Page 71 of Envy

He leaves them to it. And then he’s in front of me, lifting the chain binding my wrists off the hook and sweeping my legs out from under me. Pain lances through my limbs as the pressureeases across my shoulders, soothing and aching at the same time.

“Evie,” Silas breathes, cradling me as he scours my face, chest, arms, legs—cataloging every inch of me.

“There’s no bullet wound,” I say, fingers resting against his heart. I can feel the strength of it through his shirt, reassuring me that he’s safe too.

“You’re safe,” Silas says, voice cracking. “Dom, get these cuffs off her.”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, tasting the lie and lingering metallic tang of blood. Dominic appears moments later with a key, unlocking the cuffs around my wrists. “My mother will need…”

My voice trails off as my eyes land on Bane and Adrian lifting her and carefully setting her down on the cold floor. A gasping, gurgling sound wheezes from her chest, drowning out the rest of the murmurs in the room. Blood coats her face and chest, splattered across her in bright scarlet streaks. Her skin is ashen, eyes wide and vacant as the wound in her chest expels more blood with every rapid beat of her heart.

“Baby, look at me.” It’s Silas, his palm grazing my cheek, willing me to return to him. But I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

“I thought it was him,” I say in a low, detached voice so at odds with the chaos inside me. “The harsh scrape of air. I thought it was Roy, but…”

“She has a gunshot wound to the chest,” Erik confirms, examining the entry wound. “I’d guess punctured lung and possible rib fracture based on her breathing, but I’m still only pre-med. If we want any of them to have a chance at surviving, we need to get them to the hospital.”

“Looks like it’s too late for this one,” Adrian muses at Roy’s side. He cocks his head, a coin flipping in the air before he catches it. Russet brows lift above golden eyes as he reads the result on the back of his hand.

A ragged, wheezing cackle escapes Roy’s chest. And then he stills.

“Yep,” Adrian says, pocketing his coin as he strolls over. “Definitely too late for him.”

“Evie,” Silas calls, his voice almost afraid. Judging by his searching gaze and the frown tugging at his lips, I get the impression it isn’t the first time he’s called my name.

“It’s now or never,” Erik says, pressing on the wound in my mother’s chest.

I realize what they’ve been waiting for. What all of them expect me to decide: whether we try to save her… or let her die.

“Save her,” I hear myself say, knowing she wouldn’t have done the same for me, but also knowing this is the only way I’ll be able to live with myself.

The seven of them exchange a look, each turning to Noctis for confirmation. For one horrible moment, I think they won’t listen, but then Noctis presses a button and holds the phone to his ear.

“Not a clean,” Noctis explains, surveying the scene with almost mechanical detachment. “An augmentation. Two dead. Two injured.”

There’s murmuring on the other end, something that causes his gaze to flick from Jonathan huddled on the ground at his feet to me before he responds.

“One.”

48

SILAS

Evie doesn’t understand what Noctis’s phone call signifies, but I do.One.As in one body to take to the hospital—and one to pin this on.

“Be quick,” Noctis says, tucking his phone into his pocket. “They’ll be here in six minutes. The ambulance in ten.”

“What is he talking about?” Evie asks, tearing her red-ringed gaze away from her mother’s unconscious form. My face softens when she looks at me, her heart in her eyes. My little fox has been through a lot in the last hour—too much—but I won’t keep the truth from her. This has to be done.

“Have you heard the name Jonah before?” I ask her. My brothers move, the five of them shifting to circle Jonathan while Erik keeps Evie’s piece-of-shit mother as stable as possible.

“No.” Evie shakes her head, then pauses, her breath catching as her eyes cut to her stepbrother. “Only the story.”

“Story?” I press.

“Jonah and the Whalewas Jonathan’s favorite story when we were little.”

“Shut the fuck up, Evie,” Jonathan growls. His face is coated in a sheen of sweat, skin pale, and even from here I can seehis pulse is rapid and shallow. But he doesn’t get to talk to her like that.