by Krista Holt
* * *
“Mr. Selvaggio…” My father’s defense attorney says my name like I’m the scum of the earth. Which he probably believes I am if he’s been talking to my father.
“Can you share with this courtroom why it is that you’re up there on the witness stand and my client is on trial?”
My lips press into a firm line as I glower at the man in the over-priced suit. We all know why I’m not the one on trial, but for whatever reason this guy wants me to reiterate a point that has already been beaten to death, because he thinks it’ll help him build a case for my father’s innocence. Unlucky for him, I’m not in a very assisting mood.
“Do you really not know the answer to that? Because I went to law school, and just a little tip between me and you, you should probably get the facts of your case straight before trying to present it.”
At the back of the courtroom, Garrett fights a smile, shaking his head. The defense lawyer doesn’t find it funny though, ‘cause he comes at me like a rabid attack dog.
“Thanks for your unsolicited opinion, Mr. Selvaggio.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And you’re right, we all know you have a deal with the FBI and the attorney general of New York that grants you immunity on, from what my client informs me, a long list of crimes that would have kept you behind bars for most of your life. Is that true?”
“Objection! Relevance. Mr. Selvaggio, Mr. Nic Selvaggio,” the prosecution amends, “is not the one on trial here.”
“Sustained,” the judge interjects. “Find a different vein of questioning, Counselor.”
The defense attorney adjusts his jacket, and then nods. “Fine, Your Honor. Perhaps Mr. Selvaggio can tell us why he chose to turn against his father?”
“I’ll allow it.” The judge nods. “Sir, please answer the question.”
They all stare at me, waiting for my answer as the blood slowly drains from my face. This is exactly what I had hoped to avoid, because all roads lead back to Reagan.
“Him being an asshole isn’t reason enough?”
Across the courtroom, my father’s face turns dark red with rage. “You piece of shit!” he shouts, losing it. “To think I called you my son!”
An ugly smirk appears on my face as I watch the hatred I’m so familiar with twist his face into something demonic. The monster who’s been hiding in sheep’s clothing since this trial began, the one that’s been lurking around for most of my childhood, is now on display for everyone to see. Including the jury.
The courtroom fills with shouts. From the prosecution. From the defense. From the judge. The bailiffs rush forward to secure my father as he pushes to his feet, banging his handcuffed fists on the table like a deranged man.
“It’s coming, Nicola!” he roars. “Traitors always pay for their sins the same way. You won’t be any different. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
I do. I remember all too well the scathing lesson he taught me in the back room of Uncle Donnie’s deli. You pay for your sins in blood.
My gaze snaps to Garrett, who’s already talking into his comms piece. Blood rushes in my ears and my throat squeezes tight, making it hard to swallow. The skin underneath my shirt turns slick with sweat, and my nerves pull taut like overstretched elastic.
He just threatened to kill me in a room full of witnesses. My father.
“Counselor, get your client under control,” the judge thunders at the defense attorney. “We’ll be breaking for an hour. Counsel, I want to see you both in my chambers. Mr. Nic Selvaggio is to be kept in the building for the time being.”
The bailiffs drag my father out of the room amid pleas from his lawyer that such an action might taint the jury, while Garrett and his team rush toward the witness stand.
“Get up, now,” Garrett orders, motioning for me to hurry up.
Quickly, I follow the agents out of the courtroom and into another smaller room off the hallway, where they lock the door behind us and take up posts on either side of it.
“What the hell does he mean, Nic?” Garrett asks, watching me pace, hyper alert.
“It means exactly what he said. I’m going to pay for my sins.” In blood.
My hand scrubs over my face. “He’s planning to kill me. Something’s already in the works. He wouldn’t have said it otherwise. He wants me to know it’s coming.”
“Okay,” Garrett says calmly. “We expected this. We planned for it. I’m doing everything I can to protect you.”
“I know.” There’s a lot to cover, though. Not everything can be planned for, and we hadn’t planned on bringing—
My spine stiffens. “Reagan! Where is she?”
He pulls out his phone and types out a text. A second later, his phone chimes.
“They’re fine, getting something to eat.”
I crumple into the closest seat, my legs suddenly weak.
“I’m going to double check everything,” he assures me. “We’ll switch hotels, we’ll leave the city if we have to. He’s not gonna get to you.”
I nod, keeping my eyes trained on the carpet. Wishing I could summon the nerve to believe him.
* * *
Two hours later, a tense Garrett reenters the room.
“The judge is dismissing everyone for the day. The defense wants to give your father some time to calm down before they resume questioning you. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning.”
“Okay,” I reply numbly. My mind is still stuck on my father’s threat, working over every possible way he might try to get to me.
“We’ll pick a different route back, change hotels again. Twice, if we need to. It’ll be fine, Nic. I swear.”
I nod, unable to look up from the floor. I really hope he’s right. There’s so much relying on him keeping me alive.
His phone buzzes and he tells the room that Agent Barone just pulled up out front. He sends two agents ahead to make sure the path is clear and directs the rest of the team to get ready.
A few more minutes pass before he gets the all-clear signal, and then he moves toward the door. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Surrounded by agents on every side, we leave the room, covering ground quickly as we wind our way through the courthouse. O’Neil shoves open one last door, and we step outside.
I jog down the steps, following Garrett toward the SUV idling at the curb. The other agents peel off, heading toward the SUV parked behind ours. A faint smile tugs at my lips when I see Reagan through the heavy window tint, moving around inside.
Then it hits me.
The bullet.
It slams into my back, ripping through my stomach and driving me to my knees.
A fraction of a second later, the gunshot echoes off the stone building, adding to the chaos. People are screaming, fleeing from the courtyard. Garrett is hovering over me, trying to pull me to my feet, when the second shot knocks me forward, throwing my face into the concrete.
The bastard had me shot in the back. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
The shots keep coming, continuing to ring out. Several hit the SUV, following a wild arc and shattering glass.
Reagan!
“Nic!” Garrett shouts. “Nic! Come on, get up! You don’t get to quit on me now. Not now. Get the hell up!”
Another agent shields my body, returning fire, as Garrett tries to get me on my feet. His arm goes around my waist, propping me up, trying to keep us both upright.
Blood is everywhere. Running down my chest, pouring to the ground like an open faucet. It’s too much, too fast.
“Garrett,” I gasp, wiping the blood from my face. “Get her out of here.”
“Not without you,” he grits, bearing all of our weight, struggling toward the SUV.
My hand grasps the door handle, fingers closing around the flimsy plastic when another shot echoes through the air.
Garrett’s legs give out underneath him, dropping us both to the ground. My fingers, coated with blood, slip off the handle and slide down the si
de of the vehicle, leaving a bloody streak in its wake.
His thigh is bleeding, but he’s still shouting out orders when another bullet tears into his arm, throwing him back against the vehicle.
It’s a bloodbath.
Bullets pelt the SUV’s metal frame above my head, causing a side airbag to explode. Reagan screams from inside, and it takes everything I have to get on my knees and reach for the handle again. Just as I do, the door flies open, knocking me back. I see her, lying on the floor, reaching out for me.
The windows of the SUV shatter overhead, raining glass down on my head and hers. She screams again, her face twisting in pain. And my heart shatters. I’ve gotten her killed.
If I’m not going to Hell already, I’m condemned now. I have to be for bringing her into this.
Another bullet burns through my back, and it obliterates the skin on my chest as it exits. The horror on her face as it happens. It’s almost as if I’m watching myself die, seeing it reflected back to me through her eyes.
I’ve failed her. Failed to keep her safe. I’m so sorry.
My body crumples to the ground. My cheek hits the edge of the concrete curb. I assume it’s painful, but I can’t really feel anything anymore.
Blood seeps out of me, pooling under my body before spilling off the sidewalk and flowing into the street.
Then, suddenly, it’s quiet. No noise. No yelling, no screams.
So this is how I die.
This is how I go.
Bloody. Full of holes. And it happens in front of the only girl I’ve ever loved.
I wish I could say it was worth it, worth something, anything. But it wasn’t. I didn’t even get to live my life before it ended. I didn’t get to marry her. Didn’t get to have kids with her. Didn’t get to live, with her.
I hope she can’t see me lying on the ground. It’s impossible to forget watching someone die right in front of you. I should know. The blood. The smell. I don’t want her living with that. It’s horrific, haunting, and she deserves better.
Everything starts to slow down. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. They’re too heavy.
It’s too hard. And as they close for the last time, all I see is the gutter. A gutter in NYC.
It’s disgusting, dirty, and oddly fitting, for a rat.
CHAPTER 34
Reagan
“NIC!” I SCREAM. “NIC!”
My hands try to smother a gunshot wound, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. But it’s not working. Blood rapidly crests in between my fingers, spilling over and coating my hands.
Oh my God.
“Pressure,” Garrett groans from somewhere behind me. “Put pressure on it. Here, use this.”
I grab the suit jacket he’s extending to me.
“Use it to slow…shit.” He grimaces, trying to stop the bleeding in his own leg. “Use it to slow the bleeding on his back, get it underneath him. Then put pressure on the front.”
I frantically count the holes in Nic’s chest. I need more material, more hands. I strip off my flannel shirt and wad it into a ball, struggling to lift Nic’s dead weight. No, Nic’s weight.
He’s not dead.
He can’t be dead.
I stuff the fabric as tightly as I can against his back and lower him to the ground, pouncing on the wounds on his chest.
“Nic! Don’t you dare die! Don’t you dare—you can’t do this to me.”
Someone slides to his knees next to me, shoves another jacket under a bullet hole, and starts pressing down on the wound I can’t reach.
“We need to get him out of here,” Garrett shouts. “Where is the damn ambulance?”
“They’re two minutes away. Traffic accident,” the man next to me answers.
Two minutes. It might as well be an eternity.
The bleeding has slowed, but I can’t tell if that’s a bad thing or a good thing. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tries to convince me it’s a bad thing. The paleness of Nic’s skin and the blue tinge around his lips confirm it.
I sob, and press down harder on his chest. His arms shift from the movement, but I know it’s not him. “Is he…is he…?” I can’t bring myself to say the word. Dead.
The other agent’s hand jumps to Nic’s throat, searching for a pulse. It takes too long. Way too long. I bite my lip to stop the scream clawing its way up my throat.
“It’s there,” he finally says. “It’s weak, but his heart’s still beating.”
A gasp tears free, followed by a sob.
“Hang in there, Reagan,” Garrett urges. “Just a few more seconds. Hold on.”
I frantically nod my head, struggling to…to what, I don’t know. I don’t feel anything. Not the blood from Nic’s body forming a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. Not the fact that my jeans are absorbing it, painting his blood on my skin. I don’t feel the strain from exerting so much pressure on his chest. I don’t feel him breathe, and it’s not until the other agent starts performing CPR that I realize he’s not breathing.
He’s trying to get me off Nic’s chest where I’m straddling him. I pitch to the side and then frantically scramble back to put pressure on his wounds. My arms bounce, locked elbows snapping into place with each compression.
“The ambulance is here, Reagan!” Garrett yells. “A few more seconds.”
I don’t look up, but the moving shadows of flashing lights in early twilight confirm what he’s telling me. Still, I’m studying Nic’s unresponsive face. Hoping for something more than the barest trace of a smile that’s been present on his face ever since he closed his eyes.
I might not feel the strain my body is under. I may not feel the blood, the pain from my own injuries, but what I do feel is the indiscernible terror of having your heart torn in half right in front of your eyes. Shattered by something you never thought would happen. A life ripped from your hands.
People are rushing around me, shouting at each other, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. In the next second, I find myself pushed back from Nic, making room for an EMT, who slides into my place.
I don’t care though. The fact that I was forced back into a pool of Nic’s blood didn’t even register. Neither did the grotesque splashing sound.
They move him to a stretcher. One EMT is on top of him, continuing chest compressions. The other two are pushing the gurney, rushing it back into the ambulance. Once Nic is inside, the doors clap closed in seconds, and then, they’re gone.
The boxy red vehicle disappears down the street, and I’m sitting there, staring after it.
The tremors start slowly. A twitch here and there, and then, I can’t control them. My hands shake so hard, the snapping movement cuts at my nerves and sends sparks of pain down my arms. Tears stream down my face and sobs shake my chest. I throw a hand over my mouth, not remembering that Nic’s blood is all over it.
“Oh my God!” That’s all I get out before I’m bent over, on my hands and knees, heaving into the gutter.
“Are you hurt?” Someone squats down beside me.
I shake my head, even though I have no idea. Sitting back on my heels, I look for something to wipe my mouth with, but everything is covered in Nic’s blood.
“Here,” says the voice again. This time he’s holding out a handkerchief.
I take it, unable to say anything. I’m mute, still trapped in the terror of what just unfolded in front of me. Wiping my mouth, trying to get the blood off my face, I close my eyes. But, then, it starts happening again, like a movie. Scene after scene.
I saw him, rushing down the steps, trailing after Garrett. I looked away for just a second to shove my phone back into my purse, and then everything exploded. Tommy had whipped around from the front seat and tossed me onto the floorboard so quickly I had barely wrapped my mind around the sudden change in altitude when the windows shattered and the metal doors deflected gunshots with loud pings.
Tommy bailed out of the front, yelling at me to stay down. And I did, until I heard someone trying to get in
. I crawled to the other side of the vehicle and tried to open the door. It bounced open a few inches before it hit something. Nic.
I reached out for him, trying to drag him inside, but he just stared, looked at me like I was his salvation. Then it happened. He didn’t even react when the third bullet hit him. I didn’t even know it had happened until it exited his chest, leaving a bloody, raw hole.
His face washed with the worst look of guilt, and it broke my heart. His body rocked back, his eyes drilling holes into mine. And then he fell to the ground.
Someone was still firing as I scrambled over the broken glass on the floorboard, trying to get to him. I fell out of the SUV, breaking my fall with my hands.
I had to get to him.
His eyes were closed, and the faintest smile curled his lips, like he was relieved. He looked at peace. And I hated him for it.
Another sob breaks free, and I stretch my hands out on my legs, trying to anchor myself to something that’s not moving. Hot tears pour down my face and I just want to scream as loud as I can.
“We need to get moving,” a firm voice says, his hand extended to help me up. “We have to get you out of here.”
Another black SUV screeches to a stop by the curb. “We need to go. Now,” he repeats.
When I don’t move, he hauls me to my feet and tosses me into the back seat. He says something to the agent behind the wheel, and we take off. To where, I don’t know, and I don’t care, because the truth festers in the pit of my stomach.
Nic is dead.
CHAPTER 35
SOBBING IN THE BACK SEAT, I keep wiping my hands on my shirt. But, I can’t get it off.
His blood.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Each sob squeezes the air from my lungs and I can’t inhale. I don’t want to if he’s gone.
Oh God…Nic.
If only I’d been quicker…stronger. If only I’d done something…anything.
It seems like days before we arrive at the hospital. In a blur, Tommy and another agent take me to a private waiting room. I sit in a chair, unmoving, as the agents set up camp around me. My tears dry as they talk amongst themselves, announcing that I’m in shock.
