Slash lay on the floor. Russell lay ten feet away, Slash’s switchblade buried in his chest, blood pooling around him.
“Ohgod,” he blurted.
He knelt in front of her, felt her carotid. Relief washed over him. She had a pulse, but she’d been shot. He yanked off his rain-drenched shirt, moved away to ring it out, then applied pressure to her wound.
Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “There’s my partner.”
He breathed. “How’s my love doing?”
She craned her head toward Russell, then winced. “I’m doing a hell of a lot better than he is. But he got me.”
“Yeah, chest, by your shoulder.”
“I need to stand.”
“You need to go to the hospital.”
“Help me.”
Immobilizing her shoulder, he helped her sit up.
“Whoa, I’m a little light headed,” she said. “I can apply pressure to my wound.”
“Seriously, babe.”
Rebel and Brit bolted in.
“Jesus,” Rebel said.
“What the hell,” Brit murmured.
“Slash’s been shot,” Carrera said.
“I’m on it.” Brit pulled out her phone.
“No signal down here.” Slash started to get up.
Brit rushed out of the room as Carrera supported Slash so she could stand.
Slash
Searing pain shot through her,the discomfort traveling through her chest and down her fingers, but she had to push forward. Despite the frigid temps, they weren’t finished in this hellhole. Not yet.
Pushing past the pain, she took a deep breath, then another.
“Confirm he’s dead,” she said.
Rebel felt Russell’s carotid. “Gone.”
With support from Carrera, she stood over to Russell. “I want my switchblade back.” When she started to bend, pain shot through her and she jerked upright.
“I got it.” Rebel yanked out the blade. “Straight through the heart.”
“It was him or me,” she said while Rebel cleaned the metal and folded it shut.
“Where does it go?” Rebel asked.
“Right ankle.”