Page 87 of Tango
“No!” I scream. “No!” That’s not possible. Nova rushes over and grips my arm, trying to pull me away from Tucker. “No. No. God, no.”
Dylan lays his brother flat and begins chest compressions while Riley reaches into the backpack he’s carrying and withdraws a packet. They shred Tucker’s shirt open, revealing the ugly wounds.
“Hier, Tango. Hier, Delta,” Elliot orders. Tango hesitates but obeys, lying down at Elliot’s side beside Delta and Echo.
Nova guides me away. “Come on. He’s in good hands now.”
“No. I can’t leave him.”
“Sweetie, come on.” Nova wraps her arms around me, and I collapse against her, shoulders shaking with the force of my sobs. Over her shoulder, I watch as Dylan performs CPR and Riley proceeds to pack Tucker’s wounds full of gauze.
That means he’s okay, right?
After all, they wouldn’t try to save a dead man, would they?
They would since he’s their brother. No pulse. Dylan said he had no pulse.
Oh, God, please don’t take him.
Ramiro groans and starts to sit up. Anger unlike anything I’ve ever experienced comes over me, and I push away from Nova, get to my feet, and cross over toward him. Bradyn and Elliot are already pulling him to his feet, but I don’t stop even as they hold him.
I rear my fist back and slam it into his chin.
“You did this!” I scream, then hit him again. My knuckles burn, but I reach for him again when strong arms come around my waist and pull me back.
“Alice, stop! He’s not worth it.” Riley hauls me back as Nova steps up between Ramiro and me. Tucker’s blood saturates Riley’s hands. And that crimson is all I can see. His blood. All over his brothers.
“If he dies, I will make you suffer,” I growl at Ramiro. “I promise, I will rip you apart with my bare hands. You will pay for what you’ve done!”
Riley drags me back toward Tucker. “Don’t focus on Ramiro. That jerk doesn’t need you.”
I can barely look at Tucker. He’s pale, his eyes shut, body jerking as Dylan continues chest compressions.
“Focus on Tucker. He needs you right now, okay? He needs you.”
Grief and fear strangle me, but with shaking hands, I reach down and take Tucker’s in mine. “God, please don’t let him die,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Medics are here!” A man yells as another man I don’t recognize rushes into the room alongside four paramedics pushing a gurney.
They rush to Tucker’s side, and Dylan withdraws. He places both hands on the back of his head after standing then just stares down at his twin.
“Make sure Dylan is okay.”
It was the last thing he asked—the only thing he asked of me.
Trembling, I pull away from Riley and move around the room to Dylan. He turns to me, tears in his eyes. Then, he wraps both arms around me and pulls me against his chest. His entire body is trembling as though it’s all he can do to keep himself on his feet.
His heart is racing beneath my ear.
“He’ll be okay,” I say, even though right now, I’m not so sure. “He has to be okay.”
The paramedics lower the gurney then lift and place him on top as they start to work, fitting him with an oxygen mask and opening a defibrillator pack. They attach the machine to his chest and shock him.
Tucker’s body jolts off the gurney, arching up as the electricity shoots through him.
I choke on a sob and bury my face against Dylan’s chest. His arms tighten around me.
“We got rhythm,” one calls out.
