I grabbed the Glock taped underneath the driver’s seat, fished a magazine from the glove compartment, jammed it into the well, and jumped out of the car. I’d done this so many times it took me less than a minute.
“Liam,” I called, marching toward the man who opened the car door. The bullet pinged off the metal of the car, and he turned with his hands up.
“I’ve got him,” Liam said, rushing to Kit’s side. The fucking bastard tried the door again, but I shot again, inches from his hand. He jerked back, his hands over his head.
It was him. The guy I’d seen Kit dancing with last. He looked to be in his late twenties, with black hair slicked back from his forehead.
“He agreed to this,” the man cried as I grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “I wasn’t doing anything he didn’t want me to do. He’s just a little drunk.”
I spun him around and twisted his arm behind him. The snap was mighty satisfying.
“Fuck! Please stop. I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know who you are, but he wanted it.”
“I’m going to ask you only once,” I said. “What did you give him?”
“Nothing, I—ahh!”
I applied pressure to the arm I’d broken, lowered my hand, and shot him in the foot.
“You’re making me ask twice. You won’t like it if I have to ask a third time. What did you give him?”
“Ketamine,” he ground out.
“How did you do it?”
“I injected him with it while he was dancing. I swear I didn’t know he was with someone, or I wouldn’t have done it.”
Fucking piece of shit. Did he really think that would make me feel better?
“You chose the wrong boy to fuck with tonight.”
“I’m sorry. Please. I can make it up—”
“You will be sorry.” I shot him in the knee, and he crumpled forward. I used his falling momentum to push his head into the car as if I was about to let him go. I yanked the man back and slammed his head as hard as I could against the door. He screamed.
The sight of Kit lying over the hood of his car swam before my eyes, and anger surged through me. I slammed his head over and over against the door until his body stopped twitching. Blood splatters stained the windows, but it wasn’t satisfying enough.
Liam pulled on my arm.
“Sullivan, it’s done.” He yanked on my shoulder as I drove the man’s head against the door once more for good measure. My arms felt numb.
“Kit.”
“He’s in and out of it. Should we call Doc?”
“No, we have to take him to the hospital.”
I ran toward my car and dove into the back seat where Kit lay, staring ahead without moving. His shirt was torn, as were his pants, and a bruise flamed bright red on his cheek.
I didn’t need to tell Liam he had to drive. Without a word, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Kit, baby.” I brushed my hand over his clammy forehead. His breath came out in shallow gasps, like he was struggling to breathe. “Oh god, baby, please be all right.”
I placed his head in my lap and whispered to him to hang on. That we would get him help and he would be okay.
“His breathing is getting worse, Liam,” I cried. “We need to get there on time. I can’t lose him.”
“We’ll make it,” Liam said. “He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
I believed him and clung to Kit’s hand, full of hope.
And then the seizure started.