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Prologue
Our reckoning
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Bullets fly rapidlyas I grab Wicked’s arm, both of us aiming at the door, preparing to shoot at ten fully armed men, ready to kill every last one of us. My breath comes out harsh and uneven, running to the nearest safe zone that would shield us from getting shot.
“Shit,” I grit at the same time as we both hop over the bar Victor has installed in his office. We slam onto the marble floor as bullets hit the rest of the bottles, shattering them at once, causing the liquid to spray out like a sprinkler. The sharp pieces fly everywhere, hitting us in the arms, legs, and face. We topple over into the fetus position to protect ourselves from getting slaughtered by broken liquor bottles.
Shit! How did we get into this situation? We had him right there!
“Argh, fuck!” Mal groans out painfully.
My heart jumps to my throat at the agonizing sound. I quickly sit up, ignoring the tiny shards digging into my knees and palms. There are flying casings and glass cups exploding above us. Mal's face is pinched in pain and her back against the bar wall. I follow the trail of her body; she’s breathing harder than ever.
My eyes widen as I land on a shard from a smashed bottle, jammed into her waist. Her hands shake as she touches the glass.
“Fuck, and its tequila. My favorite. How ironic, huh,” she moans, attempting to sit up but wincing as more bullets ricochet above.
I swallow, watching the blood trickle down her pinkish skin. Fuck, that looks bad. “It’s not too deep, I can pull it out,” I say quickly, steadying my hand over the pointy edge. I try not to think about how nauseous I’ll become touching her blood—it's not my point of focus. I need to get this out and stop the bleeding before she bleeds out to death. Stab wounds are as bad as getting shot, just as detrimental. I’ve seen it happen right before my eyes. The memory of the little girl who got stabbed during a mission because of me begins to flood my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut. It will not happen now.
“Okay, if you're going to do it, do it now, Cinderella.”
I dart my eyes at her as she groans again, grabbing a bottle that was unharmed at the bottom and taking a lengthy gulp. Something cold and wet beneath my bare legs forms around me. My brow scrunch as I move around, the water swooshing in my wake.
“Looks like they shot that fish tank,” Mal jokes, both of us jerking as another bullet flies above. “Anita.” Her harsh tone and her using my real name snap my eyes to her. It's the look my father gave me, the look of hope fading away.No.My heart takes flight.
Mal hesitates, breathing heavier. “If I don’t make it—” she begins.
“Shut your mouth,” I grit, glaring at her, stopping the conversation before she even started. She smiles softly. Weak.
“We’re getting the hell out of here.” I intake a breath because I don’t even believe that, but it sounds good. It sounds so good that I’ll make sure it comes true. Because if not, then Ronan would never be able to live with himself knowing she’s gone.
Ronan.
A grip squeezes at my heart, destroying my breathing. My pulse picks again, panic surfing into my bones and causing my nerves to spiral. I didn't get to catch and see if he was shot.I didn't see.
What if he was shot? The gun fired right next to his head. I close my eyes, touching Mal’s thigh to bring me back and to slow my racing thoughts. We need to get this out and finish this massacre; I need to see if he's okay. I have to.
Swallowing once more, I focus on the shard protruding from her body. Then, I quickly grab a broken glass and the bottom hem of my dress, pulling enough to make sure it’ll wrap her gaping wound after.
Not too much blood. Not too much blood.
But I know out of everyone how it can end. I search fast for something that can soak up the blood, and I find a stack of napkins under the shelf.
That’ll do.
“I’m going to count to three!” I shout over the loud noises, placing the ripped fabric beside me.
Mal drinks again, nodding vigorously as she watches me dubiously. “I’ll need that after for the wound,” I say, nodding my head at the bottle in her hand.
I stare into her eyes, shifting one hand to her abdomen and wrapping the other around the fracture. Just pull it out and quickly wrap it. “Are you ready?”
“Do it!”
I breathe. “One.”
I yank it out, and a horrifying scream rips from her throat as blood splatters everywhere.