Page 42 of Femme Fatale
She left, stumbling down the hall, leaving a trail of blood and broken promises.
I lay on my back, leg screaming, the letter opener still embedded. I stared at the ceiling, watched the slow pulse of the overhead light, and tried to slow my breathing.
My hand found the gun. I chambered a round, pointed it at the door, and waited.
No one else came.
It was just me, my pain, and the knowledge that this war had only just started.
I lay there for what felt like an hour, then dragged myself upright. I wrapped my belt around my thigh, above the wound, and cinched it until the pain became a cold numbness.
I limped to the window, pulled the blind, and peered out.
The street was empty. Kara and her goons were gone.
I sat in the chair, still clutching the gun, looking at the wound.
The blood had a rhythm. A heavy, dull pulse. By the time Boss burst through the office door, my thigh was slick with it, the carpet below a Rorschach of misery and failure.
“Jesus Christ, Selene.” He dropped to a knee beside me. His hands shook, but his voice was steady—always the pro, even with bullets flying or his boss leaking out on the floor. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”
He ripped the letter opener from my leg, which should have made me scream, but I just grunted. I’d lost the ability to care about pain, or maybe the adrenaline had burned it out of me. He tore a strip from a tablecloth he’d grabbed from the bar, wadded it, and pressed down until the world narrowed to a pinpoint.
“Keep pressure here. Don’t pass out on me,” he barked, using his pit boss voice.
I nodded, face pressed to the cold desk. Every muscle below the waist was fire, but my arms still worked. I used them to reach the bottle of whiskey on the bookshelf, popped the cork, and slugged it. The burn reminded me I was still alive.
“Did you get her?” he asked, voice tight.
I shook my head. “She ran. But she’s hurting. That’s enough for now.”
He looked at the mess. The shattered lamp, ledgers, and blood everywhere. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
I let out a sharp laugh, bitter as bile. “Unless they rebrand the ER as a fallout shelter, I’m not interested.”
Boss tied off the makeshift tourniquet, his fingers knotting it so hard I thought he might break my femur. He patted my shoulder, then started picking up the scattered files one-handed, the other holding me in place.
“Where are the girls?” I asked.
“Joker’s in the parking lot, Spade and Aces outside on the street. Nines is in the security booth, still ghosting the cameras. Glitz is prepping the cash drop.” He didn’t look up. “They’re waiting on you. Also waiting for Kara to return. Joker wants a shot at her.”
I fished my phone out, punched in the code with trembling fingers. “Put the place on lockdown. No one in or out.”
He nodded, eyes never leaving my face. “And you?”
I struggled to stand, using the desk for leverage. My leg shrieked, but I forced it straight. “I’m going to Jack Smalls’ house.”
Boss’s jaw clenched. He looked at the wound, the blood, then at me. “You’ll never make it two blocks.”
“Watch me.”
He put a hand on my arm. “Selene, you can’t—”
I cut him off with a glare. “Call the girls. Tell them to meet me there. We finish this tonight.”
For a second, I thought he might argue. Instead, he just nodded, slow. “You’re fucking crazy,” he said, almost admiring.
“That’s why you work for me.”
