Page 215 of Indulge
Conan helps up Father Byrne, who can’t look at any of us; he’s muttering prayers over and over.
I really don’t think we will be welcome here again.
I glance down at Lyla’s lifeless body, and for a second, I almost pity her. She got caught in a world she didn’t understand, used by people she thought would save her.
Drago looks at me, his face unreadable.
“It had to be done,” he says simply.
Done.
Except it’s not.
Because I can see the tremor in Bella’s hands, the haunted look in Rowan’s eyes, the crimson stain spreading across the floor.
We’re all still bleeding. Just in different ways.
107
BELLA
The world feels like it’s tilting.
There’s shouting, footsteps, movement that doesn’t make sense. I can barely hear it over the pounding in my head, the rush of my heartbeat.
“Bella, I need to know you’re okay,” Rowan whispers. His hands frame my face, and I relax when I look into those dark eyes that hold the same pain I feel.
“I’m okay, rockstar. I promise.”
Finn’s got Reggie on the floor, his hands red, but he’s so calm.
He presses a soft and steady kiss on my lips before letting me go. I rush to Reggie’s side, Rowan close behind me. He drops down to the floor with Finn.
“You good, bro?” Rowan asks.
“You took one of these in your stomach? Fuck. I wish I had more sympathy for you now,” Reggie jokes.
“We need to move. Now,” Finn orders, making all of us stop.
As they try to move him, I see the pain on his face as he hisses out a breath.
“No!” The word rips out of me. “You can’t move him like that!”
“I’m a surgeon, Bella,” Finn snaps, calm but fierce. “You think I don’t know that? He stays here, he fucking bleeds out.”
I try to go to Reggie, but Declan grabs my arm. “You need to let them work. Finn will fix him up, we can take you home.”
“Get your fucking hands off me!” I shove him back, my voice breaking. “I’m not leaving him!”
Reggie’s pale, his face twisted in pain. “Princess, I’m fine?—”
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare say that to me right now. I am not leaving you.”
I’m panicking. My mind spiralling. I need them both in my sight.
His lips twitch into something between a smirk and a wince. “You’re bossy when you’re scared.”
“You’re bleeding out, Irish,” I choke, brushing my fingers against his cheek. “You don’t get to joke.”
