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“We should stop. You need medical attention. Maybe there’s an urgent care or something similar nearby. Joseph?—”
“No. No stopping. We need to change cars and keep moving.”
“But you’re clearly hurt?—”
“And I said, I’ll be fine. Joseph, it’s time to ditch this car.”
“Yes, sir.”
I wanted to argue. The swelling hadn’t gone down and his breathing didn’t sound good to me. He needed to see a doctor. “Dario, please…you could be bleeding internally?—”
“In which case, you’ll be a very rich widow.” His words were labored. “That would be a win-win for you, right?”
I winced. I didn’t want him dead. I had never wanted him dead.
I turned away and looked out the window, staring at nothing.
Did he think I was heartless? Was he right? I blamed him for all this but he’d been just as much in the crossfire because of me as I was because of him.
But there I was, shifting blame again. Not taking accountability.
If he hadn’t stopped me from killing Nico, I would either be dead, or serving a life sentence right now.
I’d been the one to get the gun. I was the one who had set all of this in motion. It was time I accepted part of the blame. And if I hadn’t been so hellbent on getting away from him, he wouldn’t be practically bleeding to death in the back seat of a car.
And that was a hard pill to swallow.
We drove by a gas station and watched as a woman left her car unattended with a cute little dog in the front seat…keys and all.
“Guess we found our next ride,” Joseph said nonchalantly. He pulled up next to the car and quickly got out. “Let’s move,” he said to me.
He grabbed Dario by his arm, and I heard Dario bite back a curse as Joseph pulled him out of the car and deposited him into the backseat of the woman’s car. Her dog looked on curiously, not making a sound.
I climbed into the front seat just as I heard someone yelling out, “Hey, that’s my car! And my dog!”
Before she could get another word out, we were speeding away.
“Fuck, Joseph. Not the dog, too. Let it out,” Dario said from the back seat.
I glanced at him. He was leaning against the door, with his eyes closed, the dog steadily trying to lick the blood from his hands.
Joseph stopped abruptly, tossed the pup in front of someone’s yard, and sped away.
“The dog will be okay,” Joseph said, reassuringly. I honestly thought he said it to reassure himself.
I guess even mobsters have a soft spot for dogs.
We drove in silence for hours. Every time I turned to look back, Dario’s eyes met mine. He didn’t try to talk to me.
He just studied me, as if trying to read how I felt by staring at my face.
I didn’t know what to say or do, but I knew that I was scared.
Not for just myself and the baby. For all of us. We were outnumbered and running for our lives. That much was clear. Dario was no longer in control of the situation.
One wrong move and we would be killed.
It was a sobering situation.