My hands shook as they hovered over her face. I gulped down, tears pouring over my cheeks. Blood drenched her shorts and shirt. I pressed two fingers to her neck, and a weak pulse thumped against my skin. I sobbed in relief. Careful not to move her spine, I straightened her head on the seat so she wasn’t upside down. I checked her airway—clear—and her chest moved up and down with regular, if not slow, breaths.
“I got you.” I caressed her face. “You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be fine.”
I looked up at her leg, where glass protruded from the top of her thigh. That was beyond what I knew how to treat. Nothing I’d packed was going to help her.
“Stay with me, sparrow,” I begged shakily. “Don’t you dare leave.”
Gunfire rang out, loud and piercing. I jerked around and covered Lou’s body with my own. Over and over, they spat until it suddenly stopped. From my pocket, I retrieved the scalpel handle and a new blade package. Fingers steadier than I felt, I snapped the handle and blade together, then held it out in front of me, ready to fight to the death, as footsteps pounded closer and closer.
Chapter 47
Islammedonthebrakes, and everyone jerked forward in their seats, grousing and grumbling. The SUV behind us screeched to a stop, missing our bumper by a hair. Quickly, I made a three-point turn and gestured out the window for the other vehicle to do the same.
“What are you doing?” Vinny griped, rubbing his neck.
“That was them.”
“Them who?”
“Themthem.”
Another gunshot went off ahead just as Ainsley’s vehicle squealed and tumbled off the road. My heart leaped into my throat as we sped through the distance. I braked at the last minute, tires smoking from the strain, and aimed for the rear of the vehicle that had been tagging Ainsley. Their doors opened.
“Brace!” I yelled, straining my back and arms straight.
“You’re crazier than Tore,” Vinny barked as our front end hit their rear. For her, I’d be as crazy as she needed me to be. I’d light up the world and smash the ashes to bits if she asked.
The impact jolted up my arms, the airbag smashing into my nose. A gush of blood flowed into my mouth. I smeared it awayand unbuckled my seatbelt. On the driver’s side, the crash had knocked one of the assailants onto their stomach.
“Up and out!” I hollered to my men, both in our car and the car behind us pulling up on a soft stop.
I refused to look down at Ainsley’s car until the immediate threat was out of the way. With my semi-automatic pistol locked and loaded, I kicked my door open and jumped onto the asphalt. My first shot landed as the hostile rose to his knees. Vinny shot off two rounds before moving forward on quick feet. Knowing him, each one hit their target.
“Leave one alive,” Vinny yelled.
I’d rather kill them all off, but I knew where he was coming from. My other eight men filtered through the woods as we chased down the fuckers who’d gone after my woman. There were more of us than them. I left them to it and raced down the hill instead, phone flashlight on, toward the smashed SUV. Its rear was wrapped around a tree.
Before I even reached it, the woods went sickeningly quiet.
“Ainsley!” I wrenched open the front passenger door. Empty. No one was in the driver’s seat. I circled the car, flashing my light over the woods, in case she ran. “Ainsley! Where are you?”
“Renzo?” Her voice trembled.
I vaulted around, expecting her right behind me, but the woods were empty. “Where are you?”
“In here. Call 9-1-1.”
That’s when I noticed the bloodied calf and tennis shoe sticking out of the back passenger window behind the driver’s seat. Nausea swamped my throat, despite everything I’d previously experienced.
“Get all this cleaned up. Pack them in the car,” Vinny called out uphill. “We’ve got minutes, if that. Let’s move. If the engines work, all vehicles go with us.”
With my phone to my ear and 9-1-1 dialed, I ran around to the car’s other side and opened the door. I froze. Ainsley was alive, upright, and conscious. Blood trickled down her forehead, and the bottom half of her shirt was missing. Cuts littered her arms and face. Otherwise, she was fine.
Her back was to me as she tied fabric tightly around the top of a thigh, right above where a shard of glass impaled the leg. The skin was not olive like Ainsley’s, but dark brown—thin, not meaty like hers. I glanced down at the kid’s face. It was Lou.
Madonna, good god.
The 9-1-1 operator came on the line, and I explained the situation: the three of us had been in the car, my wife, her sister, and me. I’d been driving. We got shot at by a random SUV and ran off the road in the middle of the woods. My sister-in-law needed immediate medical attention and was at risk of bleeding out. As the operator coordinated on speaker, I sidled closer to both Ainsley and Lou and muted my side of the conversation. Ainsley didn’t look at me—all her focus on Lou.
