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Travis dives forward toward us, and I muster all of my body weight, using it to fling myself to the side. I hit the ground hard, my head smacking against the hard floor, pain shooting up my left arm. Gunshots ring through the air, and Travis and Evan both drop like flies.
“No!” I scream, thrashing, trying to kick and swing my arms, desperate to get out of the ropes.
“Fuck!” I hear Riot scream.
He scrambles over to me, pulling his knife out to cut through the ropes.
“Don’t worry about me! Go get him, what happened!?”
“E-Evan he got a shot off…”
“Go get Travis!” I scream, tears blurring my vision.
“Just one more…there,” my arms fall limp and he hands me his knife as he runs over to Travis’s side.
“Th-there’s so much blood!” he yells.
Frantically, I saw at the ropes around my ankles, as Riot screams in the background, yelling at some doctor to get to the penthouse. When the last thread snaps, I scramble to my feet and run to Travis. His eyes are glassy, and Riot holds down pressure on the wound in his upper arm.
“I-it’s ok,” he chokes. “I-I’m ok.”
“If you die I will fucking hate you for the rest of my life Travis Price. So you better hang on,” I grab his hand, and squeeze as he nods his head.
“It’ll be…o-okay red,” he chokes out. He’s whiter than the kitchen cabinets right now, and when I look down, I notice red beginning to pool out from beneath him.
“What happened?!” I look up as Hannah covers her mouth, both her and Zeke entering the apartment together.
“He… it was…” I can’t formulate a cohesive sentence, because I can’t stop shaking.
“You’re going to be ok,” I whisper, leaning down to press my lips against Travis’s.
“Zeke, gimme your belt,” Riot snaps.
Zeke yanks his belt off at record speed and hands it to Riot.
“Come hold your hand here,” he motions, as Zeke gets down on his knees beside him, “hold pressure.”
Moving Zeke’s hands over the wound, Riot wraps the belt around Travis’s arm in the same fashion as around his thigh, pulling tight and securing it in place.
“That should hold him un-”
“Jesus Christ,” a voice mutters.
Everyone looks up as an older man with wire rimmed glasses and a button up shirt enters the room.
“You’re lucky I was nearby,” calmly he looks to the guys, “You two, get him up there on that counter. The kitchen island. I need space to work.”
Jumping to their feet, Zeke and Riot slide their arms beneath Travis, grunting as they strain to lift his dead weight. Once they get him to the counter, the doctor opens his bag, and begins working; mumbling under his breath the entire time.
“I can patch this up, but it’s going to be touch and go. Looks like his brachial artery may have been nicked.”
Scrambling to my feet, I pull up a stool at the end of the counter, seating myself on the opposite side of Travis from where the doctor stands, so I don’t get in the way. Sighing, I run my fingers through his blood drenched hair, and lower my lips to his ear, “You promised me forever Travis James. No backing out this time. No running away.”
“He’s gonna be just fine sweetheart,” the doctor says reassuringly as we works diligently repairing the wound internally. “Just gonna need a lot of a rest when this is all said and done. Thank god I learned to be prepared. These boys are going to force my ass into retirement soon if they keep getting shot.”
“Come on sweetness, go get a shower,” Riot says, walking around the counter and nudging me to stand. “We got him. Get cleaned up, and then you guys can sleep for a week.”
“Fine. I need to get this fucking hooker outfit off anyway,” taking Riot’s face in my hands, I make him look me in the eyes, “Don’t let him die damnit.”