I wake to blinding, searing pain everywhere. My head throbs, and I think my ribs might be broken. I blink, my vision only half working, at best. Blood flows from a long if shallow cut on my arm, slowly pooling sticky and warm beneath me.
Where the fuck am I?
My mind churns in overtime, trying to piece it together. I remember looking for Neve.
I remember finding the men who had been tailing her, dead in their car.
I remember the three fuckers upstairs in Jack’s apartment, also dead.
And then suddenly, the last piece comes back to me.
Owen.
I try to move, but I can’t. I can’t even see more than three inches in front of me, because my vision is still blurred from whatever that fuckhead jabbed me with. My lips curl. When I find him—
My eyes suddenly focus about a foot in front of me.
It’s Owen, eyes wide and staring unblinkingly at the ceiling as he lies next to his gun in a puddle of blood, his throat cut open.
Someone’s talking. Reciting. Quoting? I frown, trying to place the voice and the words, but I can’t. For a second, I get flashbacks of my father dragging us to church, where the hardline Orthodox priest would rain down fire and brimstone on us sinners in both Greek and English.
That’s what I’m hearing right now. It’s Revelations.
My eyes start to close as the darkness tries to drag me under again. But suddenly something hard slams into my aching ribs, making me grunt and flinch, waking me up a little.
The voice is talking again. This time, I won’t let myself go back to sleep. I force my eyes to remain open. I force them to focus on the two shapes across the filthy floor from me—one pacing, the other just standing there with their arms spread out wide.
Suddenly, everything flickers into focus.
And I want to scream.
I see Neve—terror on her face, blood pouring down onto the floor from angry-looking gashes in her wrists. My gaze swivels to the man pacing in front of her.
Seamus.
Everything suddenly becomes clear. And suddenly, with an explosive adrenaline strength I never even imagined a human could posses, I manage to move.
I can still feel the rope biting into my wrists, pinning my arms behind my back. But I grit my teeth and yank, ignoring the pain of the rope cutting into me. The blood soaked into the floor underneath me—mine, and probably Owen’s, too—coats the rope and my wrists, turning everything slick and slippery.
My muscles bulge, and suddenly, I’ve got one arm free. My hand slides wetly across the pool of blood, my fingers sticky as they curl around the cold metal of Owen’s gun. Pain explodes through me as I lurch to one knee, raising the gun and taking aim at the man hurting her.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
He turns. So does Neve, her eyes bulging as her gaze locks with mine.
“I said get the fuck away from—”
Seamus starts to laugh quietly.
“Ahh, the little dragon prince is awake,” he grunts. “You can’t even see straight, can you?”
“Straight enough. Cut her the fuck down, now.”
His brow lifts. “Interesting choice of words.”
My jaw tightens.
“I said—”
Fuck.
He charges me like a bull. I aim as best as I can, considering my vision is utterly fucked right now. But it’s not good enough. He hits me just as I squeeze the trigger, and the shot blasts into the ceiling.
Then, it’s game fucking over.
My adrenaline is gone. So is my grip on the gun, as O’Conor rips it from my hand. His arm circles my neck hard from behind, choking me as he pins my back to his chest. I snarl and try to shove an elbow back. But that arm is still tangled in the rope.
The gun suddenly presses to my neck, and I go still.
“Now, Drakos,” Seamus hisses coldly. “You get to watch the blood of the innocent wash away the sins of the wicked.”
No.
“Now you get to watch her die.”
NO.
My eyes lock with Neve’s. I start to open my mouth, to tell her it’s going to be okay. To tell her I love her.
One of those is the truest thing I’ve ever known.
There’s a good chance the other is a lie.
“Neve-”
The blood is flowing out of her veins way too fast. The cuts are deep, and I’m literally watching the color—and life—drain out of her before my eyes.
She’s fucking dying.
She’s fucking DYING.
“And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes.”
Seamus starts to recite biblical verses into my ear again. I’m barely listening. All I’m doing is staring at the woman I love.
“And they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.”
She’s the woman I love.
And I will not watch her fucking die.
I dig deep. I channel everything I have left within me, and I force myself to move. I wrench one of my arms free of Seamus’ grip. My hand flies up, grabbing his hand and the gun it’s holding with slick, bloody fingers.
Seamus chuckles quietly into my ear.
“What do you possibly think you can—”
I use everything left in the tank for one move. My arm yanks, ripping the gun barrel away from my neck and shoving it against my shoulder. My bloodied hand slides over Seamus’.
My finger curls around his, over the trigger.
I love you, Neve.
Seamus roars as he realizes what I’m about to do.
“No—!”
I love you.
My eyes close.
And my finger squeezes as hard as I can.
The gunshot is deafening and slams into me with so much force that it feels like I’ve been hit by a train. Both Seamus and I fly backwards as the bullet travels clear through me and into him, the two of us collapsing in a tangle on the floor.
At first, I can’t move. I blink, hearing nothing but the ringing in my ears and feeling nothing at all.
Then the pain comes.
Hard.
Dazed, my gaze drifts lazily to the side, to the jagged bullet wound through me just south of my shoulder. My arm on that side feels useless, and I’m pretty sure my collarbone is shattered.
I’m also pretty sure I don’t have long before I bleed out.
I need to move fast.
I only give Seamus the briefest of glances. It’s clear he’s dead by the gaping, bleeding hole in chest, right over his heart.
I spit on his body as I stagger to the table—to the tool kit and the first aid kit, praying to God I’m not too late.
You can’t be dead.
I won’t fucking let you be dead.
I grab what I need from both, sending the table crashing over as I lurch back across the cabin. Neve’s lost consciousness by the time I reach her, her skin so translucently white that I can see the blue of her veins.
My vision starts to blur as I wrap her wrists in as much gauze as I can, followed by as many layers of duct tape from the roll I fished out of the toolbox.
It won’t save her.
But it damn well might buy her some time.
I use Seamus’ blade to cut her down. I’ve got zero strength left as my own wound spills my lifeblood onto the floor. I use my body to break her fall, taking us both to the ground in a heap. I fumble, dizzy, losing my sight as I find a vein on my useless arm.
Then on hers.
We’re both O-negative.
I stab one of the needles into my vein. The blood starts to flow out even before I twist on the rubber hose at the catheter end. I attach the other needle to the other end of the tubing before I sink it into her arm.
This has to work.
It fucking has to.
I drag myself next to her, both of us lying on our sides, face-to-face, surrounded by blood and death.
Wake up.
You have to fucking wake up.
You have to wake up because I love you.
Even if I don’t wake up myself. When I glance at the gaping wound in my shoulder, I’m fairly sure I won’t.
But that’s okay. It’s all okay if she lives.
My eyelids start to droop. The room begins to fade around me. I can feel my pulse getting weaker and weaker.
Wake up, love.
I force my eyes to stay open, gritting my teeth as I keep my gaze trained on her motionless eyes. Desperately looking for movement. Anything.
A fucking miracle.
The air feels cold. My pulse feels like syrup. My vision begins to darken.
And then suddenly.
Suddenly.
Neve’s eyelids flicker.
They tremble, movement darting under them. And then slowly, her eyes open.
“Ares?”
I smile as my vision fades to gray.
It’s okay.
She’ll be okay.
“I love you.”
The words slip from my parched lips as everything goes black.
She’s going to be all right. That’s all that matters now.
