Page 150 of Ruthless Redemption

“Go.”I squeeze Keira’s hand. “I can’t abandon Matthew.”

“Then I’ll stay, too.”

“No. I understand why you have to leave.” I release her and retreat toward the house. “I’ll speak to you later.” I swing to the door and stride after Salvatore, my heart in my throat. “Wait. Tell me. Please.”

He stops before the library and turns to face me. “It isn’t much.”

“I don’t care. Whatever it is, I want to know.”

“They got the bullet out. It wasn’t deep, which the nurse said was good news. It means the damage was minimal. But his blood loss is an issue. They’re waiting on units to arrive, and until then, his heart is under pressure while they try to stitch him up.”

I drag in a deep breath, trying not to fall back into the pit of despair.

It’s hard though. So goddamn hard as I stare at the dark eyes that look so much like Matthew’s.

“He’ll make it through.” His throat works over a heavy swallow, belying his statement.

“But he might not either, right?” My voice cracks. “He could die. The trauma and blood loss could kill him.”

His lips press tight. His jaw tics.

Oh, God.

He grabs my arm and drags me into his chest, one hand cradling my head, the other nestled against my back.

My enemy and my comforter.

I’m petrified, and Salvatore is right there with me.

But I still can’t break. All my tears continue to compile in my chest, the pressure building like an impending explosion.

“Story of my life,” Remy drawls from nearby. “I get the hatred, he gets the hugs.”

Salvatore releases me, his arms drawing back to his sides as he ignores his younger brother. “You should pour yourself a stiff drink. I’ve already taken a shot or two.”

“They still won’t let me downstairs?” I ask.

“Not until they’re finished.” He glides a hand around my waist and leads me to the kitchen to drag a bottle of Macallan across the bench.

Someone should call Bishop. He deserves to know… But without insight on Matthew’s health, making him worry isn’t the right thing either.

I stay there for hours on a stool at the island counter, cradling a finger of scotch and a heart full of fear.

A shady courier with a cooler of blood comes and goes. The team of cleaners pack up and leave. The men clear out, taking the dead bodies with them.

By midafternoon it’s just me, Salvatore, and Remy, with a large contingent of guards manning the property.

The house is silent, the atmosphere eerie, which makes the door opening down the hall deafening.

I push to my feet and hustle across the room as the doctor comes to stand in the archway, now dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, his surgical gear nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve done all I can,” he offers in greeting. “Evelyn will stay overnight and keep watch. But for now, the only thing we can do is wait and see if he wants to live.”

“Can I go to him?” I ask.

He nods.

My heart catches. I hustle around him, down the hall, and straight into the basement, Remy and Salvatore following. I jerk to a stop on the bottom step.

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