by Hazel Grace
There’s a scuffle and I see the crimson color at the back of Bishop’s shoulder. He’s been hit as I feared, and if he’s taking on the two, I can take the one.
And it’s gonna hurt.
Without another word or thought, my forehead collides with Alexander’s chin—since I’m not tall enough to even align my face with his—and his hold on my pussy snaps back.
He pulls from my leggings when I’m already down on my heels, pulling the small blade of mine from my sock, and when I’m about to thrust it upward, a knee catches me instead—right in the face.
I’m on my ass before I know it, my palm coming up to my nose that is gushing blood.
A hand laces through my hair, and I’m brought to my knees, then yanked on harder to meet the malicious state of Alexander.
“What happened to you?” he all but whispers. His brows knit together as if to play out all the ways I’m not the same. How the dynamic of us—a couple who got along famously—is now bleeding with a gang full of weapons and jealousy.
His grip on my hair loosens, deep in thought, and I dare not steal a look at Bishop. I don’t think my heart could stand it. I won’t stay calm. I’ll have us both dead in seconds.
“You were everything sweet and wanting in this world,” he continues softly. “You had my children.”
I just stare at him because I did.
Getting pregnant was the best and worst thing in my life. Because I brought a monster into our lives that will always scare, haunt, and hurt us if I don’t kill it.
And I don’t know where my knights are, my backup.
We’ve reached the plot of the story where one side dies, and the other will forever be changed.
With a knee to the back of my neck, the world is tilted sideways, but I still make out the brave look on Emmy’s face. The fucking glow about her when she’s around. The stubbornness in her spine and the look of defiance in her eyes.
Alexander has his hands possessively in her hair, trying to control the situation, but that’s where he’s entirely wrong.
You can’t control Emmy Lou Rhodes.
She’s like a shooting star that takes off and you spend your whole night watching for another.
No matter what he thinks or has concocted in his fucking head, if you were ever lucky enough to be loved by Emmy Lou, you better not fuck it up.
Me, I’m a lucky bastard.
I don’t know why or how I’m the exception, but I’m not going to question it. I’m going to just keep her forever and raise our babies together.
And then she’s going to give me more.
The gunshot to my shoulder and thigh burns like a motherfucker. The warning shots beforehand were just that. They probably thought that’d scare me enough to behave.
Whoop-de-doo, they know how to shoot off a gun.
Good for them.
The few punches the old man landed on me were precisely calculated, so I know he’s done this before. The two younger pricks were sloppier but you can’t get good help these days.
I’m not worried about them, though maybe I should be. I’m bleeding out onto this floor, my head feels like he took a two-by-four and repeatedly bashed me with it, but that was his brass-knuckled gloves.
However, my sole focus is and has always been Emmy.
So I watched with blurred vision Alexander whisper something that I obviously can’t make out. Even if he said it out loud, my ears are still ringing from the last hit I took, and blackness starts to cloud my perspective.
Time stands still, or maybe, it fast forwards at warp speed because the next thing I think I’m seeing is Emmy on her knees with Alexander’s dick in her mouth.
I blink.
And blink again.
I tightly hold my eyes shut, then re-open them and still see it.
I lunge upward just to be shoved back down to the dirty and solid hardwood floors. My leg swings out to take the asshole behind me, I can’t see him, but I know he has to be near. I catch an ankle but don’t take him down like I want to.
No, I’m responded back with what feels like the handle of a gun to my skull.
Blinding pain radiates through my head and I growl out from it. My heart is beating so quickly in my chest that I think it’s gonna run out of gas. That it’s just going to stop completely.
“There you go,” Alexander coos gently, regaining my focus. He’s thrusting forward, cupping Emmy’s face with one hand and her hair in the other. “Fucking perfect.”
“Motherfuck—“ I’m hit again but this time, I soak it in and soar upward, smashing the old man’s leg and getting him off balance.
I reach up to pull him down and for me to ascend up, but the other asshole jumps my ass like a koala bear and holds on for dear life.
Cool metal wraps around one of my wrists and I repeal my head back to catch the dude’s body behind me. It doesn’t do much but buy me a second but I roll, using his own body weight against him to get the upper hand.
A foot kicks me in the ribs, and I capture it before it resends, yanking back on it to get the asshole on the ground with me.
I don’t catch faces, just body parts.
I don’t need them.
I just know that my girl has another man’s dick in her mouth and the rippling feeling of disgust running through her is something I felt all too well.
Bubba and his buddies fucked me up for a long while. I don't want Emmy to become so closed off that kissing, and soft touches make her repeal away.
She’s meant to be loved and made love to.
If she hides from me, to restrain the mental pain, I’m going to have a hell of a time digging her out. It’s a dark and engulfing hole that’s like quicksand. The more you think or feel it, the harder the suction.
Another gunshot rings out, and I feel it graze my bicep.
Pissed, I rear back on the guy beneath me and crash my skull into his face.
Without another thought and ignoring the throbbing pain, I try to use my good leg to push myself up to stand, but it gives out on me.
That’s when the old fucker Charlie Brown kicks my ass and connects with my chin.
I’m on my ass next, then on my spine with another kick to the chest.
“Leave him alone,” I hear Emmy order, her voice not as confident as I need her to be right now.
I slowly coerce my head to move, so I can see her.
There is no fear for me residing inside my veins. It’s all for her.
It’s always for her.
She needs to live so she can take care of those kids.
Our kids.
“For a wedding present?” Alexander ponders pompously. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Then you better kill us both because—“
“Emmy.” My voice comes out cracked and in a whole lot of discomfort, but I glare at her to shut her the hell up.
Her brown eyes find mine and they’re teared up with hopelessness.
I want to play along with this game that she wanted us to join in on, but I can’t tell her to give him a chance while allowing him false hope.
He doesn’t deserve it.
He definitely doesn’t warrant my giving him her.
I’d never be able to do it.
She’s mine—point blank, end of story. Even my pride continues to get in the way, but it’s not going to be my last words if this is it for me.
I’d never give her up.
“I wish you would’ve been true to who you were,” Emmy speaks up, falling to the ground and away from Alexander. She pushes herself back by the heels of her feet like a little child wanting to get away from being yelled at. “You said you’d support me. That no matter what, you’d be there.”
“I meant—“
“Stop lying,” she screams, making me flinch to the pain in her tone. “You almost killed me! You almost killed my children! You fucking changed me!”
“Emmy—“
“Fuck you!”
Alexander steps forward as she
continues to push herself away. “It’ll take time, but we can fix this.”
“I did,” she retorts viciously. “I fixed it with him.” The tip of her finger points in my direction with her hands cuffed in front of her, and she just fucked up her whole plan.
She’s baiting him but not as the adoring Emmy Lou we all know but as the scorn one.
She has every right to be pissed and hurt. To not want to entertain the thought of them being together again.
“He doesn’t love you,” Alexander roars. “You said that.”
“Yeah, well—“ Emmy tries to push herself from the ground, giving me her back. ”—I guess I loved more for the both of us then.”
Then she swings around the glint of the blade before Alexander howls out in pain.
Emmy Lou has a death wish, and it’s for us to go down together.
My head flies to the side as Alexander backhands me for my little knife trick.
It’s perfect because it gives me enough anger to spring upon him like a lioness about to tear into a gazelle.
Alexander crashes into the kitchen island, his height to my disadvantage but the force of hitting the heavy furniture disorients him for a moment.
So I backhand him my damn self to even us out.
My ex’s hand seizes my neck, clamping down as hard as he can as he straightens himself. I pull my chin into my chest and remain calm, remembering my training, that this is the go-to for most men.
Reaching outward and around his arms, I pull him by his wrists, breaking his grip and creating him to tumble forward a bit. Snatching the back of his head by his hair, I closer, my knee connects with his balls a moment later.
As if he emerges from pain altogether, Alexander immediately uses all his weight and collides with me.
I growl out in frustration, my shortness, the fact that I am a female, and no matter how much I’ve been trained, I have to work that much harder to sustain my own damn life.
To save Bishop’s.
I steal a glance, one I know better to take. He’s on the ground, bleeding from his back as he takes a kick to his ribs and has some weird fight with the younger man on the floor.
Then a burning sensation hits my side simultaneously as that famous indistinctive sound of a gunshot rips through the air, and I feel the prompt burn right after at my side.
It’s the old man with gray hair who could be my grandfather.
He fucking hit me.
I’m on the floor in the next second with an unbearable weight on me. It digs uncomfortable and painfully into my side.
“I didn’t fucking tell you to shoot her!” Alexander roars then straddles himself over me.
I wrap my fingers around his perfectly ironed shirt with my left hand and swing with my right. I connect and use my throwing him off balance a tad.
Leaning forward and trying my absolute best to ignore the pain, I hit him again then shove him off me. My heels dig into the hardwood floors, and I hurl myself back on my ass to gain distance.
Then that I do something I haven’t tried in years.
Palming my knife, I sorta flick-throw it with my wrist, praying to God that it’s enough. I see it fly through the air but not where it lands. No, because I’m thrust back, and my skull hits the floor thanks to my ex and his bullshit of I’d never hurt you again.
We both scramble to our feet. It’s harder for me with his hold on me while he does the same thing. The room spins a little from the adrenaline and possible gunshot. I hear a man grunt, but there are four of them in this room. I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Just that Bishop and I are trying to get to each other.
Weren’t we always.
On my knees, I see Alexander march forward. He’s going to punch, kick, or do some other pussy-ass move to knock me down.
Pulling my arms up to protect somewhat of my frame, he takes another step then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone.
But not the thud.
Glass breaks, and something hard hits the wall. The ringing of peppered shots ring throughout the room when a body bumps mine on the same side of the unbearable pain.
“I got you, Lou Boo.”
Mills.
An arm wraps around my back, but he doesn’t make a move to help me up, so I try to do it myself, my vision blurred, but I can stand, I think.
“Not yet,” Mills voices as another ripping of shots go off.
Then silence.
“Now we can.” Helping me, my chin lifts to locate Bishop, but it doesn’t take much effort at all. He’s directly in front of me, peering down like I just smoked his last cigarette and looking hella pissed.
“I got it,” he tells my best friend. “Gag and move his fucking ass.”
Mills strays from my side, and I quickly look around to find Alexander on the floor along with the other three men.
Then Ky, Blue, and Marty.
I met Marty’s green eyes, and he salutes me with his two digits. “Hey, Ems.”
“Hey,” I reply when Bishop’s fingers wrap around my chin gingerly to bring me around to face him.
“You’re shot,” he deadpans.
“So are you.”
I expect him to say so much more, but this is Bishop. Not Marty, Ky, or Mills, even Blue and her big mouth.
No, this is the man who has suffered silently.
“Take your shirt off so I can—“ I begin to do as he asks when his grip tightens and moves my head and back and forth for me.
“Not here. Bedroom.”
I roll my eyes because no one in this room really gives a shit about seeing me in a bra but I guide the way, sucking in air through my teeth from the discomfort of my wound.
Bishop follows so closely that I feel the abrasion of his clothes against my body, and when he slams the door behind us, I know I’m really in for it.
Pivoting, he’s right there again and in my space when his lips crash ferociously into mine. His hands grip my biceps, keeping me from moving, stumbling, or both. And when I’m about to forget a little about the searing pain in my side, he jerks from me.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against mine. “He’s a dead fucking man.”
“Did you—“
“No, you’re gonna kill him. We’re just gonna have fun with him.” Before I can ask any questions, he’s maneuvering me into my bathroom and getting me to sit on the toilet seat.
He goes through my medicine cabinet, but there isn’t much in there, just aspirin and deodorant. I didn’t plan on staying here forever.
“You don’t have shit,” he growls.
“Bish, I don’t really live here.”
He pulls out his cell and puts it to his ear. “Grab me some shit. She has nothing.” He’s silent for a moment before saying, “Whatever, dude.” Then hangs up.
Holding out a hand for me, I take it and slowly stand.
“Let me see.“ He begins to pull my shirt up as carefully as he can and haunches down to get a better look, but I swat his help away.
“Let me see you.”
He ignores me, trailing my tee upwards to examine my side. “He just grazed it. I swear to fucking God I’m gonna make his shit hurt.”
My hand rakes through his long hair in an attempt to comfort him, but he’s not done studying my wound. His callous thumb brushes around it, and he presses a soft kiss right below my belly button.
“I swear to God, I don’t know if I can take any more of you getting hurt.” His voice is pained, and the side of his cheek rests against my torso, away from my injury. “You wanna run away, baby?”
“Run away?” He bobs his head and wraps his arms around my legs. I think I’m witnessing Bishop having a mini-breakdown, and it pricks at my chest.
My strong and no-bullshit man is beginning to reach his breaking point.
And honestly, it’s not off the table.
I know that I can’t do B723 anymore the way I used to. I can’t run around the country taking out the bad guys with two babies at ho
me.
Hacking into shit I can do all day with both of them in my lap, but this—getting shot right along Bishop—it can’t happen anymore.
And the only reason he was hit was because of me and my shit. Other than that, Bishop is always prepared and ready.
“Let me see your back and leg,” I instruct.
Reluctantly and after another minute, Bishop rises and turns around. The back of his shirt is stained from the blood still seeping from his shoulder, and when I get his shirt up, the bullet is still lodged inside.
“Let me see you’re—”
“I’m fine,” he growls.
“Take some of this aspirin then, stupid jerk. And I need your phone.”
Bishop hands me over his cell, and I pour two pills into my palm for him to take as I dial up Lucien.
“Hello, Mr. Bishop, it’s been a while. Who needs help this time?”
“Actually, it’s for Bishop,” I convey. “Can you meet me at—“
“Later,” Bishop says. “Business first.”
I narrow my eyes. “He’s been shot.”
“Where?” Lucien asks.
“Shoulder blade and upper thigh.” I look back down at it. “I think it’s bad.”
Lucien sighs. “You all are going to be the death of me. Clean it up and text me where to be.”
“10-4.”
I hang up and Bishop plucks the device from my hand then grabs my free hand with his. “I want you safe.”
“I am with you.”
He shakes his head. “No, forever. I…” He opens his mouth wider to get the words out, but they fail him because he changes the subject. “Come on, let’s go get you bandaged up. We have some shit to finish with ‘ole boy.”
“Bishop.” I stop him dead in his tracks before he even moves. And he won’t look at me. “What happened…with—“
“Stop,” he growls, then flicks his now dark blues to me. “Emmy…”
I swear I’m going to die.
I can’t stand the way his tone sounds like he wants to perish right now. That I caused him more pain somehow. That he might think of me differently, that I’m too much.
I am too much.
I’m really nothing but a pain in his ass really.
I always have been.
“It was to buy time,” I blurt before he stops me. “It was to keep him preoccupied so he didn’t have a bullet put in the back of your brain.”
