I grab it.
My fingers barely cooperate, numb and weak—but I don’t care. I wrench my arm up and slam the gun into the side of Scar’s neck. Hard.
A sickening crack sounds and he’s out cold.
I shove his limp body off me, chest heaving, vision swimming.
Then I look up. And everything inside me stops.
Rebel lies a few feet away with a hole blown clean through his head.
“Spike.”
He’s on the ground. Too fucking still.
Blood pools beneath him, dark and spreading fast.
“No—no, no,no—” I scramble to him, ripping off my cut and pressing it hard against his chest. “Stay with me,” I choke out. “Fuck—Spike, stay with me.”
His eyes flicker, barely.
His lips part and a broken sound escapes him. “C-comms…”
I fumble, yanking the earpiece from him and shoving it into my own ear. “It’s R-Ruin,” I rasp. “I’ve got…Fuck. Spike is down. I n-need help.”
Footsteps thunder behind me a few seconds later. Heavy and fast.
I don’t turn.
I don’t care who it is. I simply keep pressing down on Spike’s wound with arms that barely work, hands slick with his blood.
I quickly glance up as the shadow falls over us.
Tudor.
He drops to his knees across from Spike. For a second, I expect orders, action, or something.
Anything.
But he doesn’t move.
His massive hands come up, trembling, cupping Spike’s face like he’s something fragile. “Sh-Shane.”
The sound of his voice makes my head snap up fully. It’s raw. Broken.
His eyes are filled with tears.
What the fuck?
Without another word, he scoops Spike into his arms like he weighs nothing. My cut between their bodies.
He presses his lips to his clammy forehead. And then he’s gone.
“On my way, Ruin.” I hear Hound’s voice crackle in my ear, startling me.
“Char—Charlotte?”
“She’s safe,” he responds before yelling in my ear. “Healer, with me, now!” Then softly, “I’m coming, brother. Stay put.”
