Page 187

I never use the word please. But for her, I'd walk straight into hell, barefoot, on hot coals.

The doctor's office looks like absolute shit from the outside, a dingy little storefront that used to hand out marijuana cards before it was legal. A faded sign, barred windows, the kind of place you'd walk past without a second glance. Purposefully designed that way. We don't need anywalk-ins. Just in case some junkie mistakes the place for still being in business, two guards are stationed by the front door, discouraging anybody from entering twenty-four seven.

Inside, it's a completely different world. State-of-the-art doesn't even begin to cover it. Massimo had this place built a few years ago after too many of our guys got fucked up in regular hospitals where questions got asked, and cops liked to linger. Sterile white walls, top-tier equipment, private rooms that rival any trauma center in the country. Nobody in our world goes to a real hospital anymore. Too dangerous.

Doc Altera and nurse Betty are already waiting when we burst through the entrance. Altera's in scrubs, sleeves rolled up, looking calm as ever. Betty's got an IV line ready in her hands.

"O positive is prepped for her," Altera says immediately, motioning us forward. "Put her here."

I carry Audra down the short hallway to the left, my arms trembling from the pain in my head and pure adrenaline. She's still unconscious, head lolling against my shoulder, breathing too shallow. I lay her down as gently as I can on the examination table, which is padded, adjustable, and more like a surgical bed than anything you'd find in a normal clinic. My hands don't want to let her go. I have to force myself to step back even an inch.

Altera moves in fast, gloved hands already assessing. I point at the deep gash on her left forearm, the one she gave herself with my own knife in her desperate attempt to get free.

"I think this one's the worst."

"Hmm. Yeah, looks like it." He leans closer, probing carefully. I can barely contain the urge to snarl at him to hurry the fuck up. My head is still pounding like a jackhammer, blood trickles down the side of my face from the graze, but none of it registers. Only Audra matters. Always Audra.

Betty moves like lightning, starting an IV in Audra's other arm so the universal donor blood can start replenishing what she's lost.

"Let me see," Altera mutters, eyes narrowing at the forearm gash. "Deep. Did she try to kill herself?"

"No," I nearly rip his head off. "She was in a hurry to free herself." Pride sneaks into my voice. "She fought like a wildcat. "

The doc glances at me, then back at her. "Looks like you got a graze too."

I barely feel the pain anymore. Just the annoying warm trickle of blood running down my temple and jaw. "Yeah, whatever. Just take care of her first."

Betty hands me some gauze. "Press that against the wound."

I reach for Audra's arm.

"Yours," the doctor snaps, shaking his head in exasperation.

The nurse sighs and presses fresh gauze against the side of my head. I impatiently shake her off after a second. "Just make sure she's okay."

A memory hits me from out of nowhere, Audra's freed leg shooting out in pure desperation, catching Razor's side just enough to throw his aim off. Enough so that the bullet that should have gone between my eyes only grazed the side of my head. My brave, fearless Audra. Mine.

I reach out and take her limp hand in mine, mindful of the IV and the bandages. My thumb strokes across her knuckles, smearing a little of her blood with mine.

"Hang on, baby," I whisper in a voice low and raw, my ruthless boss mask cracking wide open. "You don't get to leave me. I need you. More than power, more than revenge, more than anything. Stay with me. Please, Audra… stay."

My head throbs harder, the room tilts slightly, but I don't let go of her hand. I won't. Not until she opens those green-gold eyes again and looks at me like I'm hers. Because she is mine. And I am completely, irrevocably hers.

Everything isfuzzy around the edges when I wake up. The room looks like a hospital—crisp white sheets, monitors beeping softly, IV line in my arm—but there are no windows. Just smooth, reinforced walls and the faint hum of air filtration. My head feels heavy, like it's filled with cotton and static. I try to piece together where I am and why everything hurts.

The smallest sound—a tiny, raspy breath—escapes me, and instantly Gabe is at my side. "Audra!"

He's leaning over the bed, eyes wide and desperate. He looks like absolute shit. Dark circles run under his eyes, his skin is grayish and drawn, and an ugly, stitched gash runs along the side of his head. The eye on that side is swollen almost completely shut. Dark stubble shadows his hollowed-out cheeks, and he's still wearing the same blood-stained shirt from the bar.

But it's him. Alive.

"Gabe…" I breathe out, the name cracking on my dry throat like a prayer.

I try to lift my arms for him, but they're too heavy. There's no strength left in me. My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and suddenly, I'm so thirsty my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

Gabe takes my hand immediately, brings it to his lips, and kisses my knuckles with trembling reverence. His voice is rough, shredded with exhaustion and leftover terror. "For a moment, I thought I lost you there."

A tired, shaky smile pulls at my lips. "Right back at you."