“Please, wake up,” I whispered.
Time slowed and my arms burned as the minutes of repeated compressions and mouth-to-mouth stretched on for too long.
And then, he sucked in a breath of air on his own.
I heaved him over onto his side into a recovery position, my arms protesting his weight. As he coughed and gulped down air, the relief that washed through me couldn’t have been sweeter.
I quickly wiped at my eyes before he slowly rolled onto his back again. Drowsily, his eyelids fluttered open, and his silvery blue gaze focused on me. Before I could stop myself, I brushed aside the strands of hair that hung across his forehead.
His eyebrows pulled together.
“Am I dead?” he croaked.
I shook my head, taking a moment to steady my beating heart, and looked at the rope burn on his throat. “What happened?”
The back door opened, bringing our attention to the top of the stairs as several of Antonio’s men (workers who usually set up the pit) walked into the basement, looking down at us with confusion on their faces.
“Are we interrupting something?” one chuckled.
Dean groaned his response, bringing my attention back to him as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
My hand shot out to his chest while the other grabbed his shoulder. “Take it slow, okay?”
He rested back on his palms with a tired sigh. “Antonio would be outside—”
“Good, you can tell him you can’t fight,” I said matter-of-factly, checking the floor and the back of his head for any blood. When I met his eyes again, I found him watching me with his brows raised. “What?”
“You gonna tell him that?” He nodded to the bottom of the stairs where Antonio stood. Wearing another expensive suit with his white hair combed back neatly, surveying the basement until his eyes came to us and he frowned.
He started towards us and then slowed to a stop. Leaning into his cane, his gaze grew suspicious. “What’s going on here?”
“I found him unconscious and barely breathing. You can’t expect—”
“Someone choked me with a jump rope,” Dean interrupted, eyeing me as he rubbed his throat. “But I’m fine.”
My shocked face was ignored as he got to his feet. I stood with him; my hands outstretched slightly as a precaution.
“Did you see who it was?” Antonio asked, tilting his head tilted as he assessed Dean.
“No.” Dean winced as he pressed a hand to his ribs. “They were wearing balaclavas and had a tire iron.”
My eyes widened at him. “They?”
“Lily.” Antonio offered me a gentle smile. “Could you give us a moment?”
I wanted to argue that Dean should be checked into a hospital but knew better than to argue with Antonio, and reluctantly kept quiet.
“Sure,” I said tightly, backing off towards the couches.
“Wait.” Dean grabbed something from the shelf in his locker and stepped around Antonio on his way to me. Antonio simply dipped his head and moved aside.
“Your phone,” he said, holding up the device. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
“Thanks,” I hesitantly took it back, mindful of where my fingertips touched his hand as if I hadn’t just given him mouth-to-mouth...
“Dean,” Antonio said as he waited at the other end of the kitchen.
Something crossed Dean’s face like he had more to say, but then he left.
