“What the fuck?” I move toward them. “Wake up, Bronco.” He’s out cold.
Wesley looks up. “He got shot twice. By Wynd.”
I nod. “Wynd is the enemy.” Words I never thought I’d say, but I saw him on that video. I know the tattoo on his wrist.
Alexei barks orders into his phone.
I lean closer. Blood is caked up Bronco’s neck in a dark, sticky trail glinting under the fluorescent light. “Is he breathing?”
“Yes,” Wesley says. “I’m not sure what happened. The elevator door opened, and he attacked Wynd. The guy went ballistic.” Wesley’s bleeding from a cut beneath his eye and there’s what looks like a bullet wound near his collarbone.
“How bad are you hurt?” I ask, my breath heating.
He wipes blood off his chin. “Dunno. I’ve already called an ambulance, but they don’t know how to get here.”
“I’ll open the door. Tell them to come around back.” I need to find Ella. “You tried to save her?”
“I did,” Wesley says. “I love her.”
“That’s too bad.” My voice is flat. “She’s mine, but I owe you one. Thanks for trying to save her. Get Bronco to the hospital.”
Wesley nods and hauls Bronco up with raw, shaking effort. He staggers toward the massive door.
I run and jump into the SUV and punch the button to open the door.
Alexei climbs in beside me, sliding his phone into his jacket pocket as Fergus barrels into the back seat.
“You good for this?” I ask.
“Yes,” Alexei says grimly. “I’ll help you get her back. Where would Wynd take her?”
The door is taking way too fucking long. I pull up the map on my phone, scroll, and shove it into his hands. “She’s the blue dot.”
He blinks down at it, then looks up at me, his eyes dark. “You chipped your woman?”
“No. I chipped the dog. She’s got a bracelet with a tracker in it.”
“Smart,” he says.
The engine roars to life.
“Don’t tell me you don’t have Rosalie covered,” I say.
He smiles without answering.
“That’s what I figured.”
The door is only halfway open when Kaz crashes into it and crumples to the ground. The sound is sharp, like a sack of bricks hitting steel.
“Holy shit.” I leap out and run to him. He’s bleeding from everywhere, streaks of red glistening under the harsh garage lights. Dirt covers him, head to toe, thick in his hair. The metallic tang of blood cuts through the smell of grease and gasoline, and for a second I almost choke on it. His clothes are shredded, caked with dirt, and his skin feels clammy when I grab his shoulders. I lay him on the pavement, his body twitching once before going slack.
“It was Wynd,” Kaz mumbles. Blood bubbles from his lips, thick and wet. “He shot me and buried me in the old lot on Blarney Street. I wasn’t dead. Asshole.”
I press my hand on one of the bullet wounds. He’s bleeding but not enough. Is he almost out of blood? “How?”
“Dug my way out.” His voice is barely there. “Grabbed a lady’s phone, meant to call you but got Bronco. She took the phone, and I had to get here.”
He walked five blocks bleeding to death. So that’s why Bronco attacked Wynd. He must’ve been coming up to tell me when the elevator door opened.
