Guilt tears at me.
I should have been better.Quicker.This shouldn’t have happened.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, pulling her tight.“I’m so sorry, Angel.Are you okay?Tell me you’re okay.”
“You came for me,” she cries, her fingers fisting my shirt.“I knew you would.I knew it—” Then her voice cracks.“Oh God.Marco?”
I freeze.
She pulls back, just enough to look at me, her lip trembling.
“Where’s Marco?”she asks.
Her voice is raw, barely more than a whisper, and it hits me like a bullet straight to the chest.
That’s when I see it.
The blood on the floor.
It doesn’t match her wounds.
And then—behind her chair—I see him.
A slumped figure, motionless.Smaller than the bodies I mowed down.
Familiar.
Fuck.
“Marco,” I breathe, my stomach twisting.
I don’t want her to see this.
Kai rushes over, careful but quick, and drops to a knee beside him.
Checks his neck for a pulse.
There’s blood smeared across Marco’s temple, a gash above one eye, and his arm’s bent at a bad angle.
“He’s alive,” Kai says, glancing up at me and I feel relief flood through my system.
Not for him.Fuck that little weasel for putting her in this mess.My relief is for her.
She’s been through enough.She doesn’t need to grieve for this jerk of a brother, too.
Sabrina lets out a small, cracked sound.
It’s not more than a whimper really.
Part sob, part prayer.
I feel her body shake in my arms, and I grip her tighter, trying to anchor us both.
Relief slams into her, stealing what little strength she has left.Her breath hitches.Her body slackens.
Her knees give out entirely when I help her up—so I don’t make her stand.
I lift her off her feet like she weighs nothing.
