I hold her upright with one arm. Crouch down—more pain, more blood—and guide her feet through the leg holes.
Pull the underwear up.
Her jeans are by the couch.
Same process.
Lift. Guide. Pull.
She moves when I move her.
Stops when I stop.
Says nothing.
Does nothing.
Just... exists.
I took too long.
I should have left days ago. Should have ignored the doctor's orders. Should have dragged myself out of this apartment and hunted the cartel before they could hunt us.
But I stayed.
Because of her.
Because I wanted more time.
More opportunities to pretend I could have something normal.
And now she's standing in front of me with dead eyes because I was too selfish to leave.
I grab my phone from the coffee table.
Call Lorenzo.
"Report." His voice is sharp. All business.
"Two hostiles down in the building. Three fled. Sniper across the street neutralized before he could fire." I keep my voice flat. Clinical. "Marina's in shock. We need extraction."
"Already arranged. There's a car in the alley behind the building. Black SUV. Nico's driving."
"Where are we going?"
"Safe house. Apartment on the other side of the city. You and Marina are going to be locked in until we handle this."
My jaw clenches.
Locked in.
Hiding.
"I can't stay put, Lorenzo."
"You can and you will."
"The cartel?—"
