Hanging up the phone, I shove it back into my pocket as we stumble out into the cold air. I pull my keys out and give them to Athena. “Do you know how to drive stick?” I ask.
She nods, taking the keys. I lean against the car while she pulls the door open. I almost fall into the passenger seat, letting out a heavy breath of relief to sit down. My side is aching. The blood isn’t flowing too fast, but the bullet is still in there. I was so busy trying to reach Anthea that I didn’t even realize I got shot in the process.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What?” she asks, her voice strained. Her hands are shaking as she starts the car.
My eyes trace over her. “Are you ok to drive?” I ask.
She scrunches her nose in offense. “I’m better than you,” she snaps. “Why did you swear?”
“I need to tell Victor what happened,” I sigh.
“Surely that can wait until after the hospital?” she says in horror.
“No, take us home. I have a medical kit there. We aren’t going to a hospital.”
“We are going to a hospital!” she shouts. “You got shot!”
“Athena, kitten, listen to me. Take us home. I promise you it’s all ok.”
She looks too stunned to argue.
Beautiful, in shock, and stunned.
While Athena pulls onto the main road, I dial Victor.
His voice comes through the line.
“Hey man, it’s me. Listen, I just left the warehouse. Antonio is there, so you can call him. We were attacked. Storage unit. Eight guys heavily armed. I took a bullet so I couldn’t stay to clean up, and Antonio has it covered, but he thought you might want to head down there,” I say.
“I’m on my way. Do you need anything?” he asks.
“No, man, I’m good. I’ve got help,” I say. Exhaustion rushes over me, and I close my eyes as we end the call.
“Who?” she asks, sounding worried.
“Who what, kitten?”
“Who is going to help you if you refuse to go to a hospital?”
“You are a little black kitten. My good luck charm,” I chuckle.
***
We arrive at the mansion, and I realize I zoned out for a while. The blood loss isn’t helping at all. I need to get the bullet out so I can fully stop the bleeding.
Anthea pulls the door open and helps pull me out of the car. I walk with heavy steps toward the front door, leaning on her shoulder. “Inexplicable imperative,” I say at the front door.
The latch clicks open.
“That’s an odd safe word,” she mutters as she hoists me inside to the best of her ability.
“HG Wells. One of my favorite authors?”
“What does it mean?” she asks, moving me toward the stairs.
“Go to the downstairs bathroom, there’s a med kit in the cabinet,” I tell her.
