Page 129 of The Last Call Home
But then, a thunderous boom cracks through the air.I flinch for a moment because it’s obviously not mine, so he probably did it and ...it happens fast.A flash, and then Michael Timberbridge’s head jerks back mid-speech—cut off before the word “failure” can leave his lips.A red bloom opens on his forehead like an angry flower, and he drops, his spine buckling first, knees collapsing.He hits the dock hard, eyes still open, staring at me like he can’t believe he lost.
I blink.Once.Twice.Trying to process the silence after the violence.The world snaps back around me, fast and chaotic.
Boots slam against the wood.Then hands—strong and warm—grip my shoulders.Cassian’s face crashes into sharp focus, eyes wide with terror, jaw clenched with barely-contained panic.
“Are you okay, babe?”His voice breaks as he crouches beside me, already running his hands over my body to locate where I’m hurt.“I came as fast as I could.”He glances at Michael and shrugs.“Sorry for killing your father?”
“I wish I could’ve done it, but it was ...hard.”I try to find some levity in the moment but it’s difficult to do so.
“Fuck, Mal—there’s so much blood.”
I try to speak but my throat feels like it’s full of gravel.I manage to rasp, “Where’s Lilah?”
Cassian’s already nodding, already answering.“They’re taking her to the hospital—just like they’re about to take you.”His head whips around.“Medic,” he bellows into the night.
Flashing lights bleed into the corner of my vision.A siren grows louder as it swings into the port.EMTs rush in—boots pounding, stretcher wheels rattling over warped boards.Hands lift me.My gun is taken.My blood leaves a trail behind.I watch the sky spin as they ease me onto the gurney.
Cass leans in close before they wheel me away, his hand wrapped tightly around mine, eyes locked to mine like he’s memorizing me.“You did good,” he whispers.Then softer, “You’re going to be fine.You.Are.Going.To.Be.Fine.”
He kisses me.Rough, fast, desperate.His lips taste like sweat, salt, and something sweeter beneath: the promise that we’re still standing.That us isn’t over, but just beginning..
As the medics pull me toward the waiting ambulance, I twist to look back at him.“Are you coming?”My voice is barely there.
Cassian stands over the body, pistol lowered, the smoke still curling from the muzzle.His face is calm, but his eyes are storms.He glances at me, mouth tilting in that wry half-smile that always meant “trust me.”
“I’m waiting for the cleaning crew,” he says, stepping over the corpse.“But I’ll be there before you know it—with Lilah.”
Then he turns, already surveying the shadows, already moving like the mission’s not over.
And even though pain’s clawing at my ribs and the blood loss is dragging me under, I believe him.
He’ll come.This time he will.
ChapterSixty
Delilah
This night was supposedto be shrimp tacos and mocktails.Laughing with Simone, and maybe watching something mindless on her couch.
Instead, I was pulled out of my car like stolen luggage.Someone sedated me and shove me onto a boat like I was a goddamn shipment.
And there’s the part where Mom shot a man to save me.
To top it all off I’m at a hospital.I hate hospitals.The fluorescent lights shine like they’re trying to blind me.Everything smells like antiseptic and stale fear.They probably built this place—and any other hospital—to make people feel safe, but no one has ever succeeded.I’m wrapped in a hospital gown, a warm blanket draped over my lap, yet I still feel cold in a way that has nothing to do with the room.
My wrists throb under layers of gauze.The inside of my elbow itches where they prodded the needle in.Which it happened to bejust a sedative—thank fuck.It was nothing permanent or fatal.Just enough to keep me quiet while they moved me like they were taking out the trash.
My shoulder aches with every shift of my body, a dull throb intensifies when I try to move.I don’t know when I hit the ground or who wrenched it back, but something cracked.I’ll feel it later—worse than now.
I try to patch the timeline together, but my mind feels like a dropped snow globe.Fragments swirling in chaos.Tires screeching.Shouting.That slap across my face, was gloved and impersonal.Someone yelled when I fought back.Pain, blooming and immediate behind my eyes.
Then there was Cassian’s voice, loud and ragged.
A gunshot.
A moment where my heart forgot what rhythm meant.
I’m dragged out of my memories when the door opens, and everything inside me tenses.But it’s just Mom.Or not just—she’s more frantic than I’ve ever seen her, her hair wild, eyes wide.Her lipstick’s gone, smudged clean off like she’s been biting her lips raw or wiping her mouth every time she thought of what might have happened.
