cast shadows beneath them—and gooey dark brown eyes.
He had a gun casually held in his hand and his gaze scanning the woods. Looking as calm as could be. Like this was an everyday occurrence.
Maybe it was.
Gav’s life seemed rather tame.
But he was a Made man. He had a rank. He didn’t need to do the dirty work anymore. Young guys like this were the ones out putting their necks on the line with the hopes that they would be recognized and rewarded for their hard work.
Maybe one day I would see that.
See this kid grow up.
See him make a name for himself.
Because Gav hadn’t pulled away from me when he knew about my father, about the trouble he’d gotten himself into. If anything, he’d just pulled me in closer, made it clear that we were in this together.
If all went the way my heart was hoping, I was going to be with him for a long time. Maybe forever. Which meant that these people—Leo, Zeno, Salvatore, the others whose names I didn’t know—would all be like a big extended family to me as well.
More people than I could count to befriend, to build bonds with, to spend time with, to shop for at Christmas, to check in on when they were sick.
I’d always had my father.
And he’d done everything he could for me.
But the idea of a family—a big, crazy, hectic, loving family—was more appealing than I expected.
Maybe one day in the future, I’d be buying this young guy a really cool gadget. Or fancy cufflinks. A nice tie—
The sound came out of nowhere.
A bang that had my whole body jolting as my head whipped to the side. To the woods across the street—not by the cabin.
Not Gav.
No.
Not Gav.
But what about my father?
The kid rushed forward, his gun raised, scanning the woods.
I saw him before he did.
It was the same red shirt he’d been wearing when he’d attacked me in the garage moving out from between trees.
I wanted to scream, to honk the horn.
But the second gunshot tore through the air before I got the chance.
And the kid’s body jolted hard then fell.
“No!” I shrieked.
And I don’t really know what happened then.
Why my instinct wasn’t to hide, to stay safe, to trust the other men would come.
Maybe it was the same instinct that had me holding a mafia capo hostage.
But I threw open the back door and flew out.
“No,” the kid hissed through his pain. “Get back in the car.”
I wasn’t listening.
I was lunging for the gun a few feet away from him, grabbing the unfamiliar heaviness in my hand.
I didn’t know much about guns.
But any fool could point and pull a trigger.
So, I straightened.
“Where’s my dad?” I yelled.
“Dead,” he said, having the nerve to smile as he said it. “Put a bullet right between his eyes. Just like I’m gonna do to you.”
I didn’t think.
Didn’t even hesitate.
I raised the gun, aimed, and shot.
The shock sent me back a foot as I watched Ira jolt hard, then blood bloom through his shirt before he fell.
“Give me the gun,” the kid on the ground demanded, pulling himself up, his face drenched in sweat and his features tight.
“Sit back down,” I demanded.
But I didn’t stop to make sure he did just that.
I tightened my sweaty hold on the gun and ran toward Ira, rather than away. He was still breathing, his hand clutching his chest, eyes wild.
“You… shot… me.”
I grabbed his gun and kept running in the direction he came from, forcing my legs to carry me faster than they ever had before.
Not that there was much hope if he had a bullet in the forehead. But I had to be sure that I tried to help if there was anything that could be done.
I’d only been running for maybe two minutes when I heard it.
“No, please. Mona, no!”
Dad.
That was my dad.
Alive.
Yelling.
Pleading.
And I had to assume it was for his life.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“He won’t let me live if I don’t,” Mona said, sounding like she was crying.
“I will make sure you live. I swear it. I still love you. I know he’s not giving you a choice. Please, Mona. After everything we’ve shared.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you too.”
I broke through the trees to the clearing where my father was on his back on the ground, hands up, and his girlfriend stood over him with a gun.
Before I could even scream, her shaky finger slid to the trigger.
The explosion tore through the woods, tore through my heart.
I wasn’t even aware of the thought telling my finger to move.
But it did.
Right to the trigger.
And pulled.
Another explosion.
Mona screamed and jumped so hard she dropped the gun.
Whipping around, her eyes went huge, her hands going up. Her whole body was shaking violently.
“Nugget, no,” my father called, his voice tight, airy.
I looked over at him, his hand pressed to his arm, blood oozing through his fingers.
A cry escaped me, my mind racing, my heart galloping. My chest went tight. My vision started to go dark at the edges.
No.
No, it wasn’t time for this.
“Caitlin!” Gav called, sounding close. But I couldn’t breathe to call back.
“Nugget, breathe,” my dad said as I gasped for air but didn’t seem capable of drawing in a real breath.
“Cait!”
“Over here,” my father called, still a little breathless as Mona sobbed a few feet away.
“Cait…” Gav broke into the clearing, his gaze shooting around, taking in everything at once: my dad, the gunshot, Mona, the gun in my hand, and, finally, me losing my shit.
“Hey, babe, hey,” Gav said, voice careful, like he was talking to a scared animal. “You’re okay. I’m here. Let me have that gun, okay?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer; I wasn’t capable. He put a hand on top of the gun and pushed down before pulling it from my hand and tucking it into his waistband.
“You’re okay. Come here.” He pulled me against his chest.
I heard the other footsteps rushing around us. They could take care of this. I could collapse into Gav and let him hold me together as I fell apart.
“You’re okay. Everything’s over.”
“She shot my dad.”
“In the fatty part of his arm. He’s going to be fine.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, seeing the edges of my vision clear.
“I shot Ira.”
“I saw.”
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“What about the kid?”
“Kid,” Gav scoffed. “He’s not that much younger than you. He’s okay. Everyone is okay. You don’t have to worry about anyone. Take a few slow, deep breaths with me.”
I followed his lead, breathing with him and pressing my ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat.
Slowly but surely, the panic started to recede, leaving me feeling shaky and wrung-out.
“Dad?” I whimpered as I pulled away from Gav.
“I’m right here, Nugget,” my dad said, making me turn to find him still sitting on the ground with Leo looking at his arm. “I’m okay.”
“Can you come with me, Cait? I want to get you back in the car while we get your dad treated and figure all this out.”
Maybe I should have insisted I stay, see this out, listen to all the facts of the situation.
But, honestly, I was just exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, physically. And I knew I could trust Gav to handle things.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he agreed, leading me back through the trees to the car.
Where we walked up to the kid with a medical kit spread over the roof of the car. His shirt was off. And he was leaned over himself, shoving tweezers into the hole in his side.
“Oh, God,” I groaned, turning, dropping to my knees, and heaving.
“Don’t think about it,” Gav said. Like he knew where my mind was going. “Think of long, romantic walks through the bookstore. Collecting more bookish totes. Fuzzy socks. Warm blankets. Junk food.”
That was helping.
I sucked in a few deep breaths, then let Gav pull me back to my feet and lead me to the car, using his body as a shield so I didn’t see anything that would make me sick. Even knowing what was going on was bad enough to make my stomach keep lurching.
“Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you just saying that to say it, or do you mean it?”
“I think I mean it.”
“Okay. Just a couple minutes, I promise.”
He leaned in, kissed my forehead, then closed me in.
I squeezed myself against the door furthest from where the kid was mutilating himself.
I hummed to myself, breathed deeply, then when all that failed, I did something that felt unnatural.
I focused in on my pain: my wrist, face, stomach, and head.
Until it was all I could think of—the stabbing, throbbing, aching pain.
I was so focused that I let out a shriek when the front door opened and the kid slid in. Pale, sweaty, but still walking around.
“Hey. Caitlin, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Zaro,” he said, going to offer his hand before remembering the blood. “I guess I can thank you for saving me, huh?”
“And I should thank you for getting shot for me. Are you okay?”
“Just a scratch,” he said, shrugging.
“But you were… digging,” I said, gulping hard.
“Hardly the worst I’ve ever been hurt. Looks like you got roughed up too.”
“By the guy I shot,” I admitted.
“He really had it coming then, huh? Here they come.”
Before I could even find the group of men, the other side of the car was opening and my father was sliding in.
“Looks like this is gonna be the hospital car tonight,” my father said as he slid in.
Someone had applied a makeshift dressing to his arm. And while a small bit of blood seeped through, it looked like it was mostly done.
“Are you okay?”
“Just fine, Nugget. But look at you.” He reached out, tipping up my chin. “That bastard did it, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Check out the back of her head,” Gav said as he slid into the front seat.