I kept my eyes on the stairs and the exit, while Dean kept an eye on the others until the door was mere inches away and he steered me in front of him.
I tried not to pay too much attention to the body in the doorway as I stepped over it hastily, avoiding the blood as the cold floor bit into my feet.
A bullet pinged off the door frame above us, cascading drywall across Dean’s hair right as we escaped into the stairwell.
Almost there.
We went up the stairs together, but Dean stumbled and caught himself, closing his eyes for a second as he hung his head. The purple sash on his hand was already covered in blood.
“Shit,” he breathed.
“Dean, come on.” I looped his arm around my shoulder, took the gun from him, and held his waist. “I’m going to support youas much as I can, but I still need some help. We have to keep moving.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re meant to sit still when you’re bleeding out,” he muttered sarcastically.
Good. Sarcasm was a good sign.
“Yes, but you aren’t bleeding out.” I was in denial, but still, I pulled him to the next step. And the next flight of stairs.
He managed the climb to the top, but the way he swayed on his feet wasn’t exactly reassuring.
We passed two more bodies at the door that went into the strip club. This door was propped open, revealing a darkened room on the other side where glass from the black mirrors littered the floor.
“Careful,” Dean said, nodding to my feet. “I would carry you but—”
A pair of bright lights suddenly flashed in our faces, and we stopped inside the door.
“Put the weapon down!” shouted a man, followed by the click of a gun.
Police.
“We were the hostages, you dumb fucks,” Dean muttered sharply.
I hastily put the gun down anyway as the officers lowered their flashlights and guns. They didn’t quite apologize for the mistake, but they were quick to escort us out, carefully guiding me around the broken glass that littered the entire floor. It caught the light of the flashlights like a floor of diamonds.
Antonio’s men had come in earlier with their guns blazing, and it showed. Every mirror was broken, and the front windows were smashed in.
Outside, the street was cordoned off and filled with flashing red and blue lights. Police vehicles, two large black vans, and ambulances were parked a safe distance from the club’s entrancein case the fight spilled onto the street, but still close enough that Dean and I were whisked away to the paramedics. Well away from the front line of it all.
Dean was seen first. Initially, he refused and told them to check me first, but when he stumbled, they guided him quickly to sit in the back of the ambulance.
They checked me over too, but all of my injuries were bruises and superficial cuts that would heal on their own.
Iwassuspected of having a concussion, not that I could recall when or how it happened.
Wrapped in one of the blankets from the ambulance, I stood beside Dean as they cleaned and treated his hand. I could feel the adrenaline subsiding as I came to terms with what happened.
“Lily!”
I turned, searching the sea of police cars for the owner of that familiar voice, and found Dad walking right to us. With his arms out wide, I could see the bulletproof vest under his coat before he wrapped me in a tight hug.
He noted the blood on my clothes and in my hair, glanced at Dean, and then held me at arm’s length for a better look.
“How did you know to come?” I asked.
“Kira called us from your apartment. She said it looked like you’d been robbed. There were also reports of multiple gunshots in this area. So when we tracked Dean’s phone here, we knew something was off. And since the triplets figured out who Dean was a few weeks ago, I thought it was odd he might willingly come here again on the day of his mother’s funeral…” He glanced at Dean, who was doing his best to look like he wasn’t listening as he watched the paramedic begin wrapping his hand in gauze. “I’m just happy you’re both safe.”
“You know Antonio’s down there,” Dean said.
