Bram spits out curses over the comms. “I’m coming, baby.”
I’m not shocked that he’s keeping tabs on my body cam.
“Hop, leave the dogs and go with him,” Anders orders.
Knowing I’ve got backup on the way, I decide to poke the bear. “What? Did that Joanna bitch put in an order for roided-out Neanderthals?”
He smiles and lunges at me with a haymaker. He may have gotten the drop on me with that uppercut, but I read this one from a mile away. I lean back, feeling the breeze as his ham hock-sized fist passes right by my face.
In the distance, a door slams open, and I can’t help my self-satisfied grin. This guy’s night—and life—is about to end very soon.
Dodging another poorly executed swing, I stumble back, landing on my ass as Bram walks up behind the man, gun out, his face entirely devoid of expression. Putting the gun to the back of the asshole’s head, Bram pulls the trigger. This time I see the spray of blood in full color.
Hopper looks disappointed though. Surreally, one of the vicious-looking German Shepherds is sitting at attention next to him, head tilted, ears casually flopped to the side. Despite the screaming going on around us, Bram is a beacon of peace. He reaches out his hand, helping me up from the floor.
“You shot him,” I say, pointing out the obvious yet still unable to comprehend what just happened. “You shot two people.”
“Yes, I did. Are you okay?” he asks, cupping my jaw.
I wince at the bruise forming just underneath his fingertips. Bram, seeing the damage, flares his nostrils, takes aim at the dead man, and puts another bullet in his skull.
“Stop shooting near the infants!” one of the nurses screams, and I translate for Bram.
I translate his apologies, and he wraps a protective arm around me, kissing my head.
“No one touches you but me,” he growls.
Before I can, I dunno, ask him to fuck me up against this empty incubator, Charlie runs in with a worried look.
“What’s wrong?” Bram asks.
“It’s Levy.”
22
BRAM
Fuck. Levy stepped in front of that bullet for me. He said it was just a graze, but I should have known better. I race to the house, Nacho, Hopper, and Charlie hot on my heels. We pass Anders and Erik, who now seems to be arguing with Ant.
Not wanting any part of that, I bang through the front door, panicking when I don’t see Levy right away. He’s not in the dining room-slash-office or the kitchen. Charlie calmly points me over to the living room. Pivoting, I enter the dimly lit space to find Levy on the floor, set up against the couch, holding his side.
My hands start to shake, and the smell of disinfectant fills my nose.The beep of my heart monitor. The foggy realization that Levy and I are all alone in this world.
“It’s not that bad, promise,” he says, his voice weak.
Ignoring him, I pull away his hand. It’s a narrow gash but bloody as hell. Turning gray, Levy looks off to the side, pressing his mouth against his shoulder.
Anders saunters in and kneels next to me, examining the cut. Whistling through his teeth, he observes, “There’s a thin line between a bullet graze and gut shot, and your brother’s just on the right side of things. I’ve definitely seen worse.”
Anders turns to Charlie. “Have we done a full blood panel on the therapy brothers?”
Charlie shakes his head.
Anders scowls, unhappy with this information. Up-nodding me, he asks, “You have cancer in your family history?”
I answer, not sure what the hell is going on. “Grandfather on Mom’s side died of pancreatic cancer. Mom had breast cancer but survived.”
“Is she still alive? Was there a reoccurrence of her cancer?”
