Suddenly Trey swivels back toward me.Bobbi was a feint!Twisting against the hallway wall to present a smaller target, I shoot.
There are twinpootsfrom the pistols, and fire explodes in my ribs as I’m slammed against the wall. Trey drops with a muted thud, a hole smack between his eyebrows. The left side of my torso hurts like hell, but the pain is worth it.
Damn, I’m good, I think with a weird mixture of pride and dazedness.
Bobbi scrambles to her knees, then gets up.
“Noah?” Her voice is shaky.
“Right here, baby.” My response is light. She needs reassurance and confidence. The wound is tiny. Besides, it’s starting to hurt less. God bless the high pain threshold I got from Mom. “The fucker’s dead, so don’t worry,” I add since she can’t see what just happened.
“Are you okay?” Her question is more of a sob than spoken language. She’s blinking in the dark, trying to adjust her vision.
“Uh, yeah. Don’t move. Lemme get the light.” Pulling off the NVG, I drag myself to the laundry room and flip the main breaker back on. I blink at the blinding brightness, then look down and see the blood seeping out of the little wound in my chest, around my ribcage. It’s surprisingly warm and wet and smells like copper and rust.
I head back out to check on Bobbi. The NVG showed she was injured, but I didn’t really get a chance to see exactly how much she’s hurt and where.
She’s taken some damage. Her face is a mess. The blood under her nose and over her mouth is crusted, but nothing fresh is coming out. Her nose isn’t broken, thank God. At least four bruises to come, no black eye. Little cuts to her wrists and bruises there. There might be more under her clothes.
But what I can see so far stokes my rage. I shouldn’t have shot the motherfucker. That was too damn easy. I should’ve kept him alive so I could skin him. I might not be able to peel him like Mom could, but I could pour salt water over him during the process. That’s the least he deserved for what he did to Bobbi.
“Oh my God, you’re shot.” Tears fall from her eyes. She tries to reach for me, but pulls back, as though she’s scared to hurt me with her touch. Her entire body shakes as she places her hands over her mouth.
She’s worried. That’s a good sign, isn’t it? Even if she was thinking about breaking up with me for good, this means she’s changing her mind…right?
“Let me find my phone,” she says, sniffling.
“Wait, don’t call 911.” I take out my phone and text “911 gf house” to Contact2608.
–Contact2608: Acknowledged. Wait 10.
I relax slightly. He’ll make sure everything’s taken care of and a proper story is crafted to explain the death of Trey Underhill to the authorities.
My knees feel a bit rubbery. I don’t think Trey’s bullet hit anything important even though it hurts to breathe, but the blood keeps flowing out. I lean against the wall and slide down, smearing it with my blood. Shit.
“Sorry about the mess.” I gesture at the red.
“Who cares about that?” Bobbi says furiously, then wipes away her tears. She puts pressure on the wound. “You’re bleeding so much.”
“It’s not that bad.” I grin at her, feeling slightly loopy now. When my body hits a certain level of pain, it generally makes me lightheaded…almost like I’m high.
“I can’t believe you showed up the way you did. I didn’t think I’d survive tonight without a miracle.”
I grip her hand. “I willalwayscome for you. I’m your miracle, my light.”
She wipes her tears with the other hand. “How did you know I was in trouble? Trey said he texted you pretending to be me.”
“It was Señor Mittens. He was hissing and acting weird. I figured something was up. Speaking of which, I need to figure out what to give him that’s better than caviar and cream. Maybe top them with gold flakes?”
She laughs a little, just like I want.
“You’ve given me a lot of firsts,” I say. Bobbi’s in a receptive mood, and I want to get it out.
“Are you trying to tell me you were a virgin when we first met?” she says, half-exasperated and half-unbelieving.
“Oh hell no. You wouldn’t have wanted to sleep with me a second time if I’d been a virgin.”
She chokes on a small laugh.
