She was off to his left. Close. Protecting his hurt side. Her voice was strained. She knew they were trying to take her with them, and he was down, but hell if he was out. Stretched out on the concrete floor of the garage, cradling the gun in both hands, steady as a rock, completely blind, he fired at the first voice, the one warning the others that he was Torpedo Ink. Yeah, he was, and he’d trained blindfolded over and over, weeks, months, years of training, but they didn’t know that, did they?
Someone screamed. High-pitched. Someone else grunted. Went down. “Shit. Shit. He’s hit. We’ve got to get out of here.”
He fired a second time at the second voice. Another loud grunt and a thud as a body hit the floor. The scream came again. There was the sound of dragging bodies, of running. Boots hitting the concrete. The roar of an engine. Silence.
“Don’t move, Zyah,” he whispered. His stomach lurched again. His head felt like it was coming apart. Maybe it was, but she was going to be safe before it did. “We have to clear the garage. Make certain all of them are gone and they didn’t leave any surprises behind.”
He couldn’t throw up. He couldn’t lose consciousness. Everything was black already in his mind. Blood was so thick in his eyes he couldn’t see. He wasn’t certain he could cover her adequately if they had to move position, but he doubted if any of their attackers were left behind. The purpose seemed to be kidnapping her. His Torpedo Ink brothers would be there in a few minutes; he just had to hang on. Maestro was supposed to be right behind him. How much time had passed? He had no idea. Time always slowed down in a gun battle.
“I have to check on my grandmother,” Zyah objected, but she went to her knees beside him, her hand on his head.
Her touch was gentle, trying to cup over the vicious wound, but it was very long, winding from the back of his scalp to the front. Player didn’t move, didn’t flinch. It hurt like hell, but he’d grown up in an environment where one never showed pain. Never. She pulled her blouse off and folded it into a wide band.
“Head wounds bleed profusely, Player. This one is terrible. I have to see how bad it is. I may need to call an ambulance.”
“I’m alive. Hurts like a mother. And I don’t do ambulances. Just be still for a moment. Hold your breath. Let me listen for movement. Breathing. Anything to give away an enemy.”
He took the blouse from her with a shaky hand and wiped the blood from his eyes. She was right, it was streaming. More took its place. He sent a voice text to Steele. He needed the doc, and he damn well wasn’t going to a hospital. He was counting on Maestro not being far behind him. Where the fuck was he? He was going down in another minute, and he wouldn’t be able to control the situation.
“We’re alone,” Zyah said with confidence. “The garage is small and there aren’t that many places to hide. I really have to check on my grandmother and then I’ll be right back.”
He glanced at his cell with blurred vision. The time. Shit. What seemed like forever to him had really only been a matter of minutes. The attack had lasted only three minutes, and then the men were gone. On the run. There was no waiting for his brothers to get there. Fortunately, the guns had silencers. No one had heard those little pops. Hopefully not her grandmother.
He had known all along he couldn’t stall her very long. He would have gone to check on the grandmother immediately— it had to be done. His head felt like it had already exploded, had come apart at the seams and was leaking his brains all over the place. The least movement sent his stomach lurching alarmingly. Still, there was nothing else to do—he had to cover her. There was no way he could let her go alone.
Player had extraordinary abilities thanks to his psychic talent. He could control his brain for periods of time by shifting what was happening in real time to alternates, which meant he had to take himself as far from where he was as possible and still be there to protect her. He’d never felt so sick in his life. He knew the wound was bad and it was possible he might not even make it, but he had to protect Zyah and her grandmother until Maestro showed up.
He took a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s go, then.” At least the blood was out of his eyes and he could see. He felt like a fool with a blouse wrapped around his head. The devil only knew what he looked like, but he wasn’t going to let her face whatever was in that house—good or bad— alone.
Zyah hesitated, shook her head and then turned toward the house. “You know you’re stubborn as hell.”
He couldn’t deny that charge, so he concentrated on not vomiting all over her nearly immaculate garage. She hurried, walking upright, while he had to crawl. There was no way for him to get up on his feet. After she punched the code into the door and used her thumbprint on top of the code, she glanced over her shoulder and said something very unladylike under her breath.
“What are you doing? Player?”
His name was whispered right along with a curse word. He could barely distinguish between the two, but he was concentrating on dragging himself to the door without his head falling off.
“There’s a trail of blood behind you wider than a river.” She was back, crouching down to circle his waist with her arm. “This is silly. You can’t even stand up.”
Yeah, he got that. He clenched his teeth against the nausea, praying to the fucking devil he didn’t throw up all over her. He went to his go-to place, trying to build bombs in his head, something he’d done since he was a child, to keep from losing his mind.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stand. What do you usually do when you enter the house? The first thing, Zyah?” He rested on the stairs while he asked. He wasn’t even certain he was talking. Or making sense.
“I call out to her. Tell her I’m home.”
“Do that, then, but don’t go all the way inside. Does she answer you?”
“Yes, right away. She’s always up waiting for me no matter the time.”
“Pay attention to her voice. Does she sound the same? Under duress? Do you have a word or phrase you’ve worked out indicating one or both of you are in trouble?” He could barely think with the pounding in his skull. He had to speak through clenched teeth and hope she didn’t notice.
“That would have been a good idea. But yes, I would know if she was under duress.” She didn’t wait but stepped inside the open door and called out cheerfully. “Mama Anat, I’m back.”
“You ran late tonight.” The relief in her grandmother’s voice was evident. “I was worried, Zyah.” Anxiety made her voice tremble.
“Are you alone? Did Lizz leave already?” Deliberately, Zyah helped Player crawl into the hallway and then turned on the water at the sink in the kitchen as if she were washing her hands.
“Lizz’s granddaughter called earlier and needed a ride somewhere important. She waited as long as she could for you to get home. I told her I’d be all right. I have a sawedoff shotgun right here, sitting on my lap. She watched me load it before she left.”
“Mama Anat, that is illegal here in the States.” Zyah tried to keep the laughter out of her voice, but relief clearly was making her a little giddy. “You don’t have a permit, or whatever it is you need.”
“If the cops came, I was going to shove it under the bed. I had a plan.”