I realized, with a sinking horror, that Heidi had followed me outside. Damn her. “Son of a bitch.”
She came stumbling out, something in her hand, still looking as gloriously angry as before. “You—oof.”
Without hesitation, I threw myself at her, shielding her from what I knew was coming. The second my body covered hers, a shot rang out, and I had no idea if I’d moved quickly enough or if she’d been hit. Either, way, those fuckers would pay. Whether she’d been hit or not . . .
I’d kill everyone who had a hand in this.
Twice.
CHAPTER 18
HEIDI
I hit the wall with a thud, and the sharp edges of the brick ripped through my thin shirt, scraping my skin. Lucas literally threw his body over mine, and I had no idea why he was tossing me around like some maniac. I’d just been trying to give him his—
A loud gunshot rang through the formerly silent street, and I cried out. Lucas cradled me in his arms, curling his body around me protectively. The bullet zinged off something near our heads, the brick, maybe, and I braced for impact. Nothing hit. Lucas spun, pulling out his gun as he did, and took three rapid shots. I cried out again, slamming my hands over my ears. They went silent before ringing painfully from the bang. Before the last gunshot dissipated, Lucas was shoving me inside and slamming the door shut behind us. He ran his hands over me frantically, his breathing harsh, and panic written all over his face.
He said something, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear anything.
I shook my head, like I could shake away the blockage. “What?” My voice sounded distant, as if I stood at the opposite end of a long tunnel and shouted down it. All I could hear was a faint buzzing sound. “I can’t hear you.”
He cupped my face and enunciated perfectly. “Are. You. Hit?”
“N-no.” I glanced over him. “Are you?”
His hands slipped away from me. “No. Go up and lock the door.”
I blinked, because I was trying to read his lips and it wasn’t easy. “What?”
He pushed me gently. “Up. Lock. Door.”
I ran up the stairs, making it up in record time. When I opened the apartment door, I turned around, waiting for him to rush through it. But he was gone. Bolting back down the stairs, I tried to open the door, but something held it shut. And it wasn’t budging. Had he . . . had he locked me in? “Oh, hell no.”
Throwing my shoulder into it, I shoved all my weight against it, and it didn’t shift even a fraction of an inch. Another gunshot cracked through the air, followed by two more in rapid succession. I collapsed against the door, my breathing heavy and tears blurring my vision. He was out there, getting shot at, and he had no one to help him. Because he’d locked me in. If he died . . .
I forced myself to stop that thought in its tracks.
Okay, sure, I was unarmed, and even if I’d had a gun, I wasn’t that great a shot, but he shouldn’t have locked me in here. I knew calling the cops would be an awful idea, because Lucas would go back to jail for violating his parole. I wondered if he might be safer locked up and then immediately dismissed the idea. I knew better. An organization like Steel Row or Bitter Hill had a long reach, even behind bars.
He wouldn’t be any safer in jail than he was out there.
Sirens started wailing, and I cursed. Had someone actually called the cops, or was it a coincidence? Running back up the stairs, I shut the door behind me silently and locked it, following Lucas’s original instructions. Backing away slowly, I forced myself to breathe. Lucas was smart. He’d find a way to get out of there before the cops started poking around. And there was no reason for them to look for me. I’d been outside for only, like, two seconds.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a key slipped into the doorknob. I grabbed a knife from the carving block—just in case—and stared at the door as it opened. When I saw Lucas walk in, I let out a sigh of relief and started talking before he took another step. “Are you okay? Did the cops see you? Are they coming up here? What should we do? What should I do? I don’t—”
“The Boys didn’t see me. I was already policing my brass before they were a block away.” Lucas lifted a hand to his head and rubbed his wrist over his temple. He looked exhausted. And pale. And . . . and . . . “They’re not coming up here. Relax.”
“You’re bloody. Are you bleeding?” I took a step toward him, paused, and took another uneven step. Blood soaked through his left sleeve, and his hand hung limply at his side. “Lucas . . . why are you bleeding?”
“Huh?” He glanced down at his arm, his brow furrowed. “Oh. Look at that. I got shot.”
“Look at—” I closed my eyes and counted to three. He said that in the same fashion that a normal person would say “I went to the movies” or “I have a cold” or something inane like that. As if it didn’t even hurt. “We have to get you to a hospital.”
“Hell no.”