THIRTY-THREE
Theimpactofthe bullet in the vest I had on under my shirt hurt like hell. I swallowed down the bile that rose into my throat and advanced toward the car cautiously. The back windshield was shattered by the bullets Grimaldo had put through the glass, trying to take us down. Glass crunched under my boots as I circled the car, gun up, ready to take as many shots as needed to kill the bastard.
Him flirting with Kit and kissing him was something I could forgive. Him shooting at the boy who meant the world to me, not in a million years. Earlier I might have entertained the idea of talking to Grimaldo and ending this bad blood between us, but that plan had flown right out the window when he took a shot at my boy.
Grimaldo had to die. If he walked away from tonight, neither myself nor Kit would be safe.
The door at the driver’s side opened, and Grimaldo swung his legs out of the car but didn’t get out. A bullet must have struck him in the shoulder, as his shirt was covered in blood.
“I give up.” He held up a hand as if to surrender. “We can work something out. There’s no need to kill me. Haven’t you already taken enough Grimaldo lives?”
“This isn’t on me, Grimaldo. You had a truce with Pinelli, and you chose to break it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s Pinelli who’s breaking the truce by sending you to kill me.”
“Pinelli didn’t send me.”
“Then who—”
Pop!
A gunshot rang out, and Grimaldo slumped back in the car seat, blood oozing from the bullet buried in his chest. I took a step back and raised my weapon.
“It’s me!” Kit hurried around the hood of the car. “He has a gun in his left hand. He was going to shoot you.”
I peered inside the car. Damn, Kit was right. Grimaldo held a gun in his now-slack hand. Kit ran into my side and clung to me.
“Why aren’t you in the car?” I held him tight against me. If Grimaldo had taken that shot before he had… “I told Liam to leave with you.”
“I wouldn’t go. Not without you. It’s not Liam’s fault.” He cupped my cheek. “Don’t you ever tell me to leave you ever—”
From over Kit’s shoulder, a movement caught my attention. A gun. Grimaldo’s gun tilted in Kit’s direction.
“No!”
I pushed Kit away from me, and even then I knew it was too late as Grimaldo’s gun went off. The next bullet came from my gun. Three rounds in his chest, the impact so powerful his body jerked, then slumped in the seat.
“Kit!” I shouted and kneeled next to his body lying prone on the ground. “Goddammit, Kit, please tell me you’re not hit.”
“I’m not.” His voice was laced with pain. “Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I’d killed him.”
“Fuck Grimaldo. Are you sure you’re not hit?” I lifted him to his feet, but he sagged into my side.
“My shoulder. It hurts.”
“Dammit, we need to check you out.”
I swung him up into my arms, and he gasped.
“Do you still have your gun?”
“Yes.” He handed it over to me and buried his face into my chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh. You’re going to be fine. You saved my life.”