I’m hell.
She checks him over, shaking with fear. There is no blood.
Thank God.
Then she rounds on me, eyes sharp with panic.
“Where’s Talia?” she demands.
And the gunfire behind us hasn’t stopped.
I look down the hallway, toward the shouting, the flashes of light bouncing off the wall, and the danger still alive in this house.
“I’m going,” I say, already moving toward it.
“Liam—wait!” Emma cries out, voice breaking.
“I’ll find her,” I promise, meeting Emma’s terrified eyes just long enough to make sure she hears me. “Stay with Laddie. Do not follow me. Get the hell out of here. I mean it.”
Another gunshot explodes in the distance.
When I hear a woman’s screams, I barrel toward the battle. Emma’s sister is lying on the ground, unmoving, when I find her.
There’s still fighting going on in another part of the large house, and I don’t want to take a chance, so I pick her up, carefully jogging back out to the front lawn, where I gently set her on the grass. She has a bullet wound in her chest. She’s breathing, thank fuck, but it’s shallow and labored.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t take her. She’ll bleed out in the car. I don’t know the area. What if I can’t get her to a hospital in time?
The sirens are closer. I can see the lights a few blocks down. I look around, wildly gesturing to the nearest man in black.
“I need some help!” I below.
He comes close, kneels in the grass beside me, and feels for Talia’s pulse.
“She needs an ambulance,” I say. There’s so much blood. “She needs help, or she’ll die.”
The guy listens to something in his earpiece, then says, “We’ll get her taken care of. The boss says you should get out of here quickly.”
I look at him, feeling helpless and useless, and he shoves me.
“Run!” he yells.
So I run.
I sprint across the lawn, covered in blood, and throw myself into the front seat. I slam the door and shove the car into drive.
I take the first turn I see, down a narrow alleyway, and then another. And another. Just trying to get us away from the mayhem, from the gunfire, from everything.
Emma and Laddie are in the back seat, clinging to each other, both crying.
They say some words, but I can’t comprehend a thing as I navigate through the neighborhood.
Finally, I find a main road. Neon signs glow ahead, cheap and bright, lighting the sky above several fast food joints.
I pick one at random and pull into the back of the lot, easing the car into a far corner space where we won’t be seen.
After I turn off the car, I just sit, trying to catch my breath. I am at a total loss for what to do. It occurs to me that Laddie could be hurt, too, so I finally turn around and look into the back seat.
“Is he okay?” I ask. “Is he hurt?”
