THEO
“Emmie.”
The pure undiluted fear in my voice echoes around me as time seems to slow to a stop.
Blood soaks her white school shirt faster than I thought possible as my heart jumps into my chest.
“Fuck. No. Please. No,” I mutter to myself as I race forward, although I swear to God that someone’s hit fucking pause on my life.
It’s like one of those nightmares where you just can’t get to where you want to be. No matter how much you want it, you just can’t do it.
Panic, adrenaline and dismay flood me, but finally, I fall to my knees in front of her.
Pain shoots up my legs, but I don’t feel it.
“Emmie,” I shout. “Emmie.”
Her eyes are closed, her lips parted.
If it weren’t for the memory of that stupid fucking shot I just took, then I’d think she was just asleep.
But she’s not.
I acted on instinct, allowing my anger to take over instead of thinking rationally.
I used my heart instead of my head.
The exact opposite to everything Dad has ever taught me.
Leave your feelings at home, soldier. When there’s a gun in your hand and an enemy is in sight, you have to use your head. Otherwise, people get killed. You get killed.
Rolling the fucking prick who thought it would be a good idea to touch something that belongs to me out of the way, I quickly inspect her for a bullet wound.
When all I see is a rip across the shoulder of her shirt and a minor graze on her skin, I breathe a massive sigh of relief.
Tucking my arms beneath her limp body, I push up to my feet, holding her close to my chest.
“You fucking shot me,” a deep, pained voice rings out a second before heavy footfalls come to a stop behind me.
“I’ll fucking shoot any motherfucker who touches my wife.”
His eyes widen as he presses his hand to his shoulder, blood oozing around his fingers.
“Cirillo,” a commanding voice booms. “I called you here to get your girl. Not to shoot my fucking brother.”
My spine stiffens, my teeth grind and my grip on Emmie tightens protectively.
I know they have a history. A quick scroll through both of their social media accounts told me that weeks ago, and it only added to the reasons I wanted to hate her.
She was in bed with the enemy. Literally.
We might tolerate the Wolves, allow them to run their pathetic little business in the estate, but the blood between Archer and me has never been exactly… friendly.
He sees me as a threat.
I see him as a weak little prick.
“Whoops,” I say, turning to face him with a smirk tugging at my lips, masking how I’m really feeling right now while my girl is bleeding in my arms.