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I was by Vernon's side in seconds, almost stepping on the hem of the dress in my haste. I checked his pulse; his heart was still breathing, and he seemed to be breathing, eyelids fluttering, but there was blood.
A lot of it.
I took a deep breath, clenching my teeth as I pulled him up. "Can you get up?" I asked in a whisper, because I was afraid that if I tried to raise my voice beyond that, it would break.
"Yeah," he replied, but when I pulled him up, he strained himself so much that I could see the veins in his neck. "Oh, god, that hurts."
My face was completely blank as I escorted him to the door, giving up on stealth. If someone finds us, I thought, let them. I had the gun now, and wasn't going to think twice before using it. It wouldn't be hard for the Lees to piece together that the deal was off, Jungkook's body would tell them that. A parting present for the heir.
Getting him down the stairs was one of the most difficult things I had ever done. He was heavy, to start with, and having to support most of his weight slowed me down considerably. Every step we took, I could see him struggling to contain a cry of pain, and that knowledge hurt me much more than any kick of Jungkook's could.
Ten met us halfway down the building, so I didn't have to worry about finding an unsealed exit. His face was pale when he swung Vernon's other arm around his shoulders, and we supported him all the way to the getaway car in stiff silence. Despite his eagerness to help, Ten wasn't the strongest guy in the gang, and I felt guilty about wishing there was someone else to help me out instead.
I got Vernon in the backseat with much difficulty, cramming him in like a life-sized doll—he was that limp. He was still conscious, which counted for something, and a small part of me was glad he hadn't gone into shock.
"What do we do about the other guests?" Jaebum asked when I had told them—very distractedly—about Jungkook's explanation of the shootout. "They can't be out here, because we had the perimeter surrounded the moment it struck eleven thirty. We can't just let them go."
I thought hard, but my mind was woozy with pain and worry. "We have to move," I replied stiffly, getting in the car. "He's gonna bleed."
"The others are here too," Ten reminded me gently, casting a concerned glance at Vernon, who was becoming paler by the minute. "We can give them instructions on—"
"Blow the whole thing up," I spat, past caring about how I sounded. "There's an underground passage; that's probably where they're keeping them."
He hesitated. "But survivors—"
"They're still criminals," I said, trying not to think about how everyone in the car was also essentially a criminal. "Get hand grenades, light gasoline, I don't care. Blow it to fucking hell."
