JAKE
I toss the piece of splintered wood away, relieved the Rossiter brothers are both down. I was so tired of the threat Ross held over my life for years, and now it’s gone. But the ache at what I’ve done under his orders still remains. I have to live with that, but I’ll live with it happily if I know he can never touch anyone I love ever again.
I turn, my eyes finding Mac. She’s hurting. When I start for her my ankle is grabbed. I look down. It’s Ross. He’s not dead like we thought. He manages to yank hard and the unexpected motion drops me to my knees. I twist around, forming a hard fist.
Ross is trying to rise when I smash it in his face. He stumbles backward, hot blood spurting from his nose as he rights himself. The image fills me with grim satisfaction. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Mac’s voice is steel. “No you won’t.”
We both turn toward her. She’s standing upright, putting all her weight on her left leg. There’s a bullet hole in her right thigh. She’s wearing black but it doesn’t hide the gaping wound and the ooze of blood running down her leg. It’s bright and thick. Her face is pale and clammy, but her eyes are raging. There’s a gun in her hand. It’s Eli’s. She must have found it on the ground.
“You already have one death on your hands,” she says and before I can blink, she lifts the weapon and shoots. Ross drops, a dead weight, with a single, perfect bullet hole lodged in his forehead. “Now I do too.”
“Mac,” I whisper.
A choking sob escapes her throat, and the gun drops from her hand. She starts to crumple, as if shooting him was all she had to give and now there’s nothing left.
I rush forward, catching her before she hits concrete. Mac sags against me and we both sink to the floor because I have nothing left either.
“Mitch?” she asks, her voice reedy and thin.
I glance his way. Kelly has him, his fingers jammed into his neck to halt the flow, but blood is still seeping. It doesn’t look good and my heart sinks. “He’s going to be fine,” I lie.
“Promise me,” she begs, her fingers clutching at the tatters of my shirt.
But I can’t promise. Mac watches my mouth open and close and tears leak from her eyes. Instead of giving an answer, I pull back a little and rip the shredded remains of my shirt from around my waist, gathering a long strip to form a bandage. I tie it in a tight knot around her wound, just above the thigh, and she curses in a low, savage growl. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I soothe, pulling her against me when I’m done, rocking her gently.
“Your face,” she sobs against my chest, not even looking at it.
“It’s fine,” I soothe but it must be a mess. The throb of pain is constant now, and every inhale feels like I’m being stabbed. “I’m fine.”
“Gabriella?”
My gaze shifts to the beautiful detective. She lies prone on the floor. Eli managed three shots before I tackled him to the ground. Each one hit her. One in the shoulder and one in her leg, and a final, fatal shot to the head. Luke, a trained paramedic, is taking care of her. My eyes meet his. He shakes his head. She’s gone.
My jaw begins to quiver and I lock it down. “Luke is taking care of her.”
“Is she okay?”
I draw back and take Mac’s face in my palms. There’s a deep cut high on her forehead from Ross smashing her head into the cement floor. It’s stopped bleeding but her hair is matted with blood, and her face is covered with dried tears and dirt. I swallow the lump in my throat and give her the painful truth. “Gabriella is gone.”
Horror fills her eyes and she shakes her head. “No,” she replies, her voice adamant. “No she’s not.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her head won’t stop shaking and her teeth begin to chatter. “No, no, no, no, no, no!” Mac yanks away from me and I grab her wrists, holding her tight. She doesn’t need to see Gabriella like this. A friend she knows and loves. The horror and sickening finality of it is too much. I don’t want her living with the image.
“Let me go,” she cries and my heart aches.
Mac shoves at my chest, not realising the injuries that lie beneath, and my vision blackens as she breaks free. She crawls her way toward Gabriella, sobbing.
I press my lips together. There’s nothing I can do. Luke shuffles backward to give Mac space. She grasps Gabriella’s shoulders, lifting her upwards, wrapping her arms around her upper body and holding her close. Gabriella’s arms dangle uselessly behind her and her head lolls.
Mac rocks back and forth, holding her, painful sobs tearing from her chest. My eyes burn and my jaw clenches so tight I fear my teeth will crack. I turn to look at Mitch. The paramedics have him now. He’s unconscious and being placed on a stretcher.
Kelly has risen to his feet. Blood smears his hands. It’s through his hair too, where he’s pushed strands from his face. He’s taking in the aftermath that surrounds us. Bodies litter the ground. Some of them Sentinels. Some of them King Street Boys. The bitter tang of blood scents the morning air, along with the thick stench of gunfire and devastation.
The paramedics are wheeling Mitch out of the huge roller door when Henry runs in. He gets pulled up short by the police. They’re setting up a barrier. The warehouse is a crime scene now.
“Let me through!” he shouts, shoving at them.
While the police are distracted with my best friend, Casey, Travis, and Jared appear and simply walk their way through. The three of them take one look at Mac and Gabriella and they each falter, faces paling.
“One of you go with Mitch,” I shout at them, pointing to the stretcher getting wheeled out the other side. Travis runs to his brother and disappears with him out the door. “Mac needs an ambulance too,” I say, my voice hoarse as I rise on unsteady legs.
“I’ll go direct them,” Luke says and jogs off.
I shuffle toward Mac and reach down for her, sucking in a sharp breath.
“I’ve got her,” Jared says, reaching for her at the same time.
“No!” I bark, stubborn. “I need to do this. You take care of … of …” My eyes fall to Gabriella. She still rests in Mac’s arms.
“Jesus,” Jared’s voice cracks. He swipes a hand down his face, struggling to come to terms with the unexpected loss.
“I’ll take care of her,” Casey interjects and crouches. He tries to gently pry the beautiful detective away, but Mac won’t let go. She looks up at Casey, her face etched in despair. He’s locking his emotions down, but I see grief in his tight jaw and clenched hands.
“I killed her,” she whispers, and her face turns to mine. “This is on me.”
“Oh, baby, no.” I shake my head, struck down with horror. “Don’t go there.”
Casey prises her white-knuckled fingers from Gabriella’s lifeless form, and I take her, praying I’m able to lift her without passing out because I’m damned if anyone else carries her out of here but me.
I squat low and place one arm around her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, and I stand, bringing her with me. The effort costs me and I stagger, dizzy.
“Hold on, Princess,” I plead.
Her arms slide up and wrap slowly around my neck as I absorb the steady beat of her heart against my chest.
Reassured, I take one step, then another, each one slow and unsteady. Each one bringing me closer to the big, open doorway. Her hands loosen their grip when I step outside into the warm air and hot morning sun. Then they fall slack. Mac is unconscious in my arms. I blink as best I can, adjusting to the brightness. Evie, Quinn, Grace, and Henry, are all huddled together behind a police line.
“Stay with me, Princess,” I say softly.
Evie presses a shaky hand to her mouth, her face ashen when she sees us. Quinn grabs her and they hold each other. Tears stream down Grace’s face. She takes Henry’s hand in hers and squeezes as I shuffle forward, step by step, determined to carry Mac out of this hellhole and into the light.
The police cart Eli out from behind us, his hands cuffed behind his back. His face appears heavily injured from my strike, but they’re showing him no mercy. He’s roughly shoved ahead of us and our eyes meet before he looks away.
Elijah Rossiter killed Gabriella Valdez, a police detective no less, and the love of his supposed best friend’s life. The judge will throw the book at him. Eli is going away for a very, very long time. That knowledge gives me a very small measure of satisfaction. If Mitch survives, it will give him none at all.
I had no idea he was the real leader of the King Street Boys, but from what I overhead from the Rossiter brothers during my abduction, he was more a figurehead the way a silent partner invests in a business but has no running of the day-to-day operations. It makes sense, considering the King Street Boys were always one step ahead of the police. The gang leader was their inside man on the force. A high-ranking, recently promoted official!
Eli also knows I was Jonah. He knew all along. He and Ross were simply biding their time to use me, knowing how close I am with the Valentine family. I was their ‘ace in the hole’ and a way for them to get rid of the Valentine’s once and for all.
They knew about Operation Strike too. Those cases on the table in the back room? Eight of them were filled with drugs. Two were bombs. After drawing the Valentine’s inside, they were going to blow that warehouse sky high.
Only no one figured on Mac. Her unexpected arrival, along with the Sentinals following in her wake, put a kink in their plan and instead of us all being blown to smithereens, we got the jump on them.
Mac somehow managed to start a war and finish it all at the same time. There is no weighing the size of the balls this woman carries. Let’s just say they’re really bloody heavy.
Two paramedics come around the corner as I step outside with my unconscious rescuer. They’re jogging toward us, wheeling a stretcher along the cracked pavement. I take a relieved breath and stop, swaying on my feet. They reach us and I lower Mac onto the makeshift bed with infinite care, hesitant to let go of her completely. I withdraw my arms but rather than let go completely, I take her hand in mine.
“She has a gunshot wound to the right upper thigh,” I rasp, “and a head injury. She … She …” I choke, unable to get any more out. She has a wrenched shoulder. And she’s lost a lot of blood. She also has a big heart, but she killed a man in there. And now she has a mark on her soul that mirrors mine. She took that. For me. So fix that too, I want to tell them, but my mouth won’t form the words. Take that away so she doesn’t have to live with it the way I do.
“Romero.”
Kelly is standing beside me, his clothes and hands steeped in dried blood. “Your woman …” he nods at Mac. One of the paramedics is checking her injuries and vitals, the other is prepping her for transport. “She’s having your baby, mate.”
The ground dips beneath my feet. “She’s what?”
Kelly’s hand grips my shoulder and squeezes. The action keeps me upright while his words reverberate around in my head. “She’s pregnant. The paramedics will need to know.”
“How do you know?”
“Last night at the end of the party you took off thinking she was doing something with me when she wasn’t. I was just some big douche who came on to her not realising what the two of you had. Later that night I found her in the bathroom, sick. I held her hair back while she puked in the toilet. The test was on the bathroom counter, and I saw it. I asked her and she told me it was yours. And that’s when she found out you were leaving and came here. For you.”
I stare down at Mac. She came here because I abandoned her the first time she fell pregnant with my baby. History was repeating itself and in typical Mac fashion, she was having none of it. She chose to fight for me. She chose to fight. For me.
“I didn’t know,” I mumble, trying to process Kelly’s revelation. My heart aches with shame for leaving, yet hope unfurls in my chest amidst the pain because I’m going to be a father. Because Mac knew I was leaving and risked her life to stop me. She made a choice, and she chose us.
My eyes prickle and hot tears spill down, mixing with the blood and sweat and dirt. After everything we’ve been through, we’ve been given a second chance to do this. To get it right. To have a family.
I grasp the wrist of the female paramedic as they begin wheeling her away. She halts. Impatient.
“My girl is pregnant. You need to take care of them both,” I plead, my tone urgent. My entire world is bleeding out on that stretcher right now and panic is burning inside me. I feel it rising, hotter than fire. Overtaking me. “Please.”