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“This is about you throwing a fit over no one liking you? Well, boo hoo, cry me a fucking river.”
“That helped, but it was more about consolidating power. The Saxons hold the gateway between the north and the south. I wanted that, so did my prez. I never understood how a pissant club like yours could get so powerful, but I knew it had to be the money you guys are raking in from running those drug lines. We wanted it.”
He raises his gun and fires.
I draw in a breath as Slade drops to the ground holding his shoulder, blood pouring from beneath his fingers.
Dylan moves to him and removes the gun from his grip. “You’re too old for this game, Slade.” Then his attention comes to me. “You’re supposed to be dead, Mackenzie.”
He pulls a gun out and aims it at me.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way, but it’s the only way to destabilise the Saxons.”
He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. My stomach twists and ice floods me. My brain blanks out and the only thought I have is I didn’t get to see Dane again.
I jump at the sound of the gun going off. As he fires it, Slade surges up from the floor and tackles him. They go down in a heavy heap as the door behind him opens and I catch a glimpse of Dane. He moves quickly, grabbing Dylan.
I think he’s missed me. Then, I feel the pain. It spreads through my stomach like hot embers, burning my skin and insides.
Glancing down, through my swollen lids, I see fresh blood spilling across my top like an ink stain. Bile rises in my throat.
He shot me.
Dylan shot me.
My head feels fuzzy and I try to focus on what Dane, Slade and Dylan are doing, but I can hardly see through the watery veil covering my eyes. I’m crying, I realise.
From the pain?
From the situation?
From realising Dane might get hurt?
I’m not sure. All I know is my tears are falling.
The gun goes off again and I try to blink my vision clear, but I can’t.
“Kenz?” Dane’s voice pushes through the cotton wool in my ears. “Fuck. This is a lot of blood.”
I try to focus on his face, but it keeps swimming in front of me. I do notice a streak of red on his arm. Is he shot too?
I peer beyond him and see a sight that will haunt me until my dying breath. Dylan is lying on the floor, blood spewing from a wound in his head, his eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Slade stands over him, the gun held loosely at his side.
Shit.
Bile rises up my throat at seeing his body, but my attention is brought back to my own predicament as Dane presses a hand to my stomach. I draw a hiss of air into my lungs at the pain that fires through me.
“Sorry, baby. I have to stop the bleeding.”
“How bad?” Slade demands, cradling his shot up shoulder.
Dane doesn’t say, instead he mutters, “Just hold on, Kenz. Hold on. We’ll get this fixed up.”
There’s a tremble in his voice that should scare me, but I feel weirdly at peace. I’m dying, I know I am. I wish I could hold on for him, but I can’t. My energy is draining out of me with each pump of blood lost from my gut and I can hardly focus on anything but my own shallow inhalations.
“What the fuck happened?” My brother, Jem. His hands go to the back of his neck, like he’s on the verge of hysteria. I wish I could tell him it’ll be okay.
“Dylan fucking shot her.”
