Page 53 of Six
“Aye aye, Captain,” he said, then turned his attention back to DePalma. “So what’s it going to be, you dog-hearted foul infection?”
“Oh, good one, Cooper,” Violetta said.
He fought a grin. The fight wasn’t over yet, but he was feeling good about the odds. “Will you stay down and let us bring you in, or are you going to make yet another bad decision?”
DePalma held a hand out in a gesture that looked to be surrender, but Gavin wasn’t taking any chances. He backed up a step, once again, putting his back to the quarry. The man rolled to his stomach, then came to his knees. He paused there, with his hands on his hips, and regarded both Gavin and Violetta. Then he turned his full attention to Gavin, obviously having dismissed Violetta.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Gavin grinned. “No one special. Are you going to be a good little boy and let us restrain you until the cops get here or are you going to give us a hard time? Either way, it’s not going to end well for you so if I were you, I’d think about your options.”
DePalma may be a big guy, but he fought as though he’d learned his moves watching TV and wrestling with his friends. He had no idea who he was dealing with, and Gavin didn’t mind that advantage one bit. He hoped DePalma would make the right decision, but he was 99 percent certain he wouldn’t.
And sure enough, he didn’t.
DePalma sprang at him and in his hand, Gavin saw a knife. He didn’t have time to consider where it might have come from before it was being thrust toward his chest in an upward swing. His instincts took over, and Gavin grabbed DePalma’s wrist and twisted his body around, using the leverage to bring the knife down and away from his torso. Only DePalma was stronger than Gavin gave him credit for—or perhaps it was the adrenaline—and the knife didn’t quite clear his body.
A scorching pain sliced across his thigh. Gavin sucked in a breath and did his best to ignore it as he attempted to disarm DePalma. His leg had other ideas, though, and it wobbled under the strain of the fight for dominance.
As he struggled to keep his hold on DePalma and shake the knife from the man’s hand, Gavin caught sight of the edge of the quarry, only a few feet away. Having zero interest in getting any closer while still locked in combat, he bent at the waist, then snapped himself up, catching DePalma in the face with his head. DePalma released him with a grunt, and Gavin spun in time to see him raise the knife again.
Only this time, it wasn’t Gavin who stopped him.
Stunned into stillness, he watched as Violetta entered the fray, her body low to the ground. With one sweeping kick of her left leg, DePalma was knocked off his feet. But before the man could hit the ground, her right foot punched out, hitting him in the chest and sending him flying backward.
In the split seconds that followed, Violetta remained poised and ready while Gavin stared at the empty spot where DePalma had been. Less than ten seconds later, the sickening thud of his body hitting the bottom of the quarry echoed up the granite walls.
Violetta turned to him, and his eyes locked on hers. Neither rushed to the other as the reality set in that together, they’d killed a man. Not that he thought either had any regrets, but still, this was a moment that they’d both remember. He’d come forward to help her when DePalma had pulled the gun, and she’d stepped in to save him when the cut in his leg had put him at risk. It might sound dramatic, but they’d saved each other’s lives, and that shit wasn’t to be taken lightly.
“Vi,” he said, holding out a hand.
Her gaze held his for one more moment and then, in the next, she was kneeling in front of him.
“Oh my god, Gavin, I think you need stitches,” she said, her hands on his thigh. She was probably right. He hadn’t looked at the cut, but he could feel the blood dripping down his leg and pooling around the edges of his boots. “Give me the knife,” she said.
When he didn’t immediately reply, she touched his waist. Unsure what she planned, he removed the blade and handed it to her. She whipped her sweatshirt off and promptly used the knife to cut the sleeve off, which she then bound around his leg.
“You are definitely going to need stiches. But in the meantime, can you walk out? I don’t mean to be callous, but it would be best if neither of us left any DNA around here.” She was looking up at him as she tightened the makeshift tourniquet. The ends of her hair lifted in a breeze, her cheeks were flushed with the rush of the fight, and her cognac eyes searched his.
A faint smile touched his lips. “You know, this isn’t quite what I had in mind when I fantasized about having you on your knees in front of me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gavin glancedat Violetta as she navigated them back to the highway that would take them to Cos Cob. She’d been muttering unflattering things about him in Italian ever since he’d refused to go to the doctor. As far as he was concerned, there was no point. Any ER would have to report a knife wound and between Devil and Nora, he figured he’d get better care when they got home anyway.
“You know I can understand you,” he commented, after she’d said something particularly colorful about his stubbornness.
She glared at him as she switched lanes and darted around a truck hauling a horse trailer. She didn’t take her eyes off him the entire time, and he held his breath until they were well past the other vehicle.
“I’m fine,” he said.
She muttered something more, this time quiet enough that he missed most of it, although the phrase “cocky motherfucker” was pretty clear.
“Keep the pressure on it,” she barked. As soon as they’d reached the car, she’d folded her sweatshirt and insisted he use it to cover his wound. Deciding it was best to do as she said, he pressed it against his thigh. Pain shot up through his hip and down to his ankle, but he did his best to cover his wince. His best wasn’t good enough, though, and her head whipped around. She studied him before her eyes dropped to his thigh. He fought another wince, but this one wasn’t from pain. She’d seen that he’d bled through her sweatshirt, and he wasn’t looking forward to the consequences.
A beat later, she handed him her phone and told him to find and open an app called “detector.” He wasn’t too shameless to admit that he liked that she was worried about him, but that didn’t mean he wanted to poke the bear. Again, he dutifully followed orders and opened the app with his free hand.
“What is it?” he asked.
