Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox) novel Chapter 145

The others are halfway up the stairs now, their voices echoing in the stairwell. Knox is being carried between two men. Mud is still beside me, looking like he’s about to hurry me along, but I step away from him before he can speak.

I walk toward Mateo instead.

He sees me coming.

His eyes follow me, tracking my movement with the sluggish awareness of someone barely conscious. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, leaving a crimson trail across his cheek. He tries to speak. His lips move soundlessly at first, then manage to croak out words.

“You… can’t… be… happy,” he whispers, each word a struggle.

My fingers tighten around the grip of the gun.

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t be here to see me sad,” I say.

And I pull the trigger.

The bullet hits him right between the eyes. That's for almost killing the love of my life, you bastard.

Jade was right about one thing, at least. It’s messy.

But it’s done.

I know I’m not thinking straight. Hell, I’ll probably lose my mind over this later, but right now? Go to hell, Mateo.

I drop the gun. The men cleaning up the place will find a way to dispose of it. Then I turn and run. Up the stairs and outside.

By the time I reach the top, Knox is already being lowered into the backseat of his car, positioned face down to keep pressure off the shrapnel in his back.

I don’t hesitate. I slip into the car beside him, dropping into the seat and pulling his head onto my lap. My tears fall fast. They drop on his temple and soak his hair as I stroke it, trying to offer whatever comfort I can.

“Drive!” I yell to Mud, who’s brushing shards of glass off the front seat. Shards from the window I shot.

Mud jumps behind the wheel, sitting on the rest of the glass pieces. He slams the door shut.

Hunter comes running toward us and gets into the passenger seat just before we take off. I don’t look back to see if the others make it into their car. I can’t look away from Knox.

“Is he okay?” Hunter asks, twisting around in his seat to look at us.

I’m too busy whispering to Knox, brushing the hair from his forehead with trembling fingers, to reply at first.

“He better be okay,” I whisper eventually. “You hear me? You better be okay. Don’t you dare fall asleep. Don’t die on me, Knox.”

There's nothing but that shallow, irregular breathing.

“How fast can this thing go?” I yell. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

Mud glances at me in the rearview mirror. “We have a doctor. Not a hospital. Somewhere in the city.”

“How far?”

“A few minutes.”

“Can’t we just use a normal hospital? This is serious. He needs—”

He doesn’t even look back this time. “And go to jail for the rest of our lives?”

Right. Of course. Gunshot wounds require police reports. Police reports lead to investigations. Investigations lead to prison cells and life sentences for everyone involved.

I swallow my next question and stare out the window, willing my heart to stay inside my chest where it belongs. My breathing’s ragged, coming in short gasps that make me dizzy. My head’s spinning like I’m on a carnival ride I can’t get off. I’m either about to faint or scream or both.

“…Sloane,” Knox says.

I whip my head down. “I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

He groans, a sound that manages to be both painful and reassuring.

“What did you do to my car?” he mumbles, and I can hear the faint trace of amusement even through the pain.

The question knocks the wind out of me and then makes me laugh through the tears.

“I shot the window,” I say.

“You… what?”

“I thought you were getting ambushed. I had to come save you.”