Uppercut Princess (The Heights Crew #1)(85)

In the back of my mind, my head keeps repeating a terrible thought. A single word my life has been filled with. A word I hate to even think might have happened to Brawler, Oscar, or even Johnny. None of them deserve this life, they’re just caught up in the tangles, like a spiderweb. Eventually, the spider’s going to get us. We just don’t know when.

My leg jumps up and down, and I look Magnum square in the eye. “I’m not going.”

Magnum reaches out, his fingertips trailing over my cheek. He frowns, then his lips pull down when his gaze tracks lower. “You’re bleeding.”

I stare down, noticing blood has seeped through my shirt. I lean back and lift it. There’s a nasty scrape on my stomach. Dirt and pebbles stick to my skin. “You dragged me through the parking lot.”

He swallows, his tender touch hovering over my skin before he gets to his feet, leaves the room, and then returns with a First Aid kit. He kneels between my knees and opens the kit on the couch next to me. He pulls out an antiseptic pad and rips the pouch open. “This will sting.”

His touch is soft, reassuring. It’s like I’m seeing a whole different side to the aloof, mysterious guard who’s always around. “You’re worried about my wounds? You’re the one who was shot.”

“You’re more important than I am.”

“No one’s more important than anyone else.”

His gaze moves up to meet mine. “Not true,” he says. I see the truth in his eyes. I am wrong. Because if I had the chance to pick and choose who dies in that shootout, I wouldn’t have picked Brawler or Oscar or even Johnny. I would’ve chosen Big Daddy K. I would’ve thrown others into the bullet’s paths, people I don’t even know, but the sacrifice would be worth it. Because then, I would know the people I care about most would be walking through that door.

It’s not up to me to play God, but I would. I would if it meant keeping the ones I care about alive.

Tears prick my eyes. Magnum reaches up, flicking the first away, but then they come so freely there’s no way he can keep up. “I’m sure they’re alive,” he says.

They? My stomach twists. He can see right through me, can’t he?

“Kyla, I—” He pauses and swallows, like what he’s about to say is some monumental declaration.

My heart skips. His words hang in the air between us. I want to take the end of the rope and keep pulling until I free every single one of the words he wants to say from his mouth.

But I never get the chance.

The suite door swings open.

In one swift movement, Magnum gets to his feet, gun raised.

I turn, lowering myself into the leather, but peeking around the couch to see who walks in.

My stomach sinks as in walks the reason for me even being here. He was so close to the foray that I imagined he would die, but he’s not dead at all. In fact, he’s in better shape than us. He’s not nursing a gun wound or bleeding from his stomach. He certainly wasn’t knocked around in a fight and then dragged through a parking lot to avoid being shot at.

“Magnum.”

Bodies usher in behind him. I get to my feet, my heart hammering in my ears and at the pulse in my wrists. I blink several times, trying to take in the faces as they come in. Some are wounded. Some are being carried by others, but my eyes refuse to focus.

Where are they? Where are they? They have to be here.

Flashes of the gun fight flick through my head. For the first time, I allow myself to think that people don’t just survive shit like this. There are probably more dead than alive. It wasn’t a game to any of them out there. They were shooting to kill. They didn’t care who.

Their family had been wronged, and they were out for blood.

“Kyla?”

The world stops. I search for the owner of the voice in a sea of distraught faces until I find him.

Him.

And then I fall to my knees, watching the open door for others, but no one comes.