My gaze immediately fell on Crow, standing with his gun aimed directly at Slither. With a curled lip and an icy stare, Crow seemed larger than fucking life as he glared at Slither’s now dead body. The pleasure he felt from pulling that trigger was smeared right across his motherfucking face.
Neon moved beneath me, and I shifted. “Babe, you okay?”
She nodded. “What happened?” But she froze as her gaze fell on Dutch lying lifeless in a pool of blood. “Oh, Jesus. No.” She tried to get up. “Dutch. No. No. No. No.”
“Bane, get her out of here,” Crow ordered his sergeant-at-arms, pointing at Neon.
I pushed her aside, putting my body between her and the fucker with the deadly blue-eyed stare, his dark hair draping over his eyes. “Touch her, you fucking die.”
“Don’t worry, Ink,” Crow started, and I glared in his direction. “My man won’t hurt her. You have my word.”
I looked at Granite, and he nodded, a silent way of telling me to let Neon go with them—his eyes urging me to keep my fucking shit together.
Reluctantly, I leaned back, but as Bane reached for Neon, I grabbed his arm, pulling him down toward me, seething through my motherfucking teeth. “If you so much as hurt a single fucking hair on her head, I will hack your spine out of your body with a motherfucking axe. You feel me?”
The fucker smiled, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’d love to see you try.” With a jerk, he yanked his arm out of my hold. “But don’t worry, your bitch ain’t my type.”
He grabbed Neon, and I got to my feet. “You’ll be okay, baby. I swear.”
Her cries were never-ending, and she couldn’t take her eyes off Dutch, Bane practically dragging her from the room. It took an insane amount of self-control to not grab the shears and cut his goddamn hands off. But I knew Crow. He might have been a class-A motherfucker, but he was man of his word. No one would touch Neon.
Once Neon was out of the room, I rushed to Dutch, pulled my shirt off and pressed it against his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. “Jesus, man. What the fuck happened?”
Crow stepped up with his fancy fucking leather boots, and I could hear the sound of the two dice he toyed with in his palm. “Slither was aiming at Granite when Dutch jumped in, taking the bullet instead.”
I glanced from Crow, to Granite’s pale face, and then at Dutch. His body jerked, eyes glazed and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Granite grabbed Dutch’s shirt, tugging at it. “What the fuck, man? Why did you have to do that?”
Dutch’s eyes shot up to Granite. “It was either you or me, brother.” He coughed. “And I made sure it wasn’t you.”
“Fuck! Dutch, you need to hold on, okay? Don’t you fucking dare die on me. You hear me?” Granite placed his hands on Dutch’s face, turning his head to face him. “You hear me? Do you fucking hear me, Dutch? You hold the fuck on.” Granite sucked air through his teeth. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”
I kept putting pressure on his chest, trying to keep the wound sealed as best I could. “Onyx, get Doc down here now.”
Onyx pulled out his phone with his bloodied hand, but he didn’t even have a chance to dial the first fucking number when I felt Dutch’s chest rise and fall beneath my hands, and I knew that was his last goddamn breath.
His head lolled to the side, eyes instantly glazed and empty. He was no longer there. Dutch was gone. He was fucking gone.
“God, no. Ink, what the fuck is happening? Dutch?” Granite leaned over him. “Dutch, stay with me, brother. Stay with me.” The desperation in Granite’s voice was heartbreaking.
I let go, removing my hands from Dutch’s chest, and fell back on my ass. Granite kept touching him, trying to find a pulse, yelling at him to not die. But Dutch was already dead. He was already gone, his breaths replaced with Granite’s desperate pleas for him to wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Don’t die.
I looked over at Onyx, who stared at me, both of us knowing Dutch was gone. It was unreal. Like a goddamn nightmare I was hoping to wake up from. But the pain I saw in Onyx’s eyes made it real since there was no way a nightmare could portray such pure, undiluted, heartbreaking pain.
Granite’s pleas quieted, his voice softening into a trembling murmur. He fell back, the look of disbelief a casting shadow on his sullen expression. Silence settled around us as if time had stopped. Nothing or no one moved…except the steady flow of blood that pooled around Dutch’s body—the body of our VP and friend. Our fucking blood brother. It was too surreal, like a goddamn nightmare playing off in front of us on mute.
My heart cracked. My bones ached. My chest ripped open.
All three of us stayed close to him, his blood reaching our shitkicker boots. I couldn’t believe how everything got shot to shit within less than five fucking minutes.
“My gun,” I muttered, disbelief still clouding my mind. “Slither shot Dutch…with my gun.” There was no stopping the blame from settling heavily on my shoulders.