Page 140 of Rev

I lick my lip, shrug. “I’ll be okay.” I touch the vest over his chest with a finger. “He shot you, like, six times.”

“Top-of-the-line military-grade body armor, babe. 3A, it’ll stop a magnum.”

I don’t know what that last part means, and I don’t really care. I hiccup, an attempt to hold back my emotion, which I’ve kept under tight control…till now. “I th-thought—I thought you were…”

He straightens, taking me with him. “Not a chance. Have some gnarly bruises, but that’s it.”

I cling to him. “Get me out of here, please.”

He moves, stepping over moaning bodies.

“All good?” I hear Chance’s voice.

I pull my face from Rev’s neck and look at him—he’s wearing body armor, too, although he’s so huge it barely straps in place. His is unmarked, but his fists are torn and red with dried blood. Not his, I assume.

“Chance,” I say, still trying to hold back the sobs of sheer adrenalized, post-trauma emotions. “Hi.”

He comes over, one thick forefinger brushing my cheek. “Hey, mama. Okay?”

I nod. “You?”

“Psssh.” A wave of his hand. “Puhhhh-leeeez. These twats? Didn’t even break a sweat.”

“Yo, where’s my girl at?” I hear another voice—Kane.

There he is, his improbably proportioned torso swaggering toward me, barrel chest, bull-like shoulders, python arms, narrow wedge of a waist. He’s wearing a drab green T-shirt tucked into a pair of jeans so faded it’s a wonder they’re still intact. Square toe cowboy boots, again so battered, dirty, and faded they could be antiques from the actual old Wild West. A black ball cap with a black-and-white American flag patch on the front, brim curled and pulled low.

Pure cowboy.

God, he’s hot.

Not as hot as Rev, but it’s damn close. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

It doesn’t appear as if Kane has even had to exert himself. He could’ve swaggered out of a bunkhouse, rather than having just waded through twenty armed cartel henchmen.

His hazel eyes, gray-green-blue streaked and twinkling, find me. “Hey, there you are. Looks like they whacked you one.” His thumb doesn’t quite touch my lip. “Your man kiss it all better?”

I sniff a laugh. “Not yet.”

Kane slugs Rev in the shoulder. “Best get on that, brother.”

Rev gets on it. His lips touch mine, ever so softly, mindful of the split lump.

“Rev?” It’s a hesitant, fearful voice—Tony. “Domingo…he wants to talk to you.”

Rev growls in annoyance. “Fuck.”

I wiggle, and he lets me down. I find my feet and cling to him, arms around the rough scratchy vest. I see Tony edging toward us, eyeing Chance and Kane like a mouse would eye a hungry tomcat. He has a phone in his hand.

Rev takes the handset, holds it out—it’s a video call. The man on screen is a silver fox version of Javier, wearing silver mirrored sunglasses. He’s outside, blue skies and sunlight behind him.

“Rev, amigo.” His voice is deep, smooth, accented. “Did you leave my boy alive?”

Rev turns the phone, showing Javier—face a bloody mess, hands pinned to the wall. “Mostly.”

“You have my apologies. I strictly instructed him to leave you be. As long as you don’t go to the authorities as an informant, I have no quarrel with you.”

“Ain’t a snitch, Dom. Never was, never will be.”