Maldonado smiled. “You know how the saying goes: you live by the sword…”
Maldonado nodded at Nico, who pointed the gun at Jack’s head and said, “You die by the Russian.”
“No!” Elle screamed.
Nico didn’t waver, his face scarily blank. He pressed the barrel to Jack’s forehead, cocked the gun, and then, suddenly, he turned, shooting Maldonado in the face, his brains splattering all over Elle.
Before she could react, Nico had killed two more of Maldonado’s security detail.
Maldonado’s lifeless body fell on the floor, his limp hand letting go of Elle’s hair. She scrambled to her feet and rushed to Jack.
“Your cover was impressive” Nico said. “Not even my handler knew who Alex Ayala really was. You should have refrained from godparenting though. It just took a phone call to the diocese to access the church records and find out Jack Copeland was registered as Jonah Bowen’s godfather.
“Exxum is making his escape through the water while his men hold the attack off,” Nico finished, lowering his gun. “You are free to go. If you can make it through their fire, you live.”
“Why?” Jack choked out.
“I’m to take over Maldonado’s organization by any means necessary, but I’m not into the habit of killing innocent people if I can spare them.”
Elle looked into the Russian’s ice-cold eyes. Still. Impenetrable. “And Donald?”
“Not dead.” Then Nico signaled to the other men and started leaving. Before crossing the door, he turned to Elle, “Your man is dying. Tick tock, lady.”
That snapped her out of it.
She hauled him up but he crumpled to the floor. “Jack!”
“Go,” he let out, choking on blood, his chest spasming, his eyes glassy. His face clammy and so damn white.
“In your dreams. On your feet, soldier,” she yelled, lifting him back up, but they didn’t get too far before his legs gave way.
“I said go. You can’t carry me.”
“Watch me,” she bit out. She wasn’t losing him. She was getting him help, now.
Grabbing him by the shoulders, she began dragging him, the blood oozing from him leaving a bright trail on the otherwise pristine white marble tile. She needed to get outside to the Bowens. Away from danger.
She made it to the front door. Bullets were flying everywhere and she couldn’t feel her arms. She tripped over a body on the floor, slipping on the blood pooling around it, and fell down. She got up and tried pulling Jack, but she couldn’t.
Defeated, she started crying. “Don’t die,” she pleaded between sobs, her hands on his chest, attempting to stop the bleeding.
“Elle, listen. Sorry I wa—”
“Shh,” she interrupted him. “Save your strength. You’ll tell me later.”
He was choking, barely able to talk. A wheezing sound coming with every word. “Love you, pet.”
“No, no, no,” she repeated, tears blurring her sight. “Don’t dare die. Don’t you dare leave me,” she ordered, jerking him, but he didn’t react.
She started administering CPR, yelling at him, “Breathe, dammit. Breathe. Don’t you leave me.” He wasn’t responding, wasn’t breathing, his eyes glassy and empty while she continued pumping his heart.
She could barely make out what she was doing over her tears but somehow saw James running toward her. Max and Cole too. Sirens were flashing. They were talking, their mouths moving, but she couldn’t hear a word, much less understand what they were saying. Screams were echoing in her head, so loud. Gut-wrenching, soul-ripping screams. Her screams.
Chapter Twenty-One
Four weeks later
Jack sat in his truck. In front of Rosita’s. Again.
Jesus Christ. Two days out of the hospital and he’d spent the majority of his time here, hoping to steal a glance at her.
He’d been told he’d missed a huge mess and that they’d avoided jail by a hair. As a matter of fact, he’d been under arrest and twenty-four-hour surveillance the whole month he’d been in intensive care, a couple of uniforms at his door day and night. Where the fuck they thought he was going to run when he was totally out of it, he had no clue.
Ultimately, it had been thanks to Elle’s testimony, the incriminating evidence that was found in the house, and Jack’s contacts that they had been saved from doing time. Charges had been dropped and brought against Exxum. Not that it looked like they were going to stick. Not even after finding several of his containers full to the brim with dope, presumably from Maldonado, and others running guns.
Rich people got away with a lot of shit.
The scumbag even managed to get an airtight alibi for the night Jack and the Bowens had stormed his property. He’d been in Boston and had no idea what was going on at Pricklewood. He had witnesses too.