Page 7 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

RIO

A sher weighs a fuck ton, but I still manage to carry most of his weight. I hold him on my left side so my shooting hand can be free in case I need to use my gun as we sidestep pools of blood and dead bodies.

The sun is high and beats down on my back. We’re in the middle of White Plains, surrounded by more rundown warehouses with peeling paint and rust. Pavement and gravel crunch under our feet.

The shootout didn’t last long. Again, it was all easier than I thought it would be. It’s like the men weren’t even trying to actually hit us. Anthony should probably train his people before putting them to work.

“How are we going to get all of us out of here?” Asher pants.

“We’re going to need a ride,” I answer.

Asher gawks. “Seriously? You came here without an exit plan?”

“I’m not that dumb.” I nod my head, gesturing to the black SUV in front of us.

“We’re going to steal one of their cars? Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

I scoff. “Of course, I have. No soy estúpido . It’s not like they don’t know where we live, or where we’re going. They can come get their car if they want to.” I’m not stupid. We approach the driver’s side rear door only to find it locked.

“What now, Einstein?”

I lift the butt of my gun and smash the window in. Glass rains down on the pavement and I reach my hand into the shattered window, careful to avoid shards of glass, and unlock the door.

With a flourish, I open the door and gesture for Asher to get in. “After you, my liege.”

Asher rolls his eyes and motions to step up into the car, but he falters. I’m right there to catch him, but I feel my heart stop. I don’t want to alarm anyone, but Asher doesn’t look good. The bullet wound in his shoulder needs to be treated. He’s lost so much blood.

I swipe the glass onto the floor, not even registering the small pricks in my arm when the shards of glass pierce my skin. “ Vamos, viejo . Let’s get you in,” I grunt as I help lift Asher in. Come on, old man.

He glares once he’s settled in his seat. “I’m not that much older than you.”

I only smile as I close the door in his face.

Peering into the back of the SUV, I see that Hayes has made himself comfortable in the back, with Iris in his lap.

He strokes her hair softly and whispers encouraging reassurances in her ear.

Zane got Spencer situated in the seat next to Asher and is fiddling around under the steering wheel, likely trying to hotwire the car.

Opening the passenger door, I hop in the car and buckle my seatbelt. “Click it or ticket, mis amigos,” I shout backwards. My friends .

The roar of the engine fills my ears, and Zane sits up in his seat. He throws the car into drive, and the tires squeal as he speeds away.

“Asher needs a doctor,” I whisper under my breath.

“Where do you think I’m heading?” Zane’s voice has an edge to it, and I don’t blame him. What we walked in on was worse than what I imagined. I knew it would be bad—I know how these things go—but there’s a reason they say seeing and believing are two different things.

Anthony is going to die a slow death for what he did to them.

With the way Iris’s pants hung down around her legs and the dried blood on her inner thighs, it’s not hard to guess what happened to her.

Asher’s bruises were expected but still alarming.

I know he’s tough, but that doesn’t mean I want his limits to be tested.

Then I saw Spencer, her ripped dress, and the black tear streaks that stained her cheeks . . .

Yeah, Anthony is fucking dead.

I turn my head back to check on everyone. Asher is lying across the seat with his head in Spencer’s lap. His eyes are closed, but he speaks in a hushed voice that only Spencer can hear. She runs her hands through his hair and talks with him in the same tone.

I hate knowing that they went through . . . whatever that fucker put them through. But I’m happy they had each other in that hellhole.

We pull up to the emergency room doors of St. Barnabas Hospital. The tame, brown brick building is in complete contrast with the chaos inside.

Zane throws the car into park, and we hop out together. “Are you sure Elena is on shift?”

“She basically lives here. If she’s not, she’s probably inside somewhere.”

As we gather Spencer and Asher from the backseat, Hayes gets out of the back with Iris still in his arms. Zane runs inside and comes back out, followed by nurses and doctors with gurneys.

They quickly get Asher loaded onto one and Spencer on another.

They shout rapid-fire questions, asking about their condition and what’s wrong. We answer each one as best we can.

Iris fights the doctor who is attempting to load her on a bed. She clings to Hayes’s neck, refusing to release him or go anywhere without him.

“No! Don’t touch me!” Iris kicks at the closest doctor.

Elena appears at the door, and her eyes widen in shock. She dashes toward us. “Stop it!” she yells as she pulls on the shoulder of the male doctor who has a hold of Iris’s ankle. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Inside, now! Go make your rounds.”

Iris cries and Hayes keeps his arms firmly around her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he tells her.

Elena places a hand on Hayes’s shoulder. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me, I can get her checked out inside. Are you okay to keep carrying her?”

Hayes nods and follows Elena inside.

The other nurses and doctors follow after Elena and head inside with Spencer and Asher. Zane and I follow suit and split when Spencer is taken to one room and Asher another. Zane tilts his head, gesturing to Spencer’s door, then walks into Asher’s room.

The swift beat of my heart settles as I walk through the door and spot Spencer lying in the hospital bed. Nurses and doctors hover over her, aiding with preliminary examinations and taking her vitals. She’s a mess, but knowing she’s here and that she’s going to be okay makes me feel at ease.

Fucking finally.

After the staff assesses Spencer and determines she’s not in critical condition, most of them clear the room except for one nurse and one doctor.

A male doctor.

Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.

Before he can even introduce himself, I jump in. “I’d much rather Dr. Flores tend to her.”

He looks to be not much older than me. He has pale skin with dark blond hair, and when his beady eyes turn on me, I can feel his ego bruise. “That’s not up to you.”

Spencer chimes in quickly. “Is Dr. Flores available?”

His displeasure turns to Spencer. “I’m perfectly capable of being your doctor, Ms . . .”

“Gray. Spencer Gray.” Spencer bites her lip. “I’m sure you are, but I think . . . Umm . . .”

The nurse steps between Spencer and the doctor. “Doctor, why don’t we let them be for a minute. The patient is stabilized, and I’m sure you have others you need to check in on.”

The understanding nurse, in her bright pink scrubs, holds her ground.

Her words are polite, but her hands on her hips, wide-set feet, and firm voice suggest she’s not going to budge on this.

She’s older and has dark brown hair with streaks of gray.

She’s short but still able to stare down a man a foot taller than her. Her ID reads “Amy Evans.”

Amy leads the prick out of the light-stained wooden door but turns to us before she leaves. “I’ll find Dr. Flores for you.”

Once they’re gone, I scooch my chair right next to Spencer. There’s a hospital gown on the end of the bed. I pick it up and stand, holding my hand out to her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Mama.”

Spencer lifts her hand to put it in mine, but she hesitates. It’s enough to tear at my cool facade. I’m ready to drop to my knees and beg her to let me help her when she places her hand in mine.

Everything feels right when I’m touching her. All I need is her touch, and I know everything will be okay—everything will work out.

I help Spencer off the gurney and lead her to the bathroom. We stand on the plain gray tile together as Spencer shifts her weight from side to side.

Spencer’s arms are crossed, and she won’t look me in the eye as she says, “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

She grabs for the gown, but I hold it just out of reach. “I’d like to look you over myself.”

Swallowing a couple of times, she relents. “Okay, but don’t stare.” Spencer struggles to take off Zane’s shirt, but once she gets it, and her dress, off, I’m frozen. Her torso is littered with black and blue bruises.

My veins grow hot as I hold out the thin aqua gown for Spencer to step into. My touch is gentle, but my hands tremble.

They’re dead. They’re all fucking dead.