Already, he was feeling a little lightheaded.
Vincedidrealize that if it hadn’t been for Spencer’s quick thinking, moving up behind him, he’d probably be in the drink right now.
He took a few, bone-jarring breaths, and manned up.
“Thanks, man. But… Let’s go,” Vince managed, and his voice came out stronger than he’d imagined.
“No. Stay put,” Mason’s voice barked over his comm, obviously knowing that Vince was shot…but pig-headed. “We’ve got this.”
“Like hell,” Vince gritted in response.
He’d be damned if he didn’t take out a few of these pricks after the havoc they’d wreaked in Lace’s life, and his.
Vince forced his feet to move, every step sending fire through his shoulder and down his arm, but he refused to give up. Hefinally got to a point where his weapon and Spence’s had full access to the deck.
They began firing, picking out members of the crew who unexpectedly all had the look of well-trained mercenaries.
It figured. Theseweren’tfishermen. They were black-market mobsters, armed to the teeth to protect their illegal booty. That was something Captain Swims-bad had neglected to disclose.
Vince got off two decent shots, one shattering a kneecap, the other blowing off a guy’s trigger finger, before…
Oh, shit.
The shakes were setting in, making him unreliable.
Goddammit.
Sweat dripped into Vince’s eyes, mingling with the salt from the seawater he’d been immersed in, so his vision also became compromised.
“I’m done, Spence,” he grunted to his brother behind him.
“Notdone, done, asshole. You’re not dying,” Spencer admonished with a growl, getting off a few more shots. “I know that has to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but as long as we keep the bolt in place, you won’t bleed out.”
Vince tried to chuckle. “Right. Not kicking the bucket. Not yet, anyway. I meant I can’tshootanymore,” he clarified.
“That’s okay,” Spence grumbled, covering his ass. “It looks like our teams have it all under control now, anyway” he apprised.
Really?
Vince had been unaware of that. Probably because the percussion in his arm, beating like a fucking Naval Academy marching band’s base drum, had his focus all out of whack.
His arm hung limply at his side as his knees gave out and he slumped to the boards, never more thankful for Spence’s presence.
Kyle was the first to reach them after all the bad-guys were either dead, or face-down and zip-tied on the deck.
“Hang in there Vince. I’ve already called Obi-Wan for a medical evac. He was standing by, just in case, so his ETA is twenty minutes.”
Vince couldn’t help the groan that escaped as Kyle and Spence gently helped him up and laid him on a cushioned bench.
“Unfortunately,” Kyle continued, “that bolt is going to have to stay in, because if we pull it out, you’ll lose too much blood.”
“Know that, bro,” Vince nodded. “I’m good with leaving it for the surgeons,” he managed, because yes, he’d need surgery, no doubt.
“Just do me a favor,” he added.
“What do you need?” Kyle asked, his face as serious as Vince had ever seen.
This was the brother who’d always competed with Vince to be the funniest Sothard, but right now his concern was taking precedence.