an option. Dove needs me. Fuck. I failed her. I let him get to her. I can’t imagine what he’s doing to her right now. Touching her. Breaking her. She’s too fragile for a man like Christian. Like thin glass, he’ll shatter her with a single touch.
My heart thrashes in my chest. Revenge. I need it. I’ll take it. I’ll bathe in his fucking blood for touching her and if he does anything to her. If there is a single hair out of place on her head… I can’t allow myself to think that.
Hobbling out of the hospital, I get a barrage of dirty looks and some shocked ones as I pass people. Looking down at my shirt, I realize the entire thing is soaked in blood. All I can do is shrug because I don’t give a fuck. My side is burning with each step I take, and I’m dizzy as hell. If I’m going to be there to save Dove, to save us, then I’m going to need to find a way to get this bullet removed. As I walk—to where I have no fucking idea—I play over in my head what Christian told me.
The Castro’s, the rival mob family to the Sergio’s, is the reason he wants Dove dead. But why? Who is Dove to the Castro’s? Gritting my teeth, I know exactly what I’m going to have to do and that I’m going to fucking hate every second of it. The last thing I want is to leave Dove in Christian’s hands any longer than I have to, but even with the raged haze that surrounds my head, I know there isn’t any way I can save her if I go in there guns blazing by myself.
I need weapons, a plan, and to get this goddamn bullet out of my side and stop the bleeding before I really do die. Which means I’ll have to go to the Castro family. Sagging against a nearby wall, I squeeze my eyelids closed, and force myself to breathe through my nose. The pain in my side is nothing compared to the way my heart feels in my chest right now. Even though it’s hard as hell, I force myself not to think about Dove in that instant. Shrugging out of my shirt, I take the fabric and press it against my side as hard as I can. My fist clenches and pain radiates across my skin. It feels like razor blades are slicing through my flesh, leaving deep cuts in their wake. My eyes flutter closed, and I force myself to think about anything but the pain. Shutting down is my only option right now.
Car. Weapon. Castro’s. In that order. Pushing off the wall, I continue limping my way down to the car. By the time I reach the car, there is a sheen of sweat on my forehead, and my muscles are protesting with each and every step I take. Swallowing the pain down, I open the car door and slide inside. Sagging against the seat, I start up the car and lean over the center console ripping open the glove box.
Pulling out the gun that I keep there just in case, I check to see how many bullets I have and then place it down beside me. Backing out of the parking spot, the tires squeal as I take the twists and turns to get out of this labyrinth of a place.
Following the exit signs, I slam my foot against the gas pedal and drive out onto the street. The sound of a car horn pierces my ears, but I don’t pay the driver any attention. I’m on a mission. Determined. I don’t need directions to the Castro estate. As soon as Christian told me about his rivalry with them, I started keeping tabs on the family. Figuring out their schedules, where they live, how they spend their money and time.
Going to them might get me killed, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take if there is even a chance that I’ll be able to save Dove. I’ll make any deal; kill anyone they want. There is nothing that I won’t do, no one I won’t hurt. I have to get her back. I have to save her.
No matter what happens to me, I have to make sure she survives. She is all that matters to me. If she dies, then I die.
The wound in my side pulses with its own heartbeat as I drive through