Page 91 of Deceptive Desires (The Syndicate #2)
Cecilia
Roman falls on me, still shooting the man who said those horrible things.
His claim that this is my fault just as much as Roman’s sound in my ears, and I know it’s true. If I had confronted Roman instead of running, he never would’ve attacked the Russian crime family.
I look up when I hear Roman curse only to see blood seeping through his shirt.
Right over his heart.
I cry out, and he turns to me.
“Are you okay?” he shouts frantically.
“You’re hurt!” I cry out.
“I’m fine, sunshine. We need… to get you… to Dad,” he says, slowing throughout the sentence.
I can see he’s fighting to stay conscience, and my stomach plummets.
He’s dying.
But I won’t let that happen.
I’ve seen enough of Gracie’s crime documentaries and Mr. Bank’s action movies to know I need to put pressure on the wound.
I try to pull his jacket off, which he fights until it dawns on him what I’m doing. With it off, I press into his wound.
“Fuck,” he groans in pain.
“Stay with me, Roman!” I demand.
His eyes start to flutter, and I slap him across the face.
He winks at me weakly, then says, “It’s not as fun outside the bedroom.”
Despite the situation we’re in, I still blush and look around, making sure no one heard.
It’s in this moment that I see a soldier’s gaze land on us.
It all happens in slow motion.
He’s approaching us with an evil grin on his face.
Roman’s too unfocused to see what’s happening.
I eye the big gun at Roman’s feet.
And make up my mind.
I lunge on top of Roman and grab the gun. Still acting as a barrier between him and the man, I lift the gun.
My arms shake with the weight, but I hold steady. The man laughs at me, and I can tell he doesn’t think I have it in me.
“Shoot me, little girl. I dare you,” he mocks.
It must wake Roman because he roars and tries to push me off him.
But I hold steady, take a deep breath, and pull the trigger. The first shot misses him, but as his eyes narrow, I fire again. A bullet flies through his shoulder holding his gun, and he drops it. I pull the trigger again and again, until finally he drops too.
All the while, Roman is trying to get out from under me.
Another Russian is drawn in by the commotion and laughs at me holding a gun. But I don’t care. I shoot at him, but not before he fires too.
Somehow, by the universe’s grace, he misses. But so do I.
We both shoot again, and this time, my bullet flies through his neck. His shot barely grazes my arm, but only because Roman moves me.
I look around, still holding the gun, and realize all the other Russian’s are down.
But it’s not enough to convince me to put the gun down. I keep it up, trained on our surroundings. My head is on a swivel, unable to believe it’s over. That we’re safe.
Suddenly, someone’s shaking me, and I quickly turn the gun on them. It’s thrown out of my hands, and it’s only then that I realize it’s by Dom.
“You’re bleeding! Where are you hit? It’s a lot of blood” he asks frantically staring at my torso.
I look down and realize my once green dress is now stained a deep red.
But it’s not my blood.
Without answering him, I hop off Roman and get on my knees. I press his jacket into his shoulder and desperately try to stop the bleeding.
“Roman, please, wake up. Look at me,” I frantically beg him.
Dom presses into a second wound on his left arm, and I realize the bullet that grazed me actually hit him. He took another bullet for me.
Roman’s eyes fly open, and he glares at his brother.
“Héroe, don’t you dare die on me. After all you’ve done for us, you’re not allowed to leave me!” I demand, tears streaming down my face.
He lifts his uninjured arm slowly and cups my cheek. I press my hand against his, keeping it stable.
“Roman, my hero, I love you! You can’t die on me. Please stay,” I plead desperately. I look down as my tears dance with his blood.
“You still love me?” he asks incredulously. “Will you stay my wife if I live?” His eyes start to droop as he says it.
Dom and Dr. Richard are doing something while he talks to me, but I can’t comprehend it.
“I’m your wife no matter what. I’m Cecilia Montclair. I just killed two men for you. Please, you can’t leave me,” I cry.
Suddenly, a paramedic is next to me, trying to bandage my arm.
“No! I’m fine! Save him!” I demand, shrugging her off.
“Miss, I have to help you too. My partners are helping your boyfriend,” she explains.
“My husband,” I correct her, needing someone to know.
As they put him onto a gurney, he wakes up.
“CECILIA! CECILIA!” he shouts my name.
I break free of my paramedic and run to his side.
“I’m here, héroe. I’m not going anywhere,” I promise him.
When they load him in the ambulance, I’m with him the whole time.
And only when they send him back to surgery do I let the doctor handle my wound.
And the entire time he’s in surgery, I cry.
Slowly, one by one, his family trickles in.
Some have it worse than me, others are unharmed. But no one is in as critical condition as my husband. They tell me none of our people were killed. And that the Russians took the brunt of it.
But I don’t have it in me to care.
Because my husband is in surgery.
Fighting for his life.
And I can’t cope with that.