Page 118 of Precious Hazard

“Tara!” An animalistic roar leaves my chest as I run and scoop her into my arms. I can’t even clearly see her face at this point, but I detect the rise of her chest under my palm.

She’s alive.

“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

Cradling my precious cargo, I carry her through the fires of hell that are destroying our home. Thanking God and every saint above for letting me find my wife. For not being too late. For giving me a chance to save her. Without her, there is no me.

“Arturo!” Nino yells, running toward me once I step outside.

“I need to get her to a doctor,” I cough out as my eyes scan her body, checking for injuries. “She must have inhaled a lot of—”

The words die on my lips. Panic. Overwhelming panic slams into me like a freight train. The sight before my eyes cannot be real. Blood. The entire front of Tara’s dove-gray sweater is saturated in blood.

“TARA!” I roar.

Chapter 25

Voices. Several. Distinct. Everyone is speaking at the same time. It’s hard to decipher what they are actually saying. Everything sounds muffled, as if veiled by a dense fog. Their energy, though, is unmistakable. Alarm. Haste.

Where am I? What’s going on?

One voice in particular rises above the others. It’s loud. Way too loud. Booming out commands. I know that voice. I’ve heard it angry. Soothing. Turned on. But now, there is a quality to it that’s unfamiliar. It’s shaky. Breaking on certain words. That’s… odd. My husband’s voice never shakes. Dear God, is he alright?

“Fucking floor it, Nino! Faster, or I swear I’m going to fucking kill you with my own hands!”

Oh. He’s spitting out multiple curses in the same breath. Something bad did happen. There’s no way he’d cuss this much otherwise. Not with other people around, at least. At me, because I’m awesome at driving him bonkers, that’s normal. I guess I have a way of bringing out the devil in him. With others, he always refined.

“Shit. The bleeding won’t stop. Fuck, baby, hang on.” A hand strokes my cheek. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me,gattina.” A hard press of lips to mine. Quivering lips. Yet, still, so familiar. Except for the salty taste they leave behind. “Get us to that fucking hospital already!”

Images start flashing through my mind. Short clips, like brief scenes from a movie trailer. The sounds are so jumbled that I can’t connect them to the plot. Gunfire. Running. A ringing phone. Glass, breaking over and over. The overwhelming smell of smoke. Flames. Flashing, twisting, climbing. Over drapes, the floor, up the walls. So mesmerizing, but frightening at the same time. Then, darkness. A man. A man with a gun in the window. Pain.

How strange. I don’t feel it anymore.

Not the pain. Not the heat. Not the— Wait, was that real?

“How much longer, Nino?”

“Less than ten minutes. Keep pressure on the wound.”

My husband. My husband in the midst of the flames. Like Satan himself, unfazed by the fire, he runs to me through the raging storm. Did he really barge into a burning house? To save me? Nah. Must be another dream.

“Ten minutes, baby.” His lips are on mine again. “You need to hold on. Ten more minutes and we’ll be there. Please, please hold on.”

His voice sounds strange. The tone is… pleading. I’ve never heard Arturo plead for anything before. As I crack my lids open, my vision blurs, but I make out my husband as he leans over me. His hair is beyond disheveled, and there are black and red smears all over his frantic-looking face.

He looks like shit.

“Gattina?” he chokes out.

Mmm, I love it when he calls me that. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and purr. That would be nice because I’m so, so cold. And my eyelids feel so heavy. A little nap would be so good right now.

“No. No! NO!” Fingers spear through my hair at the back of my head. “Stay with me. Open your eyes, baby!”

I want to. I want to so much. But it’s hard.

“Please, Tara. Look at me.”

Damn, he’s persistent.

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