His Ballerina

“What—why—” I can’t put a sentence together, and oh, no, there’s a scream threatening to tear itself loose in my throat.

Archer turns, and his eyes are wild as they go over me, checking like he’s afraid I’m hurt. “Are you okay? Did they hit you?”

I can only shake my head as the understanding that the men who shot at us are dead sinks in.

Followed by the warm wetness on Archer’s jacket.

“Oh, my god.” My fingertips come back red. “You were shot!”

He shakes his head, taking my face in his hands. “No, no, it’s okay. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” His body has other ideas, though, since he stumbles against me with a tight groan.

I do what I can to bear his weight, looking around, my mind racing. There are so many witnesses, and the police will be here soon, and Archer’s hurt, and oh, god, I can’t let him die. Not when he threw himself in front of me to take that bullet.

He literally took a bullet for me. This man who swears he only wants me to be me, that I don’t owe him anything but myself. He’s bleeding and might be dying. I have to get him out of here.

“Come on. Help me.” I pull him to the passenger side of the SUV and open the door. “Get in, quick. I have to get you to the hospital.”

Once I’m behind the wheel, he grunts and shakes his head. “No hospital.”

“Archer! You need to—”

“Take me home. I mean, to the mansion.” His color is already fading, his skin turning sallow. He has his hands over his stomach, but I don’t know how much blood he could be holding back since it seems to be everywhere. “Take me to my family’s house. They’ll know… what to do.”

“Tell me where it is.” I throw the car into gear and peel out of the parking space, ignoring the people screaming at me to stop. “Stay with me, okay? Stay awake. I need you to tell me where to go. And how to drive this damn car.”

Is he actually laughing right now? “You’re incredible.”

“I’m not even kidding. I have a license, but I’ve never driven anything close to as big as this or as nice as this.”

“You’re doing just fine, baby. Just fine.” His voice is weak, but he’s fighting to stay awake. He’s still strong enough to do that. He’s strong enough to do anything.

What would I do without him? It goes through my head in a flash as I fly way too fast down the interstate, praying the cops don’t pull me over while Archer gives weak, almost whispered instructions. What will I do if he doesn’t make it? I’ve known him two days, and already I can’t imagine going back to life without him in it. No way. It wouldn’t be worth it.

I’m relieved to get off the interstate at the next exit, taking mostly empty back roads the rest of the way. His family lives out in the middle of nowhere, and I’m starting to understand why. When there’s a chance of somebody coming up out of nowhere and firing a gun at you…

My hands tighten around the wheel until it hurts, and there are tears in my eyes. I have to blink them away since getting Archer help is all that matters now. A lot of good it would do to crash.

Finally, we reach a wrought iron gate. “This is it. Turn in here… follow the drive up… to the house.”

I look over and find his eyes sliding shut. “No. No. Don’t you go away. Stay with me, please!” The gas pedal is practically touching the floor as the SUV rockets toward the house.

“Madison…”

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me now. Not now. Please, stay.” The house appears ahead of me when I take a curve, and I lean on the horn the rest of the way, hoping to get somebody’s attention as soon as possible.

It works, too. By the time the car screeches to a halt, men are running from the house to see what the fuss is about. All I have to do is lean across Archer and open the door for them to understand. “He’s been shot!” I scream anyway, turning off the engine and almost falling out onto the gravel. My legs don’t want to hold me up, but they have to. I have to be with him.

“Cash, inside. Call the doc.” One of the men takes Archer’s shoulders and pulls his upper half out of the car. Another takes his legs once they fall out, and the two of them carry him into the house while I jog behind them.

“Who are you?” It’s the man holding Archer’s shoulders, the one who told Cash to call a doctor. His voice is dark, almost accusing, and for a moment, I’m scared that he is not going to let me into the house.