“I’ll kill you both!”
I opened my eyes just in time to see Roland go for Will’s wrist. Will easily turned him around and wrapped his muscular forearm around Roland’s neck. I was so mesmerized I didn’t hear the sound of plastic and metal sliding across the concrete until the gun hit my thigh and stopped sliding.
“Pick it up, Sophie!”
I stared blankly at the gun, then up at Will; his face was red as Roland flailed wildly, trying to bash Will in the head, trying to go for the bloody gouge that was already there.
Suddenly Will lost his footing and the pair was tumbling, limbs flailing, the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh resounding as they fought.
“Soph—”
The sound of Roland’s knuckles making contact with Will’s jaw cut off my name. I wrapped my hand around the gun when Roland rolled over and had Will pinned. I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger, the popping of the bullet roiling through my body, cracking in my brain. I opened my eyes and gawked.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roland bucked liked a bronco and flopped off Will, making the loudest, most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard. I saw the soles of Will’s shoes first—flailing, kicking at the cement, then dropping silent.
Oh my God.
I heard nothing but the blood rushing in a fierce flow through my ears. My heart clanged and the tears were rolling over my cheeks before I knew I was crying. I didn’t care about Roland, who was scratching the driver’s-side door, trying to get into his car. I threw the gun aside and crab walked over to Will, willing myself to look at him, to see him. I would stop the bleeding; I would wait until the ambulance came; I would beg him to hold on for just a few more precious moments. I saw the police lights flashing in the distance. Could hear the mournful wail as the squad cars closed in.
“Will?” I whispered, grasping his hand. “Please hold on. Please.”
I kill everyone I love, I thought. I made love to him, and then I shot him.
I swallowed hard and Will blinked up at me, coughing, using the back of his hand to wipe at the blood and spit on his lips.
“Will!”
“Oh, love.” Will struggled to sit up. His face was scratched and bruised, and bits of rust-colored blood dried in his hair, around his nose, was liquid at the corner of his mouth. His rubbing at it only made it worse.
“I thought I shot you.”
“Hands where I can see them!” someone barked.
The cop cars were on us and I shielded my eyes against the overwhelming wash of headlights and raised my hands. There were two squad cars with six cops in fighting stance, knees bent, guns drawn. Behind them came a parade of flashing-light cars—an ambulance, a fire truck, more cop cars. My heart exploded in overwhelming joy, and relief washed over me in cool waves.
“Put them up!”
My heart did a double thump and I thought about explaining, but I saw those muzzles at the ready. I raised my arms higher, until I realized all of the officers had their guns trained on Roland. He reluctantly, slowly pulled his hands from where they had been—cradling his butt—and I saw that they were covered in blood.
“She shot me!” he screamed, bits of spit flying out of his mouth as he aimed a blood-drenched index finger at me. “That crazy bitch shot me in the ass! Arrest her!”
Two officers I’d known from Bettina’s crime scene rushed to me and Will, beckoning over the paramedic while another cop cuffed Roland and read him his rights.
I licked at my paper-dry lips. My tongue stung the broken skin as I looked at the officer rushing toward us. “How did you—how did you know it was me?” I asked him.
Officer Romero draped a thick, itchy blanket over my bare shoulders as the paramedic helped me up.
“There was a disturbance reported.” He looked almost sheepish. “I knew you were one of Alex’s people.” His sheepish look turned into a small grin. “And the one most likely to be in a disturbance. Also, someone named Athena Bushant called you in as a missing person, likely in danger.”
“Who’s Athena Bushant?” Will wanted to know.
I laughed—a weird, high-pitched, got-out-with-my-life laugh. “Athena Bushant, the great vampire-romance writer.”
The paramedics tended to Will first, while I chanced a glance at Roland, who was being laid belly-first on a gurney. His gunshot ass faced upward, while a professional-looking paramedic cut his pants off as though he wasn’t still ranting.
“Isn’t it illegal to shoot someone in the ass? Isn’t this America?”
“Sir, you need to calm down. You’re making the blood loss worse.”