Her vision swam, every breath dragging fire through her ribs. She wanted to shove him off, spit some venom just to keep the balance between them, but her legs buckled before the words could leave her mouth.
â...You,â she rasped, tasting blood. Her fingers curled in his sleeve anyway, holding on because she had no choice.
For a moment she let the weight shift, let him take it, even as her pride screamed against it.
âDonât make me regret this, Russo.â
Her voice was thin but sharp, shaky, even. And yet, with her warning, came the firm squeeze of her hand around Billy's arm.
Her legs werenât steady. Every step felt like glass digging deeper into her ribs, but she kept moving because stopping wasnât an option. She leaned heavier into him than she wanted to admit, jaw tight, trying to make it look like control when it was anything but.
The heat pressed down, smoke stinging her eyes. She coughed hard, spit thick with dust and blood, then dragged in another breath that scraped like knives down her throat.
âThis wasnât random,â she muttered, voice hoarse, the words spilling out more like a promise to herself than for him. Her grip on his arm tightened, enough to bruise. She forced her gaze up, catching his through the smoke. âSomeone wanted me here. Wanted me dead.â
Her mouth twisted, even through the pain. âAnd if that someoneâs you, Russoââ she stumbled, caught herself on him, biting her lip as the sting of her wounds reminded her of her vulnerable state. âIâll find a way to kill you again.â
She shook her head, pushed her weight forward. âWe need to go. Let's get out of here before I bleed out in your arms.â