I hadn’t even registered what was happening when Ronan rammed his shoulder into me and shoved me to the ground.
My once pristine dinner dress is ruined. Blood smears across the expensive fabric, soaking into the wool of my peacoat, staining my hands.
I’m not a blood person. It makes me squirm uncomfortably and even gag in large amounts. Yet I’m forced to swallow down any nausea as I help Ronan up a narrow staircase to the second floor.
He’s been shot, and his blood is leaking everywhere. He’s barely able to stand.
“We should call 911,” I say again, my voice pitching higher than usual. “Ronan, you need a hospital?—”
“No cops. No officials. Just... get me upstairs. There’s an apartment on the second floor. Use the brass key with the number six on it.”
I bite my tongue as we stagger the rest of the way up the stairs. The hallway on the second floor is about as narrow as the staircase was, the two of us lurching forward. When we reach the door to the apartment he’s mentioned, I fumble with the knob to get it unlocked.
The apartment is drab and nothing special. Dust coats every surface, from the sagging couch and small kitchen table to the countertops that haven’t seen a sponge in months.
Clearly nobody lives here. It’s just a safe house, a place to disappear when things go wrong.
…and things have definitely gone wrong tonight.
Ronan collapses onto the couch with a groan of pain, his head falling back, eyes closed. His entire suit jacket is damp from blood, and sweat drips from his face. I’m slicked in blood and sweat too, though I know I can’t rest now.
I’m moving before I can think, darting into the tiny bathroom to grab whatever towels I can find. They’re thin and scratchy, probably haven’t been washed in ages, but they’re better than nothing. Rushing back to him, I slide onto the couch, prop myself up on my knees, and start ripping at his shirt.
The blood-soaked fabric slips away from his shoulder and reveals the bullet wound.
My hands freeze, heart thundering even faster.
My father is a weapons dealer. He’s cut multimillion-dollar deals with our country as well as others across the world. He also conducts under-the-table business in the black market for similar amounts.
He’s armed the United States military as well as small militias across the globe. Half of the organized crime syndicates in New York City are his faithful customers.
I was his faithful Public Relations Director, ensuring Langston Defense Solutions remained well-regarded in the public eye.
Yet despite my family’s business and my career working for them, I’ve never seen a gunshot wound before.
I’ve never dealt with blood gushing from the puncture mark or been in the thick of this level of violence.
Dad ensured I’d never have to be; I was always protected and shielded from this ugly side of our family’s trade.
Ronan’s mockingly called meprincessbecause of it, and for the first time, my stomach churns at the realization he’s right.
Iama princess, and this is way above my pay grade. I don’t know how to handle somebody who’s just been shot. The blood is thick and dark crimson and pulsing from the deep hole in his shoulder.
There’s another wound on his thigh, which has hindered him from walking like normal.
He needs a real doctor. Some medically trained professional. Not some sheltered princess whose stomach heaves at the sight of blood and gore.
I have to clamp my mouth shut to keep from throwing up all over him.
“Simone,” he chokes out, “you need to focus.”
“I’m… I’m trying,” I whisper, hands shaking. They’re stained with his blood—so, so much blood—and my mind goes blank every time I think about what to do next. “Ro-Ronan, please. Let me call 911. You needrealhelp?—”
“No,” he snaps. He reaches up with his good arm and grabs my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong despite his wounds. “Grab my phone. Text Killian what’s happened. Then call the contact listed as Hino.”
I blink at him, uncomprehending at first, then realize there’s no other choice but to go with it. I find his phone in his suit jacket pocket and scroll through his contacts until I find the names. First I fire off the text to Killian, then I dial Hino.
My fingers are trembling so badly I almost drop the phone twice before I manage to press call.
