Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars 1)

He rested his hand on his thigh, giving me a countdown. Three, two . . .

I tightened my hold on the grip of my gun, trying to keep my ragged breaths steady. To keep quiet.

Ready to strike.

I counted down to one in my head when the little voice filled the space, “Uncle, I got you.”

Greyson.

Shit.

Could hear rustling get louder from the back of the house, the quickened pace of energy, and I knew Lyrik was trying to shush him, keep him quiet, get them out, and the only thing I could think was thank God, thank God he got to the kids.

But Morgue jerked up his head and started that direction.

Neither Braxton or I waited for that final count.

We both swung around, guns drawn, the bastard pinned between the middle of us.

He calculated, looking for his shot.

A door banged at the back of the house, and that ferocity shifted, something perfect and relieved.

Lyrik had gotten the kids free.

I knew it.

I knew it.

And I was trying not to look at Mia while I kept the gun steady. Not to focus on the blood that dripped from the corner of her mouth or the fear and relief that burned from her swollen, beaten eyes.

But rage.

It burned.

So intense.

So ugly.

My finger twitched on the trigger.

“Put your gun down, Morgue. This job is over.” Braxton’s hard voice sliced through the agitated air. The guy shifted his head just a fraction to look at Brax.

Brax who edged out farther from behind the wall.

Two of us closing him in.

That was the second that pussy deadbeat jumped from the chair, knocking it over, running with his hands tied in front of him toward the window to the opposite side of where I stood.

Running in front of Mia, leaving her sitting there as he dove for the window.

Morgue spun.

Shots rang out.

Piercing.

Shocking.

Nixon’s body jerked as he was struck in the back multiple times.

And I was running.

Running for Mia as his aimed shifted, my arm outstretched with the gun pointed at him.

Faster than I could make sense of it and anticipating what was going to go down all the same.

Because I knew full well if Nixon was gone, he wouldn’t be leaving Mia around as evidence.

Bullets flew, tearing up the living room.

And I was pulling the trigger as I dove in front of her, and Mia’s scream was filling my ears.

Lights flashed through my eyes.

The blackest blacks and the starkest whites.

A haze.

Heaven.

Hell.

I flew into her, knocking her chair over.

Toppling us over.

Didn’t give a thought to the pain in the front of my shoulder, the darkness that kept rushing in to steal my consciousness.

Blood flooding across my shirt.

Only thing I cared about was getting her untied.

Freed from her bindings.

But Mia.

She slumped to the floor.

A shattered groan left me, and I frantically rolled her onto her back, holding her face, screaming and screaming as those sable eyes fluttered and her breaths rasped. “No, Mia. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

Sirens wailed.

Coming closer and closer.

“I’ve got to go, man.” Braxton hesitated for a second, looking to the door, before he bolted as the sirens grew closer, leaving two bodies at his feet behind.

But none of that mattered.

Just her.

Mia.

My angel in the attic.

The purpose I’d never anticipated.

My reason I’d never seen.

Not until the second she’d crashed into me.* * *“I’m fine,” I grunted through the shock of pain, shoving my arm back through my bloodied shirt.

The doctor frowned. “I’d recommend that we admit you overnight. You suffered a significant amount of blood loss and you need a round of antibiotics to prevent an infection.”

Yeah, and I’d recommend that he step out of my way.

“Going to have to pass.”

He huffed in disbelief. “You were shot.”

It’d barely grazed me, and I had already spent hours being barraged by questions from officers. Last one finally left two minutes ago.

Two dead.

Two injured, one in critical condition.

Two children unharmed.

Unscathed.

Relief. Relief.

That overwhelming feeling was gnarled by the anxiety that crawled and infested and decayed.

“You can write me a prescription if you want. But I’m out.”

I slipped off the bed, wincing like a bitch.

He shook his head. “You’re in pain.”

He had no idea.

“You can find me on the fifth floor if you need me,” I grumbled, going for the door.

Arm in a sling, shirt covered in blood, but it was my soul that was doing the bleeding.

I went for the elevator, punching the up button about fifteen times.

Dread whirled around me.

A vortex of apprehension.

That storm I’d felt coming since the second that girl had stumbled into my life.

When the elevator doors opened, I stepped into it and rode it to the fifth floor.

Even though the hall was lit, I could feel darkness pressing into the hospital, ominous clouds that gathered at the edges of my sight and mind.

Regular visiting hours were long since over, but there were people who still mingled about, whispering outside doors, worry radiating from their hearts.