Page 110 of Heat Lightning

Stumbling forward, I spun just in time to see a second Masked Man—my Masked Man, mine, mine, mine—yank his knife out from where it was buried deep in Joey’s throat, ripping and shredding the muscle and tendon. Blood spurted out in thick, heavy pulses.

“I told you I’d fucking kill you for touching him,” he snarled, before plunging the knife in again.

In slow motion, the first Masked Man grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me out of the way just as Joey fired at us, the shot whizzing by me. His legs gave out, and he fell to his knees, wobbling back and forth as the blood slowed from a fountain to a trickle. Someone shouted, and both masked men lunged for the weapon still in his hand.

With just enough life left in him to resist, Joey fell to his back with the knife still plunged in his throat, swinging the gun wildly as he went, and fired one last shot before he stilled, lifeless and unmoving.

My Masked Man cried out, stumbling backwards.

“Atlas!” I screamed.

No. This wasn’t right. Blood was coming out of him, now. He wasn’t supposed to do that. Nothing should ever be wrong with him.

I crawled over Joey’s crumpled body to where Atlas had fallen. He pressed a hand to his right shoulder, where blood seeped through his sweatshirt and gloved fingers at an alarming rate.

I put my hands over his, pressing hard. “He’s bleeding!” I yelled. “He’s hurt! We have to get help. We have to hurry.” My voice cracked on the last word.

Atlas was here. He found me and saved me. He was mine. I had to tell him he was mine and that I was sorry—so, so sorry for all the horrible things I’d said. He needed to know I wanted him no matter what secrets he kept. He was my mate, and he was bleeding, and⁠—

“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “S’gonna be alright, sweetheart.”

I wiped my nose, not realizing I was crying or that I’d said that out loud. “You’re hurt,” I replied dumbly, pressing harder on his shoulder.

“M’fine.” His cough stole the confidence from his words. “Just need a bandaid.”

“Let me see,” the other Masked Man said, ripping the knit material over his head to reveal Mr. Marino, just like I’d suspected.

What was this, The Incredibles? Was everyone in this family a secret, masked vigilante?

While Mr. Marino checked Atlas over for any additional wounds and began applying a tourniquet using his belt, I hovered over his face. Slowly, so he could tell me to stop if he wanted, I gently slipped my fingers beneath the mask and peeled it off.

Even sickly pale with dark circles under his eyes and blood smeared across his brow, he was beautiful. I’d never tire of studying the way all of his features fit together, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners, or the faint scar on his left temple.

I brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Hi,” I said, suddenly shy.

“Hi,” Atlas whispered, eyes darting back and forth between mine before he clenched his teeth and tensed as Mr. Marino tightened the belt.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” I said. “And I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” Atlas lifted his uninjured arm and brushed a tear away. “Always. Always.”

“We need to go,” Mr. Marino interrupted, more anxious than I’d ever heard him. “I think it’s just a graze, but he won’t stop bleeding. He needs to see a doctor.”

My stomach plummeted.

“No doctors,” Atlas wheezed, trying to sit up and falling backwards again. He pressed his hand to his forehead. “No questions.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You need to go to the emergency room.”

Atlas shook his head but wouldn’t open his eyes. “Questions. Too many.”

“Fuck,” Mr. Marino spat. “Max, help me get him in the car. I know someone we can call.”

Mr. Marino heaved Atlas up into a sitting position, and we each hooked an arm over our shoulders, helping him to the car. He flopped down in the back seat with a heavy groan.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, voice shaky. This was more than just a graze.

“I’m not sure,” Mr. Marino said, but he avoided my gaze. “Open the trunk and lay out the tarp.”