Wicked Ties(138)

shit. He focused all his effort on stemming the flow of Morgan’s blood.

But nothing helped. The blood just kept running, flowing…

“Hang on, cher. Stay with me. You can’t give up, not now. Je t’aime, mon coeur.”

“You love her?” Brandon’s voice sounded thin, unsteady. He seemed shaken. “It’s not

bullshit. You really love her?”

Jack didn’t have time to spare him a glance. “Yes, I love her, and I’m sure you’ll find

some way to use it to cut me off at the balls. Right now, I need you to get the fuck out of

here.”

“But she’s—”

“If this turns into a media circus because of you and she dies, I’ll make sure they have

to pick up your remains with tweezers!”

Brandon fell silent for a moment, then nodded.

“Wait,” Jack called. “The gun. You’re not registered to carry in Louisiana, are you?”

And Jack had just killed a man using that weapon.

The elegant senator’s son flinched. “Oh, God.”

“Nine millimeter?” Deke asked.

“Yes.” Brandon’s voice shook.

“Jack?” asked Deke.

“In my duffle bag. Switch out the bullets. Fire a round into the grass outside the

French doors or something. It’s the best we can do, in case they run forensics.”

“Those good ol’ Cajun boys aren’t going to look too closely. It’ll work.”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Deke swore and poured the bullets from Brandon’s

gun, switching them out with those in Jack’s own. He thrust open the French doors at the

side and quickly fired a round into the grass.

Jack flinched, heart pounding at the sound, the one that slammed home the fact he

might lose the only woman he’d ever loved. The woman he wanted to keep for the rest of

his life.

The woman who wasn’t his.

“I’ll call Alyssa. We’ll find a place to hide Brandon. Touch base when you can,” a

shirtless Deke said, herding Brandon out the door.

Jack nodded, still applying pressure, afraid to lift the sheet, afraid to find out the

blood was still flowing, afraid the bullet had hit some organ and was slowly killing her.

Damn it, he’d flunked fucking EMT training.

“Hang on to her, man.”

Jack glanced up. Deke stood solidly on his side, as always. No words necessary. No

questions asked.

“Thanks,” he croaked.

Now he only hoped that he could keep her alive so he could fight for her.

#

Four long hours later, full of questions and red tape, and his guts shredding under

the sharp blade of dread, night was falling. Jack reached the hospital. He had blood all

over him—and he didn’t give a damn. The police had just finished with all their long,

annoying questions about Andrew’s death. Through it all, he could only wonder, with a

machete of fear stabbing him over and over, about Morgan’s condition.

After barking an inquiry at the nurse’s station, he sprinted to Morgan’s room.

Heart pounding, he came to a dead stop in the doorway. “Mon Dieu.”

Wearing a pale blue hospital gown, she looked so still and lifeless and even paler than

the white-white of her pillow. Even her sexy cinnamon freckles had faded to near

nothing. The IV pumped fluid into her body through a tube stuck to the back of her

hand. A bandage bulked up her right shoulder and, from the bulge in her gown,

extended down to her rib cage.

If she died, it was going to be all his fucking fault. If he’d never started this stupid bid

for revenge, if he’d just protected her, instead of screwing with her body, her mind…her

heart, Morgan wouldn’t now be fighting for her life.

“What’s the news?” he snapped at Deke, hands shaking as he entered the room.

Brandon stood sulking nearby, arms over his chest, propped against a wall. He looked

like a man with a lot of heavy shit on his mind. Jack related.

He sank into an uncomfortable chair the color of baby puke and couldn’t help but

wonder, how on earth they had ended up wrestling over the same woman again? And

why every time they did, the results were always so disastrous.

“It’s good. They brought her back from surgery about twenty minutes ago and said

she’s going to be fine.”

Fine. She was going to be fine. That’s all that mattered.

“Merci Dieu.” He let out a ragged breath.

Deke spoke up. “It’s a flesh wound. Bullet entered and exited cleanly, just below her

collarbone. They’ve stopped the bleeding. They came and asked if any friends or family

are AB positive and could give her blood.” He shrugged an apology. “I’m B negative,