The man who fired it receives a bullet between the eyes in return. His friend is edging towards the door. It isn’t Andrei. I suspect that being the coward he is, he’s the one who slipped out the front door and ran. This one’s only a young lad. He’s holding a gun, but I have a notion by the hopeless look on his face that it’s empty.
His eyes are wide and filled with fear. It isn’t an expression I’m unaccustomed to. Most people fear death. It’s only natural. But this lad, he looks like someone else I once knew. That boy from the compound. The one who died under Farrell’s hands. The one who set into motion all of the events that made me into the man I am.
And looking at this lad now, I both pity and loathe him.
But I can’t find it in me to raise my weapon.
He’s already had a clear look at my face. It would be unwise to let him go. But that’s exactly what I do. And to make matters worse, when he slips out the door, I sign my own death warrant.
“Tell Andrei that the Reaper sends his regards. We’ll meet another day.”
Chapter Twelve
Sasha
There’s a dull thump coming from the front door.
At first, I’m certain that I’m dreaming it, but the sound continues until it dwindles down to a light tapping.
I slip out of bed and throw on a tee shirt and some yoga pants. I didn’t even bother to get dressed or shower after Ronan left. Because I still wanted to smell like him. Pathetic, much?
By the time I get to the front door, the sound has stopped. And when I look out the peephole, I don’t see anything either.
It’s starting to feel like a horror movie, but I keep the chain on and crack the door open. And then I find Ronan, slumped against my door, with blood all over his shirt. I have to cover my mouth to keep from screaming.
I unlock the chain and open the door, and he looks up at me with those frigging sad brown eyes of his.
“Ronan?”
“No doctors.”
It’s the only thing he says before his head lolls to the side. And I’m officially freaking out. I kneel down to inspect him. He’s bleeding from a wound in his shoulder and it looks like he’s already lost a lot.
I clasp his face in my hands and give him a little shake.
“Ronan, I need you to stay awake, okay? And I need your help getting inside the apartment. Can you do that for me?”
He doesn’t reply, but he does move. He tries to stand up, and I wrap my arm around his back. But he’s too large, and I can’t support him.
We make it just inside the door before he collapses again. I can’t stop looking at the blood. Too much blood. And I’m close to panic. I know Lachlan will kill me if I call an ambulance, but I really think he needs one this time.
I make him as comfortable as I can on the floor, unbuttoning his coat so I have access to the wound. I whip off my tee shirt and press it over the bullet hole and then reach for his hand. His eyes are barely open, and he’s so weak. I feel him slipping away, and I can’t have that.
“I have to get you a doctor.”
“No doctors,” he croaks.
“Jesus, Ronan. I don’t have a choice.”
“No doctors,” he says again.
I press his hand over the tee shirt and hold it firmly in place. “You stay right there. I’m going to call Lachlan, okay?”
He nods, and his eyes close.
I run to my bedroom and fumble around the nightstand for my cell phone. When I find it, something else occurs to me. It’s going to take Lachlan a while to get here. And even longer to find someone who can help him. But I know someone who can, and she’s on standby, waiting for me to call anytime I need her.
I know it’s wrong, and they’ll probably just as likely kill me for this, but I scroll through my contacts and dial Amy’s number. She answers on the third ring, her voice sleepy.
“Sasha, is everything okay?” she asks.
“No,” I squeak out. “I need you to come over please. Right away.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll be there.”
“Please hurry.”
I hang up the phone and dial Lachlan as I move back towards Ronan. He’s barely conscious, but he’s still breathing. I hold pressure over the wound and give Lachlan a quick explanation of what’s happened. He tells me he’s on his way, so I hang up and wait.
Minutes come and pass, and I keep Ronan’s head in my lap, tracing over the lines of his face and stroking my fingers through his hair. Occasionally he finds the strength to look up at me.
“I’m going to take these off,” I tell him as I remove his glasses. “Okay? I want you to be comfortable.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s just watching me, calm as ever, like it’s no big deal. I want to ask him what happened. I want to ask him why he came to me. I have so many questions for him, but I know he needs to save his energy. So instead, I just sit beside him and stroke his face.
“You have kind hands,” he murmurs.
His eyes close again, and he starts to slip into unconsciousness.
“Ronan, you’ve got to stay with me.”
I watch his chest, and it’s still moving, but it’s hard to tell because my eyes are blurred with tears. The door opens and Amy nearly trips over both of us.
“Oh my God,” she says. “Have you called an ambulance?”