inside as best I can. He groans as he pulls himself into the car the rest of the way, using what looks like an enormous amount of effort. I can’t even imagine the kind of pain he is in right now. He got shot... actually shot with a bullet.
I run around to the driver’s side of the car, hitting the garage opener on the way before I jump into the driver’s seat. Keys? I’m about to ask Ivan where the keys are when I see him trying to get something out of his pocket
“Are the keys in your pocket?” I question.
“Yeah,” he moans painfully.
I lean over and move his blood-covered hand away to grab the keys myself. When I get them out, I hastily put the car key into the ignition and turn. The engine roars to life, and I throw it into reverse and back out of the garage. I grip the steering wheel, my palms sweaty, a nervous knot sits in the pit of my stomach.
“If you don’t tell me where to go, I will take you to the hospital,” I warn.
“Iron… Fist… Gym.” He stumbles over the words, his eyes fluttering closed as if he’s trying to compose himself.
“A gym? You want me to drive you to a fucking gym? Right now isn’t really a good time to work out, Ivan. In case you can’t tell, you’re bleeding out.”
I shake my head. He can’t be serious. Maybe he’s lost too much blood and is delirious with pain.
“Please… just take… me there.” He can barely get the words out and slumps over in the seat as if he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up any longer.
What the hell am I supposed to do? Worry courses through my veins. I want to take him to the hospital, but Ivan is right, they will call the cops, they’ll ask questions we don’t have answers to and then I remember something that Ivan told me, something about the connections Rossi has. If he has someone on payroll here then I’ll have all but dug our graves, and even if he doesn’t, what the hell am I supposed to tell the cops? If I tell them the truth, they’ll lock Ivan up… and me for shooting Luca. I exhale a ragged breath, contemplating my next move.
“Please… trust me, Kitten.” Ivan looks up at me, and the anguish and pain in his eyes makes me want to cry. He looks like he is dying with all the blood staining his shirt and his slouched over form. Still, I’ve always trusted him, and I know that he wouldn’t be telling me to go somewhere if he thought it was a bad place to go.
“Okay, how do I get there?” I ask, driving through the grass and over the curb to get around the black SUV blocking the driveway. I drive out onto a side street and follow it before pulling out onto what looks to be a main road. Ivan doesn’t respond to my question and instead, just points at the touch screen in the center console.
I narrow my eyes at the screen. One of the tabs reads navigation. I use the find destination tool and type in the name Ivan just gave me, while trying to stay in my lane on the road. I’m going slow as molasses and sigh loudly once it’s finally done calculating the route.
Thirty minutes to your destination!?
No. No way.
“Ivan… are you aware this place is half an hour away? Are you gonna make it if I drive that far?” My voice cracks. I don’t want to think about that, about losing him. I can’t think about it, not if I want to get him somewhere that can fix him.
“Yeah… I’m good, Kitten, just drive and everything will be fine.” He doesn't look good. His olive skin is coated in a sheen of sweat and his chest heaves as if breathing is taking every ounce of strength he has. I nod and follow the directions. Once I hit the highway, I floor it, making the engine roar. Going thirty miles over the speed limit might not be a great idea at this point, but I can’t let him die.
Periodically, I gaze over at him, noticing how his eyes keep fluttering closed.
“Ivan, don’t go to sleep. Talk to me... tell me something.” I order.
“I’m sorry… I… it’s this car. We need… to get rid of it.” His body keeps sagging to the side until he’s almost laying in