Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 75
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“I’ll kill her, Tet,” Tony says, pushing his gun into Ashleigh’s temple as she sobs, calling out to Ford. “I’ll f**king kill—”
One, two, three, four shots ring out and Tony’s head explodes, four times over.
Ashleigh wiggles free and makes a run for Ford. Bobby Mansi stands over the fallen Tony, emptying round after round after round into the dead man’s chest. When he’s out of bullets he drops the gun on the ground, looks over at me, and then says as calmly as you can, “Better call an ambulance.”
“I think he’s dead, man,” I say back.
“Not for him, Shrike. For her.” He points to a body near the stairwell and my whole world begins to spin.
Because my Ronnie is laid out on the ground in a pool of blood.
Chapter Thirty-Five
SPENCER
Chaos.
That’s my world right now.
“Ronnie?” You’d think I’d be screaming it, but it’s a whisper. “Ronnie, baby?” I’m kneeling down next to her and my only thought is how pissed she’d be if she knew so much blood was covering her body.
“It’s a flesh wound, Spencer,” Ford says as he shakes me.
No. Oceans of blood do not pour out of a flesh wound. My hand goes to her arm where the blood is pulsing out in a river.
“She must’ve been shooting at him when it hit her. The cartridge nicked the brachial artery in her upper arm.” Ford pushes me out of the way and then grabs a belt being offered by Carson and loops it around her arm, up near her shoulder. He pulls it tight and Veronica lets out a moan.
“Ronnie?” But that’s all I get from her because at that moment—the moment when I realize this might be the last thing I ever hear from her mouth—my world goes silent.
I watch. I’m an observer as Carson talks on his phone. He’s hysterical. Rook and Ronin are trying to calm a screaming Kate. Ashleigh’s kneeling down over her sister, her tiny hands pushing against Amber’s lifeless chest as the blood seeps out and puddles up on the ground.
She’s dead.
Ashleigh and I come to this realization at the same time, and then she’s up on her feet, looking around wildly. Bobby Mansi walks forward calmly, she falls into his chest and they embrace. He hugs her hard, his hand wrapped around her head as Ashleigh sobs for her dead sister.
Sirens sound off in the distance.
I watch them like this until the embrace is broken by Bobby. He holds Ashleigh out at arm’s length and begins to talk. Her tear-filled eyes are locked with his as he takes her face in both his hands. His lips move as he talks, and Ashleigh’s head bobs up and down in agreement.
They both look over at Tony’s body, then to us. To Ford, who is still working on Veronica like he’s some kind of military field medic. He’s barking orders to Carson and then Ford presses a phone in my hand and I take it automatically. When I look down I realize it’s filming.
It’s Ronnie’s phone. Disconnected from service, but the camera still functions.
I look back to Ash, but she’s alone now.
Bobby Mansi is standing over Tony’s body. He drops another weapon on the ground that looks identical to the first, and walks calmly to the elevator, where he inserts a key and the doors open. He steps in and turns.
I catch his eye just as the doors close and he shoots me his finger.
But it doesn’t come with a wink.
Flashing red and blue lights take over from there. Carson is running towards the cops, yelling for them to bring an ambulance.
There are half a dozen cops surrounding me, yelling for me to drop my gun. I look down at it and my hands let go automatically. It clangs to the concrete and then the next thing I know Ronnie and I are on our way to the hospital. I sit in the ambulance, silent, stoic, as the medics work on my Bombshell.
They are shining a light in her eyes, lifting up her eyelids, calling her name.
She’s not responding.
I watch the lips of the medic at her head. Lost a lot of blood, they say.
The ambulance stops and I’m pushed out the doors. I can only watch as they maneuver the stretcher out of the back and wheel her into the ER. I try to follow but the cops are there again, they have me by the shoulders. And normally I’d fight back or protest or something. But I feel like I’m in another world right now.
“Ronnie,” I say softly as she disappears behind the ER doors.
I’m ushered to a police car in the parking lot, cuffed and put in the back. And none of this matters. The only thing that matters is Veronica.
I sit here for how long? I have no idea.
It feels like hours before I spot Ronin outside the car. Ford is here, too. Our team of lawyers. Scott comes over to my car and opens the door. “Come on, Spence,” he says softly.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Scott.” I finally find my voice. “Don’t talk to me like I need your sympathy.”
He helps me out of the car, uncuffs me, and then slips Ronnie’s phone into my palm and closes my hand around it. “We never saw this,” he says.
Ronin jogs over from the huddle of lawyers and grabs my shoulder. “She’s OK, Spencer. She’s in surgery. They have to repair that vessel. But she’s doing OK.”
I nod, still numb. Doing OK and OK are not the same thing.
All these years of trying to protect her mean exactly shit to me right now.
What a waste of life. What a f**king waste of life.
“Come on,” Ford says. “We can wait inside.” We all follow him and end up in a small waiting room on the second floor.
One, two, three, four shots ring out and Tony’s head explodes, four times over.
Ashleigh wiggles free and makes a run for Ford. Bobby Mansi stands over the fallen Tony, emptying round after round after round into the dead man’s chest. When he’s out of bullets he drops the gun on the ground, looks over at me, and then says as calmly as you can, “Better call an ambulance.”
“I think he’s dead, man,” I say back.
“Not for him, Shrike. For her.” He points to a body near the stairwell and my whole world begins to spin.
Because my Ronnie is laid out on the ground in a pool of blood.
Chapter Thirty-Five
SPENCER
Chaos.
That’s my world right now.
“Ronnie?” You’d think I’d be screaming it, but it’s a whisper. “Ronnie, baby?” I’m kneeling down next to her and my only thought is how pissed she’d be if she knew so much blood was covering her body.
“It’s a flesh wound, Spencer,” Ford says as he shakes me.
No. Oceans of blood do not pour out of a flesh wound. My hand goes to her arm where the blood is pulsing out in a river.
“She must’ve been shooting at him when it hit her. The cartridge nicked the brachial artery in her upper arm.” Ford pushes me out of the way and then grabs a belt being offered by Carson and loops it around her arm, up near her shoulder. He pulls it tight and Veronica lets out a moan.
“Ronnie?” But that’s all I get from her because at that moment—the moment when I realize this might be the last thing I ever hear from her mouth—my world goes silent.
I watch. I’m an observer as Carson talks on his phone. He’s hysterical. Rook and Ronin are trying to calm a screaming Kate. Ashleigh’s kneeling down over her sister, her tiny hands pushing against Amber’s lifeless chest as the blood seeps out and puddles up on the ground.
She’s dead.
Ashleigh and I come to this realization at the same time, and then she’s up on her feet, looking around wildly. Bobby Mansi walks forward calmly, she falls into his chest and they embrace. He hugs her hard, his hand wrapped around her head as Ashleigh sobs for her dead sister.
Sirens sound off in the distance.
I watch them like this until the embrace is broken by Bobby. He holds Ashleigh out at arm’s length and begins to talk. Her tear-filled eyes are locked with his as he takes her face in both his hands. His lips move as he talks, and Ashleigh’s head bobs up and down in agreement.
They both look over at Tony’s body, then to us. To Ford, who is still working on Veronica like he’s some kind of military field medic. He’s barking orders to Carson and then Ford presses a phone in my hand and I take it automatically. When I look down I realize it’s filming.
It’s Ronnie’s phone. Disconnected from service, but the camera still functions.
I look back to Ash, but she’s alone now.
Bobby Mansi is standing over Tony’s body. He drops another weapon on the ground that looks identical to the first, and walks calmly to the elevator, where he inserts a key and the doors open. He steps in and turns.
I catch his eye just as the doors close and he shoots me his finger.
But it doesn’t come with a wink.
Flashing red and blue lights take over from there. Carson is running towards the cops, yelling for them to bring an ambulance.
There are half a dozen cops surrounding me, yelling for me to drop my gun. I look down at it and my hands let go automatically. It clangs to the concrete and then the next thing I know Ronnie and I are on our way to the hospital. I sit in the ambulance, silent, stoic, as the medics work on my Bombshell.
They are shining a light in her eyes, lifting up her eyelids, calling her name.
She’s not responding.
I watch the lips of the medic at her head. Lost a lot of blood, they say.
The ambulance stops and I’m pushed out the doors. I can only watch as they maneuver the stretcher out of the back and wheel her into the ER. I try to follow but the cops are there again, they have me by the shoulders. And normally I’d fight back or protest or something. But I feel like I’m in another world right now.
“Ronnie,” I say softly as she disappears behind the ER doors.
I’m ushered to a police car in the parking lot, cuffed and put in the back. And none of this matters. The only thing that matters is Veronica.
I sit here for how long? I have no idea.
It feels like hours before I spot Ronin outside the car. Ford is here, too. Our team of lawyers. Scott comes over to my car and opens the door. “Come on, Spence,” he says softly.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Scott.” I finally find my voice. “Don’t talk to me like I need your sympathy.”
He helps me out of the car, uncuffs me, and then slips Ronnie’s phone into my palm and closes my hand around it. “We never saw this,” he says.
Ronin jogs over from the huddle of lawyers and grabs my shoulder. “She’s OK, Spencer. She’s in surgery. They have to repair that vessel. But she’s doing OK.”
I nod, still numb. Doing OK and OK are not the same thing.
All these years of trying to protect her mean exactly shit to me right now.
What a waste of life. What a f**king waste of life.
“Come on,” Ford says. “We can wait inside.” We all follow him and end up in a small waiting room on the second floor.
