Page 50 of Thin Lives

Affonso stared up at Calisto, glassy-eyed and breathing hard.

“I’m sorry, zio,” Calisto mumbled.

And he was.

He’d been distracted.

He made a mistake.

Had he been behind Affonso’s car, or in front of it, this probably wouldn’t have happened. Had he taken more care to protect Affonso after getting warned about the Irish, his uncle wouldn’t be dying in his arms.

Affonso chuckled, but it came out hollow, and he winced. “No worries, my boy.”

“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Calisto … this is nothing.” Affonso let out a shuddering exhale, and red tinted his saliva when he coughed. “I’ve forgiven you for worse—I’ll forgive you for this, too.”

“Thirty seconds out, Ryke.”

Calisto barely heard the shout from the front of the ambulance. He hadn’t even gotten a decent glance at the man’s face when the paramedics arrived on the scene and began working on Affonso. Their movements had been rushed—a frantic, but organized chaos. He stayed out of their way, but couldn’t help watching as his uncle drifted out of consciousness as the paramedics finally got the three bullet wounds staunched.

There had been so much blood.

So much.

Calisto was pretty certain a body couldn’t sustain that much blood loss. Affonso’s usually olive tone complexion had slowly turned an ash gray over the course of the ride to the hospital. His lips—covered by an oxygen mask as the paramedic kept pressure on his wounds—were tinted blue around the seams.

“Ten seconds to drop,” came the familiar voice from the front of the ambulance.

Calisto’s brow furrowed, and for a second, his attention left Affonso’s prone form on the stretcher. He’d been asked to sit back and out of the way, and he was more than happy to do so.

But that voice …

The few times he’d heard the paramedic that was driving, he hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the guy’s voice. But right then, Calisto had.

Familiar.

“They’re notified it’s a gunshot victim, right?” the paramedic working on Affonso said.

“High trauma, yeah.”

“They’re waiting?”

“Of course, Jose.” Ryke said. “Five seconds.”

Calisto wasn’t even sure what he was hearing between the two male paramedics, but he stayed in the corner of the ambulance and didn’t move a fucking inch. The final words were barely out of the driver’s mouth and the ambulance came to a sudden stop that rocked the vehicle, but didn’t seem to faze the paramedic leaning over Affonso with both hands pressed down to the man’s bloody, bare chest where he had gauze bunched up and soaked in red.

He couldn’t stare at the blood-soaked cloths for long.

It made him sick.

But worse yet, it made him sicker that somewhere inside of him, Calisto didn’t know what to feel at all. The sight of the blood bothered him, and he wanted to be worried for Affonso, but he just felt cold.

So numb.

He thought it was shock, maybe.

It would be a damn good excuse.