Bound by my blood

Chapter twenty-five

The alley is dark and suffocating, the stench of damp concrete and garbage clinging to the cold night air. Vince and I move in silence, the sound of our own footsteps swallowed by the shadows pressing in around us.

But we're not alone.

The faint echo of footsteps trails behind us, deliberate and measured. Vince hears it too, though he doesn't let it show. Instead, he tugs me closer, pulling me flush against his chest as his hand discreetly presses a loaded handgun into mine.

I swallow hard, fingers tightening around the grip. I already know what he's about to do.

We round a corner, and before I can register the movement, Vince spins me, pressing me back against the cold, grimy wall, his body shielding mine. The shadows consume us just as a group of men strides past, their movements predatory, their hands clutching weapons that glint under the dim streetlights.

I have to slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the terrified squeak threatening to escape.

There are too many. Seven, at least. Vince is good—damn good—but taking on that many men alone? It's suicide. And me? I'm barely more than a liability in a fight like this. We are so, so screwed.

One of them growls, his voice rough and dripping with menace. "Where the hell did they go? They were right in front of us."

"They can't have gotten far," another snarls. "Lombardo must have noticed. Find them. We need the girl."

My stomach twists violently at his words. I grip the gun tighter.

Vince's body stiffens slightly, but when he moves, it's not to retreat. He steps forward, out of our hiding spot, his broad frame blocking me from view.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he states smoothly, his voice laced with a dangerous calm.

My heart nearly stops. What the hell is he doing? We could've waited for an opening, slipped away unnoticed—but no, of course not. That would be too easy.

Well, if he's going down, he's not doing it alone. I step beside him, tilting my head with a feigned innocence that I know will only enrage them further.

"If you want me," I taunt, flashing a saccharine smile, "come and get me."

Vince's voice drops to a low murmur, just for me. "Stay close. I've got your back."

And then all hell breaks loose.

Vince lunges first, his fist driving hard into the diaphragm of the nearest man. The guy staggers, choking on his own breath, and Vince wastes no time. He brings his foot down with brutal precision, the sickening crack of bone shattering the quiet.

The other men react instantly. Five rush at him in a blur of movement, while the last one comes for me.

He's fast, a knife glinting as he lunges, but I move—barely. The blade catches my arm, slicing deep, fire licking at my skin. I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain as I drop low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He crashes onto the pavement, and I don't hesitate.

I raise my gun.

I fire.

The silencer muffles the shot, but I still hear the dull thud as the bullet meets his skull. His blood spatters onto my skin, warm and sticky, but I force myself to shove the horror away. I don't have time to think.

I pivot just in time to see Vince take down another man. Two bodies already litter the ground at his feet. I lift my gun again, my hands steady as I fire, dropping another assailant.

That leaves one.

The youngest of them all.

He stares at us, blood soaking his clothes, his wide eyes darting between the corpses of his friends. He stumbles back, trembling.

Vince steps forward, tilting his head mockingly. "Ladies first," he says, smirking.

The boy drops his weapons immediately, hands shaking as he pleads. "Please—please don't kill me. I'll tell you whatever you want. Just—just let me go!"

Vince sneers. "And why the hell should we trust you?"

Tears spill down the kid's face. "I didn't want to come. They have my sister—they threatened to kill her. Please, I had no choice."

His voice cracks, and something in me falters. He barely looks older than eighteen. Just a scared boy thrown into a world he doesn't belong in.

I step forward, my injured arm throbbing with every movement, but I ignore it. My fingers brush against Vince's shoulder. "Vince... don't kill him."

His jaw tightens. "Alexa—"

"I'm not saying let him go," I interrupt, my voice firm. "We take him with us. He might have information."

A tense silence lingers, but then Vince exhales sharply, nodding once. Without another word, he grabs the boy by the collar and drags him toward the car parked outside the restaurant.

The second we step onto the street, camera flashes explode in our faces.

Paparazzi.

Vince doesn't even flinch, but I force a bright smile, pretending to laugh as I keep a tight grip on our trembling captive. To the outside world, we must look like old friends sharing an inside joke.

Once we're inside the car, Vince peels away from the curb, tires screeching as we speed through the city. The adrenaline starts to fade, and that's when I feel it—the sharp, unrelenting pain in my arm. The dizziness creeps in, my vision blurring at the edges.

Shit.

I press down hard on the wound, trying to stanch the bleeding. Vince is too focused on the road to notice. Maybe if I just close my eyes for a second, the spinning will stop.

The car jerks to a halt outside an abandoned factory, and Vince jumps out, barking orders to the guards waiting nearby. They yank our prisoner from the car, dragging him inside.

I move to follow, but the second I step out, my legs buckle.

I stumble into the bumper, my breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

"Shit! Alexa—are you okay?" Vince is there in an instant, hands gripping my arms as I weakly try to push him away.

"I'm fine," I mutter, blinking rapidly. The world tilts violently. "Don't be dramatic."

Vince's eyes darken as they drop to my arm.

"You're not fine," he snaps, yanking up my sleeve. His jaw clenches as he takes in the mangled mess of torn flesh and fresh blood. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

I grimace. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, Vince, while you were busy snapping necks, I got stabbed'?" I try for sarcasm, but it comes out weaker than I intend.

His scowl deepens. "Say you're fine one more time and see what happens."

I open my mouth to retort, but he's already moving, ripping off part of my jacket and wrapping it tightly around the wound.

"You didn't think it was that bad?" he growls. "Are you looking at it?"

"Yes, I'm looking at it!" I snap back. "It's my fucking arm!"

He mutters something under his breath—something about me being a pain in his ass—before shoving the car into gear. Moments later, we screech to a stop in front of the hospital.

I glare at him as he climbs out and moves to my side. "Vince, don't you dare—"

He ignores me completely, scooping me into his arms before I can protest.

Dramatic much?