“Oh, that’s rich,” I spat. “Protect him? He was in on it. You all were!”
The words coming out of my mouth confused me; I believed them, but a part of my consciousness told me I was wrong — they were wrong.
“Sergio…” Andi stepped closer. “…you’ve been brainwashed.”
I slowly lowered the gun, but when she got closer, I panicked; rage flew out of me. I pointed it at her head and pressed my finger against the trigger. “You. Betrayed. Me.”
“No.” Bruises covered the side of her face.
Who did that? Who hurt her? Was I going to hurt her?
“Screw this.” Nixon pushed Phoenix out of the way and pointed his gun in my direction; my reflexes were too slow. Two gunshots.
One went directly into my shoulder; the gun dropped out of my hand.
The next shot hit me in the thigh.
I crumpled to the ground and closed my eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Andi
”NIXON!” I YELLED HIS NAME, BUT he still shot Sergio. I was terrified he would kill him, but he didn’t. Both were good shots, but the bleeding…
It wasn’t stopping.
“He’s severely dehydrated,” Phoenix said at my side, dropping to his knees. “We need to get him to the hospital now.”
“No hospitals!” Nixon roared.
“Then your cousin’s going to die!” Phoenix yelled back. “Look!” The bandage on Sergio’s other shoulder was turning a weird yellow-orange-green color. Phoenix pulled it back. It looked septic. No doubt about it. I could only imagine what they’d done to him.
Our infiltration had been quick — thanks to Frank. He didn’t want anyone injured, so he took a chance, a big chance that Sergio would either be on a second-level floor or in a basement.
We bombed the entry to the house.
Then used tear gas to fight our way in. There were around thirty men altogether, but most of them weren’t prepared for the gas; we had masks on, so picking them off was easy.
Finding Sergio was hard.
Until I saw Petrov rush out of one of the upstairs rooms just as I was clearing the hall.
Coward was probably halfway to Seattle by now.
“Help me get him up.” Nixon gripped Sergio by the shoulders.
My husband let out a pitiful moan.
Tears rushed down my face as Tex hurried into the room.
It didn’t take us long to clear the house and put Sergio in one of the waiting cars down the street. I held his head in my lap and cried.
He didn’t look so perfect anymore.
His lips were cracked and dry, his face had bruises covering it, and he was bleeding — everywhere.
“Call ahead.” Nixon tossed the phone at Mil. “Make sure Stephen’s working the shift today. If not, get him in the hospital now!”
“Stephen?” I repeated.
“Surgeon. Doctor. De Lange.” That was the only explanation Chase gave as we drove the rest of the way to the hospital.
A man was waiting outside with a gurney and a team.
When the door opened, he cursed then started firing off orders to everyone around him.
Sergio was basically tossed onto the gurney. With a moan, he fluttered open his eyes. “I’m a matsh!” he slurred. “Tell Andi. Tell her if I’m a matsh, they have to do the surgery before I die.”
I froze. “Is he delirious?”
They were still strapping him in when Tex came to my side. “He had us tested. All of us, the entire family. Would have tested dogs and goldfish if that’s what it took.”
“What?” I gripped Sergio’s bloody hand. “What do you mean?”
Tex turned his blue eyes on me. “To see if you were a match. He wanted to donate his bone marrow, but to do that type of surgery now, or hell, even a week from now?”
I nodded in understanding.
Sergio was willing to give his life for mine.
But it wasn’t his call to make, not when my time was so short, not when I knew he had so much more to give.
“No.” I gripped his hand tighter as Nixon and Phoenix stood over the gurney telling Stephen what happened.
“Drive-by shooting.” Nixon ran his hands through his hair. “He was hit in the shoulder a few days ago at the shooting range then was out going for a walk to clear his head and was shot twice.”
Stephen nodded, while the rest of the nurses didn’t blink an eye.
Gunshot wounds were always investigated in hospitals. I’d always been the type of person that frowned at law enforcement or government officials being in the pocket of organized crime.
But now? With Sergio’s life at stake?
I prayed to God that Nixon had sent the police chief a Christmas goose.
“Hold him!” Stephen pushed Sergio down on the gurney as Sergio’s body started convulsing; blood soaked the inside of his leg. “Damn it!”
The doctor didn’t need to tell me what I was seeing. An artery had been hit, and the seizure was making it worse. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch, didn’t trust myself not to fall to my knees and cry.
“It was supposed to be me,” I whispered. “Not him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Sergio
THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTS BURNED MY EYES. I blinked them rapidly — thinking it would make the stinging go away, but it only made everything worse. The pain was indescribable, like someone had broken my body in half, repaired it, then repeated the process.
“He’s not going to make it.”