As Mateo appeared at my side, pressing his balled-up shirt against Val’s wound, a familiar voice called out from the top of the stairs.
“A car is on its way.”
“Brody?” I blinked again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
What the actual fuck?
Flashing a smile, he nodded toward Val’s pale body. “Don’t worry, Cherry. He’ll make it. If not for anything else, but to kick my ass for this…” Raising his voice, he leaned over the railing and cupped his hand around his mouth. “Hey, Carrera, if you die, that means I get Eden, right?”
“Brody!” If I wasn’t so focused on Val, I’d kick his ass myself.
Val’s breathing was shallow at best by the time Emilio’s SUV arrived. Lifting Val’s shoulders, Mateo and Brody loaded his motionless body into the back. Unable to have Houston’s assistant district attorney seen with criminals, Brody drove his BMW away from the scene, promising to see to it that the cops on Val’s payroll would never file an official report from the hospital.
As Mateo climbed in the front seat, I took Val’s face in my hands and dusted a light kiss across his lips. “I said I’d walk in front of a bullet for you, but you took one for me instead. It doesn’t end like this, Carrera. You fight for me. You fight for us.” Kissing him again, I traced the slope of his dark eyebrow as a tear rolled off my nose and landed on his cheek. “Te amo.”
Walking the floors in the hallway, I’d already bitten every nail I had until they bled. I’d abandoned the tiny waiting room an hour ago and paced the hallway in front of the nurse’s station, garnering narrowed-eye glares after each pass of their desk.
Fuck ‘em.
After the eighth pass, Mateo rounded the corner and gently steadied my shoulders. “Eden, why don’t you go get something to eat? The doctor said he could be in surgery for another few hours.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Okay, some coffee at least.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Nobody is thirsty for coffee, Eden.”
I crossed my arms and rubbed my palms down the bare skin of my arms not covered by scrubs. “What’s taking so long? If he was okay, it wouldn’t take so long, right?”
Upon arrival at the hospital, the hospital personnel took one look at my battered, bruised body and blood-soaked dress and freaked. After refusing to shut up until I allowed a doctor to examine me, I gave in and filled out paper work that I knew would disappear in less than an hour. They taped two cracked ribs, gave me a chest x-ray, stitched my face and wrists, gave me a tetanus shot, and prescribed a round of antibiotics. Even after much bitching on my part, they bagged my dress and handed it to me, offering either a hospital gown or a pair of ugly green scrubs.
So, here I stood, in army green scrubs two sizes too big.
“It’s a good thing, Eden. As long as he’s in surgery, it means we aren’t getting bad news, yeah?”
Okay, that was one way to look at it.
Two hours later, exhaustion had won out and forced me back into the waiting room. As the clock ticked off the minutes, tears ran down my cheeks…the product of hours of bottled up fear and anxiety.
Glancing at me quickly, Mateo said nothing as he took my hand in his and held it securely.
I’d never been one for public displays of affection, but I’d never been more grateful for anyone in my life. I felt like I stood balanced on the edge of a cliff, the balls of my feet teetering over the edge with every roll of my toes. One crack of a joint, and it’d be all over.
The door to the waiting room flew open, and I almost snapped my neck jumping to my feet. What I came face-to-face with was Emilio Reyes.
“Where is he? Is he all right? When can I see him?”
“Get him out.” The words sounded like they came from someone else. A man. A heavy smoker. A demon straight out of hell.
“Eden!” Mateo scolded.
“What the hell is she talking about?”
“She”—I bit out through clenched teeth—“has finally been pushed too far. She has realized, regardless of the fact that you didn’t pull the trigger, you willingly tortured her brother. And she lost every bit of reservation she ever had against shoving a gun straight up your ass and pulling the trigger when she killed a man tonight.” I stalked forward as he backed up, swallowing hard. “So, I suggest you get out of my sight.”
“You’ve lost your mind.” Emilio shot a pleading look at Mateo, who shrugged and returned to the magazine he’d been reading.
“Have I?”
“You don’t just walk into a cartel and start throwing your smart mouth around—”
“Listen, you arrogant shithead—”
“The family of Valentin Carrera?”
With five words, the brewing argument between Emilio and me stopped cold. Stepping forward, I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “That’s us.”
The doctor nodded in acknowledgement. “Very well. My name is Dr. Kirkland, and I was the lead surgeon on your…” His voice trailed off as his eyes bounced between the three of us.
“Brother,” Mateo answered, pressing a light hand to my lower back. “He’s our brother.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow and ran a disbelieving eye over my pale skin, blue eyes, and red hair.
Good one, Mateo.
Shaking his head, he continued. “Your brother suffered massive internal injuries to his liver. Those kinds of gunshot wounds are serious because the liver is highly vascularized and close to multiple large blood vessels. If a bullet hits one or more of the large vessels, a victim can bleed to death rather quickly. Even if a major vessel isn't severed, a liver laceration bleeds heavily, and it isn't always easy to get it to stop.”
“What are you saying?” I whispered, a sharp ringing building in my ears.
The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. “Luckily, only a small part of your brother’s liver was damaged, Ms. Carrera. The organ is highly regenerative. We were able to tie it off and repair surrounding damage.”
“He’s okay?”
Patting my hand, he tugged off his scrub hat and nodded. “He’s sedated right now and will be in substantial pain when he wakes up, but yes, he’s going to be okay. Give him an hour or so to recover, and you can see him one at a time.”
In a hospital waiting room in Houston.
In a pair of ugly green scrubs.
I hit the floor on my knees and prayed for the first time since I was fourteen.
I thought I’d prepared myself for what I’d find when I opened the door to Val’s hospital room.
I was wrong.
Wires, tubes, bandages, and his beautiful bronzed skin, now pale and ashen gray almost took me to the floor. Val Carrera stood as a giant among men. He spoke and people scattered. His name was murmured in quiet tones, for fear of conjuring the wrath of a killer.
But to me, he was neither a giant nor a killer. He was the man who’d crossed borders to rescue me. He was the man who almost gave his life to save my own.
Valentin Carrera was my hero.
Somehow, I forced my feet to obey and carry me to his bedside. For far longer than I cared to rationalize, I stood above him, listening to him breathe. In the dingy basement, I’d searched so hard for the slightest breath that the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest comforted me like nothing had since I ran out of Caliente.