Page 103 of Devil's Iris
I turn my head back, suddenly curious about what had been crushing me, and all the breath rushes out of my lungs in a sick whoosh.No.No, no, no.
Dean. Or what’s left of him. His dark eyes are wide open but blank. And his head… Jesus, his head. There’s a hole where the top of his skull should be and—oh God. Blood and brain matter are splattered across the sidewalk… and across my clothes.
The warmth on my back. That was his…
My stomach revolts violently, and I twist in Romero’s arms as I vomit all over the pavement.
“Fuck, love. Hold on.” Romero tightens his grip, plastering me to his chest as he hauls us up.
My injured arm screams in protest, throbbing and burning as he walks, but my throat seems to be locked. All I can see is Dean’s empty eyes, that horrible hole, the way he looked sogone?—
Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I cling to my husband, my blood mixing with Dean’s on Romero’s pristine shirt. But he doesn’t seem to notice or care about the mess.
Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer, but Romero keeps walking with long, determined strides until we reach the back door of his car where Logan and the man from the courthouse are waiting with grim expressions.
“Is she okay?” Logan asks urgently as Romero slides into the back with me still clutched in his arms.
“Take us home,” is my husband’s curt response, and the car’s door slams shut.
Someone shot me.
The realization hits slowly as we pull out of the courthouse parking lot. Someone actually tried to kill me. Why? Why would anyone shoot at a nobody like me? It doesn’t make sense.
Even married to Romero, I’m not that important. Not like him. If they were trying to use me to get to him, wouldn’t it make more sense to kidnap me? Use me as leverage, hold me for ransom.
Dean.Oh God, Dean. The tears come even harder now, my throat burning with grief and guilt and terror all twisted together.
“Romero,” I croak. “Dean… Is he… is he really… dead?”
He doesn’t answer me with words. Just that muscle jumping in his jaw, his eyes staring straight ahead while his grip on me tightens protectively. The clarity spreads ice through my veins, chilling me to the bone.
Someone who was alive and healthy just minutes ago is dead just like that?Because of me.That shot would have hit me if Dean hadn’t covered my body with his own. If he hadn’t been so quick to react, it would’ve been me on that pavement, lifeless.
A sob tears from my throat as I bury my face in Romero’s chest and cry.
37
ROMERO
She could have died.
The thought runs rampant in my brain as I sit in the armchair I dragged across the bedroom, watching her sleep—or at least pretending to. I can’t make it stop. Can’t make it quiet down. It just keeps hammering away: she could have died, she could have died, she could have fucking died.
Her eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against skin so pale it looks white as paper. Those delicate fingers twitch every few seconds, and I find myself cataloging each movement like it’s proof that she’s still here. Still breathing. Stillmine.
Christ, she looks like she’s seen death itself. Which she has, hasn’t she? Dean’s body… sprawled across the pavement with blood splattered around his head. That image is probably going to carve itself into her brain and stay there. Forever.
I should have shielded her from that.
The ache in my chest throbs painfully as I think about just how close I had been to losing her. If Dean hadn’t caught on to what was happening, hadn’t thrown himself in front of her at exactly the right moment, it would have been her brain decorating that courthouse pavement.
What the hell was she even doing there? But this isn’t the time to ask.
She’s not herself.
Not that I expected her to remain the same after what just happened.
She hasn’t said much since the car ride. Since those gut-wrenching sobs tore out of her throat in the back seat with the blood all over her dress, her shoes.My shirt.
