My vision blurs. I try to lean forward, try to touch him, hold him,something, but the chains and tape still pin me to the chair.
All I can do is sob…short, choked breaths that tremble through my whole body.
“They’ll… come… for… you,” Knuckles whispers, his voice barely audible. His weight feels heavier by the second, sinking into my lap. “Just… hold… on.”
I try to nod as tears fall from my face onto his hands.
Knuckles' head rests in my lap, his breathing shallow…almost non-existent.
Cortéz limps closer. He laughs, breathless and cruel, and taps the back of Knuckles’ head with the barrel of his gun.
“That was some show,” he taunts. “Shame your biker didn’t finish me off. Now I’ll get to take my anger out on you, toy.”
Knuckles’ fingers twitch.
He lifts the gun with a strength he shouldn’t have left, looks up, and gives me the softest, most defiant wink I’ve ever seen before fully turning to Cortéz.
“You don’t… fuck… with the Shadows.”
He pulls the trigger.
The shot detonates in the small room.
Cortéz’s body jerks, crumples back several feet, and slams to the floor with a dead thud.
Knuckles’ arm trembles as he lowers the gun… then slides it into my hand, curling my fingers around the grip with what little strength he has left.
“Shoot…” he rasps, eyes fluttering. “…any… fucker… who… comes… close.”
His hand falls away.
His eyes close as he rests his head back against my lap. One of his arms wraps around my body as best he can in his weakened state, tucking his hand firmly under my butt. His other hand reaches up to cup my face, but he can’t quite reach it and stops at my throat.
And all I can do is scream behind the tape…silent, shaking, and trapped beneath the weight of a dying man who just sacrificed the last of his life for me.
“They’ll…come.”
The word shreds out of him, barely sound, barely breath.
His hand presses firmly against my throat at an awkward angle, mostly just resting there while his body holds him in place.
Then his chest rises… falls… rises… falls……rises…then a horrible, wet gargle rattles out of him. One long, final exhale…and then Knuckles goes still.
Completely, utterly still.
I freeze.
The gun sits awkwardly in my hand, trapped beneath the chains at my wrist. I can’t lift it properly. My fingers curl around the grip sideways, uselessly. Knuckles arranged it for me, forced it into my hand, even as he was dying.
And now he’s… gone.
But he still did what he could.
Protected me.
He draped himself over me as best he could, shielding my chest with his body. His weight is crushing, but I don’t dare try to move him. I can’t. My arms are strapped down. My head is taped tight.
And I don’t want to move him.
