𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞 | machine gun kelly

22

Colson Baker's pov;

"THIS CAN'T BE FUCKING HAPPENING right now," I grabbed at my hair, tugging tightly and not caring if my scalp were to rip off.

This can't be fucking happening right now.

We were at the parked van in the dark of the night, and I had carried Davina's unconscious form all the way from the payphone, and now she lay on the retractable seat in the back. Pete had tore away at my shirt after I had offered, making a disposable bandage to stop her bleeding.

"We were supposed to be in and out!" I yelled, not caring who heard anymore, not caring about anything other than the innocent girl bleeding unconscious in the godforsaken van.

"We were!" Rook yelled back, his hands bloodied after disposing the man I had shot against the van door, away. Dom was cleaning the blood on the door with a wet rag. None of us had planned to use the shitty van again after the job was done.

But now? We had an injured girl and I couldn't carry her bleeding form along San Diego streets no matter how much I wanted to.

"We were, and you fucked it up Colson," Rook continued, shoving my chest hard as I took a step back with the force. "You brought her along. If this is anyone's fault, it's yours."

"Stop, this isn't the time," Pete interceded, his hands on both our chest as he held me apart from Rook. I was infuriated, and I was glad Davidson's form was there from keeping me from pounding Rook's face in.

The bastard was right, and god, I hated him so damn much for it. He hung my mistakes like laundry in my face and expected me to acknowledge them when I just wanted them to burn away to ashes. He always did this, and I hated him for it.

"No, this fucker needs to hear it, Pete," Rook snarled, "I told him to keep her out of this. He could've just scared her and she'd have kept her hands away from a cell phone. But does he listen?"

"Rook, stop it," Pete insisted, his eyes bearing into Rook's.

Rook glared back for a hot few seconds before stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender.

"So now what?" He let out, "Ask Colson what the fuck he intends to do now, Pete. Davina is hurt and she needs to be looked at. We take her to a hospital and it will fire back at us like an AK-47."

Pete turned to look at me. His eyes questioning as I gripped the hair at my head. My eyes burned and my heart pounded like a ticking bomb. My chest? It felt like I had run myself over.

"Maybe she already called the cops," I spoke quietly. What the fuck was I saying? What the fuck was I doing? Trying to grasp at something to justify Davina getting hurt like she deserved it when she didn't?

"No, I told you, I checked," Travis chimed in with his nonchalant tone. "She was on call with another number— no cops."

"Then maybe she asked them to—," I started like a fool before Rook cut me off with a scoff.

"Damn it, Colson," He snapped, "Damn you."

"Look, I know someone," Dom spoke next, coming in between us. "They can fix her up. I checked, the bullet went through skin at her side, no vital organs, man. She can be stitched, we don't have to take her to a hospital." 

"Stitched," I gulped, a wave of nausea running over me. Like some fucking cadaver.  

I had thought she'd be safe if I brought her along. I thought that maybe if she was in my view, I could protect her, but I got her shot. That bullet she got was meant for me, and I let her have it right in front of my eyes. 
I glanced at her bleeding form on the van back seat. Her eyes moved under her lids, brows pinched together softly in pain.