Before I could argue, he was gone, slipping into the darkness between stacked containers, his men fanning out around him. Gunfire erupted again, closer now, echoing off steel until the direction became almost impossible to judge. I pressed my back against rubber, my heart hammering in my chest, the noise overwhelming and I forced my breathing to slow, the doctor in me cataloguing injuries in my mind before they existed. Anticipation was its own kind of triage.
A sudden thud, skirting the clamor of the gunfire, caught my attention. I cocked my ear, focusing my hearing to pinpoint the sound then jerked my head around. Through a narrow gap between the SUVs, I noticed two men advancing from the far side of the yard. In the time it took me to realize they were coming up behind Remo and jumped up to warn him, somethingcut through the smoke to my left, fast enough that my eyes almost missed it.
A silhouette slid between the SUVs with a confidence that didn’t belong to the panic around me. For one disorienting second, I thought it was a trick of the light, but then she stepped fully into view and my breath caught on a name I couldn’t call out loud. Dressed in full black, Dia moved without the hesitation I felt in my own limbs, closing the space between herself and the nearest gunman before he gauged her presence.
His arm came up but her hands connected first, one knocking the barrel off its line, so the shot tore uselessly into steel at the same time her other hand crashed into his chest. She pivoted, her elbow driving hard into his nose before her hand snatched his wrist and twisted. I was sure I heard the wet crack beneath the gunfire, saw his mouth open in something that never formed into sound as her knee slammed into his thigh, forcing him to his knees, her hands already snapping his neck in one quick twist.
Cursing, the second man lunged toward her, and instead of retreat she closed the distance, her forearm striking across his throat with enough force to snap his head back. He stumbled, and she followed, relentless, shoving him against the container wall with a brutality that felt personal. She didn’t look at me, Remo thankfully unaware as the man’s face crashed into the steel wall, once, twice and blood gushed.
I stood there for the span of a heartbeat, stunned by the certainty that my sister was closer to Remo than I was, that she was already protecting him in ways I’d yet to understand.
Reality snapped me back into singular focus, my gaze shifting beyond her shoulder to a shadow that detached itself from a stack of crates high off the ground, his weapon lifting, the barrel glinting in the firelight. My eyes jerked to Remo. His backwas exposed, his attention locked on the threat in front of him, unaware of the death aiming for his spine.
My legs moved before my mind caught up, surging from behind the SUV into open space, the distance between us collapsing in a blur of smoke and noise.
I didn’t scream, couldn’t, there was no air for it as I pushed every ounce of strength into the exertion.
Without thinking, I threw myself at him, crashing into his back. The momentum shoved him forward, out of the line of fire and down. Remo’s chest hit the ground first with me sprawled across his back.
At first, nothing registered except adrenaline charging through my veins until sudden white-hot pain seared my back, stealing the air from my lungs, a violent pressure biting into my spine before the cold followed, spreading outward in a wave that made my head spin.
In the second it took me to realize, I’d taken the bullet meant for him, Remo was already twisting beneath me, the thunderous expression ready to face off the threat as his hands grabbed my shoulders rolling me off him.
But he froze, recognizing me, confusion widening his eyes, the same time his hands encountered the blood I felt spilling out of me.
“Ishika!” My name left his mouth in an animalistic roar. “What the fuck did you do?” he demanded, his voice fractured. He hauled me up by the arms, carrying me toward cover, gunfire still tearing through the air around us.
“I saw him,” I rasped. “There wasn’t a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” He lowered himself to the ground with me in his lap, his hand moving to my back, palm clamping hard over the wound, pressure unrelenting. “You don’t step in front of bullets, especially ones aimed at me,” he bit out, eyesscanning my face as if searching for something vital. “Do you understand me?”
“I do what I choose,” I sassed, my vision beginning to blur at the edges, the world narrowing to the line of his jaw and the way his mouth tightened.
He barked orders without looking away from me. “Find him. I want him breathing,” he growled at his men. “Get doc here. Now!’ His focus snapped back to me. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, cold already licking at my limbs. Nothing like the heat of the explosion I’d felt before, this felt icy, sharp, numbing.
He ripped off his jacket and pressed it hard against the wound, ignoring the way my breath hitched. His palm clamped down, forcing the pressure downward until dizzying white spots danced behind my eyes. “Where the fuck is doc!” he shouted at the cluster of men near the trucks.
The gunfire slowed, then ceased, replaced by the distant sounds of pursuit and shouting. Boots pounded past us as his men gave chase. Remo remained where he was, hand steady against my side. The tremor in his fingers reminded me he wasn’t just holding cloth; he was holding me together.
My lids dipped, pain induced sleep creeping over me, and I slumped against him, my muscles suddenly failing me. The hum of his breathing usually soothing, was now the only rhythm left in a world slowly going silent.
“Keep your eyes on me, Ishika” He shook my shoulder, just once. Hard, the command softer, though.
“I’m trying,” I shifted slightly, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my nerves. “You know doctors make the worst patients.”
An attempt at humor made him growl softly, the vibration flowing through me. He bent his head, kissing my brow, thegentle action surprising amidst the violence Pain ballooned and I shuddered hard, gripping his shirt.
“I’m scared, Remo,” I confessed, not ready to die.
His throat worked a hard swallow. “I know. I know, baby. But I won’t let you die. You hear me? I won’t—” He shouted over his shoulder, voice cracking with demented fury. “Rogan, where the fuck is doc.”
I wanted to tell him I was right here. That I could fix this if I could just stand up. The cold, however, grew denser, heavier. The dark waited and Remo, he was watching me like he was waiting for something else, something he wasn’t saying or maybe couldn’t say.
The estate manager neared us. “Sorry, sir, he’s almost here.”
“If he’s not here in two minutes, I’m putting a bullet in your head.”
