In Holy Mafiamony

Chapter Thirty- One

With one hand on the 'bitch bar,' Lincoln lifted himself out the window. The white SUV was trailing right behind us. Round after round, Lincoln fired his gun, attempting to shoot out the car's tires. On the fifth round, a person from the other vehicle followed Lincoln's lead and was now having a shoot out with Lincoln. Not thinking twice about it, I quickly crawled into the trunk of the car, allowing me full access to the man shooting at Lincoln and the driver of the White vehicle. What I had to do next would be the most dangerous part of getting away.

I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, preparing myself for the speed I was going to need for us all to stay alive. Opening my eyes, I located my target, an older white man who was dumb enough to start a car chase with no bulletproof vest on. Letting the breath out, my finger pulled the trigger of the gun, blowing out the back window. I no longer was under the protection of the tinted window and was in full view of everyone in the SUV behind us.

"Alaiyah!" Lincoln yelled from outside his window. He knew what would happen next, but like all the other guys in the mafia world, he didn't trust that I knew what I was doing, and that kinda hurt.

Letting the rage that Lincoln just triggered, I pulled the trigger of my gun again; the bullet when right into the skull of the guy shooting at Lincoln; one-shot, and he was a goner. I repositioned my aim, and the next bullet took out the windshield of the other car. Once again, I repositioned my aim, only for my eyes to meet with the driver of the car. The kid couldn't have been any younger than six-teen. He had a look of feared sadness as his eyes told me he accepted death. As much as I wanted to shoot him, right where Shen taught me to in the simulations, I couldn't kill him; he reminded me too much of my brothers.

I ended up shooting him to the right of his chest, a wound that would hurt like a bitch but had a higher survival rate. The impact of the bullet caused him to lose control, the main reason I did it, to begin with. I quickly repositioned my aim again and shot four more rounds, two bullets to the front-left tire and two, to the back-left.

"Milosh Drive!" I yelled as he had slowed down some.

"AND WILL YOU GET YOUR DUMB ASS IN THIS CAR!" I yelled out to Lincoln, who was still hanging out the window.

The acceleration of the car took me off guard, causing me to lose my balance and sent me crashing into the back seat before I felt the car shift with a turn, causing my body to roll. My head slammed against the left-side window, followed by the rest of my body. I felt a hand wrap around me, looking up to see GiGi, leaning over the back seat, holding me in place, the best she could.

"We're almost to the house, hold on," GiGi whispered in my ear, tears rolling down her face, her eyes screaming with fury and fear.

I felt something tickle the side, and instantly, my hand brushed over the spot. I looked down at my hand, only for it to be covered with blood. My blood. A lot of my blood. The adrenaline that surged through my veins had completely numbed my body; I didn't realize that the impact of my head smashing into the window, not only caused the window to break but had also caused the broke glass to slice the side of my head open. The amount of blood told me two things, the first being that I was definitely going to need stitches, and secondly, I was going to have the world's worst migraine once the adrenaline wore off.

GiGi saw my hand, then my head, and then looked back at my hand once again.

"Shit! Lincoln, she is bleeding BAD! The worry on her face and in her voice cause Lincoln to take over.

With one hand on my chest, he told GiGi to let go and to move to his seat. Awkwardly, GiGi climb around him while he scooted over to the middle. I felt his arms wrap around me; then my body lifted as he pulled me into the back seat. He didn't have to maneuver me to see the gash on my head.

"FUCK!" A growl escaped his mouth.

"Milosh, drive faster!" He demanded as he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Have med on stand by. We will be there in five minutes." was all he said before he threw his phone down.

My injury must be worse than I thought because Lincoln had ripped off; Like literally, he ripped it right down the middle of his chest in one swift motion, sliding it off like a jacket before pressing it to the side of my head. I was either coming down from my adrenaline high, or I was losing too much blood because all of a sudden, I began feeling way too tire. My head started feeling too heavy for my neck to hold, and I leaned onto Lincoln for support.

"Don't. You dare. Fall asleep on me! Capisce?!" a slight smile was creeping up the side of my face at his rude, bossy demands.

My eyes began to feel just as heavy as my head, and I knew I had to fight to keep them open.

"I have a big head." I joked through tired eyes.

"You have a concussion." Lincoln corrected.

"Hey, don't close those eyes, I like looking at them." I opened my eyes a little more, just for them to meet his ocean blues.

"You shoot like a bitch." Even in the state of almost passing out, I was not going to let that opportunity go.

"Well, how did you learn to shoot like that?" The surprise in his voice, not well hidden.

"When I was seven-" my eyes started to close, prompting Lincoln to nudge me awake. "My father beat the shit out of my mother before almost killing Art and me. Shen vowed never to let anyone be able to do that to us again, and he trained us all." I whispered, tears threatening to drop at the very memory of that night.

"Shen. He seems like a good guy." Lincoln said, trying to keep the conversation going.

"The best. Not having him or Margarite around is what hurts the most right now." I wept. "Shen was more of a father to me than Franky. And Margarite was my mom." I managed to laugh out.

"You think that's funny? When I first met Shen, I swore he had a crush on you!" Lincoln's jealousy made me laugh harder.

"Shen is forty-two." my eyes started closing again.

"You're not going to sleep. We are turning in now!" Lincoln nudged my arm again.

I suddenly felt the car roll to a stop and turn off. The doors opened, and Lincoln began to talk again.

"Come on; you need med." He said, pulling my body to the edge of the car.

"Carry me," I begged, the tiredness washing over me more.

"No can do, Walking is the only guarantee that your ass won't fall asleep." He pulled me to my feet, then wrapped his arms around.

"Walk." He demanded.

Step by step, I was fighting to stay awake. I really hated him for not carrying me, but I knew he wasn't doing it to help me. We slowly got to the door where med was waiting with a stretcher-bed.

"I like you a lot more than him right now." I joked with the doctor as Lincoln guided me onto the bed.

"Everyone likes me more than him... I actually help them." The doctor joked back.

"I'm Dr. Peirce. We're gonna get you cleaned up and looking brand new!" He said with a smile as I was being rolled into a medical room.

After the doctor checked my over, he determined I didn't have a concussion, but in fact, I was losing too much blood. Those words where like music to my ears because it meant that I could stop fighting the sleep that was beginning to win.

"I hate you," was all I managed to get out before sleep claimed its victory.

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