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“I’m not leaving you.” Marks squats down beside her. “Because I’m going to chew your ass out for not following the fucking plan, Gwen. You?—”
“Take him before the cops get here.”
“Wait — what?” Jase asks.
“Fuck!” Marks relents as he storms over to me, presses a knee on Williams back, jacks his arms behind him, and cuffs him. “Go with Gwen. Do not leave her side.”
“Let me finish him,” I hiss as the ambulance flies toward us.
“Go with Gwen.” He pushes me away and pulls William up, beginning to drag him away.
“Rome,” Gwen coughs, and I scramble over to her. “Tell them everything. ”
“Tell who? What?”
Her eyes start to roll back.
“Gwen!”
“Parole off …” She trails off.
“We’ve got her from here,” an EMT says.
As someone pulls me back, I hear more sirens in the distance.
“She has a pulse. We need to get her warmed up, stop the bleed, get her oxygen.”
“You’re hurt,” Cyrus whispers in my ear.
“I’m fine!”
“Fine or not, kid, hurt gets you in that ambulance; fine gets you in a squad car for questioning.” Abe’s voice comes from somewhere. He looks at Cyrus. “Deal with the cops? His name is William Center. Tell them to look him up. Tell them Chloe and Cecilia Shaw’s names used to be Eleanor and Allison Center. They’ll want to contact the local authorities in Hollywood Hills, California.”
What?
Inside the ambulance, I watch one EMT hook Gwen up to oxygen and put an IV in her hand.
“She’s going to be okay, Hart.”
“Has to be,” I say, watching the other tend to the fucking bullet wound in her arm.
“No exit wound. Call ahead and tell them they’ll need X-rays and to get a surgical team on standby.”
She moves to me and starts cleaning up the side of my head. “You’re going to be okay, too. You’ll need a few stitches and to take it easy. I’m pretty sure you have a nasty concussion.”
Her words trail off as I start to get dizzy then throw up.
* * *
CeCe
My eyes are on the TV screen, watching the end of the game, but I’m barely paying attention. The Jags are ahead in the bottom of the ninth.
“You okay?” Chloe asks.
I turn and look at her. “I can’t believe I felt safer living in that dilapidated trailer than William’s mansion we?—”
“Were abused in,” she finishes my thought and gives me my reason in three words.
