Where the hell was Maestro? How long did it take to get the fucking truck and a few weapons?
“Get to me,” Player called to Zyah, wiping at the blood. He couldn’t get to her. He could barely breathe through the pain in his head. He could hear running.
“What the fuck are you thinking?” a voice yelled. “He’s Torpedo Ink. You kill him, they’ll never stop coming after us. We have to get out of here. Get the bitch and let’s go.”
“Zyah, call out now, right now.” He needed to know where she was. He had the position of the other voice.
“Right here.”
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.