Page 6 of Stay Little Fighter

Rolling my eyes, I head toward the road, leaving the carnage for the others to deal with.

The streetlights cast shadows through the small town, but it doesn’t seem like we’ve drawn the attention of anyone that lives here.

I cross the street and pause at the edge of the tree line, considering my options.

They could be hiding just about anywhere in the thick forest, but calling out to them when there could be more of Vega’s guys lying in wait is its own risk.

I take a step forward, intending to look for footprints, but when something metallic clinks across the asphalt, I pause in place.

My heart lodges in my throat as I look around, expecting to find a bullet casing. What if one of them was shot while they were running? What if they’re being chased through the woods right now?

It takes me a few seconds to find whatever I kicked, but when I spot the ring, my stomach bottoms out for another reason.

I crouch down and pluck the piece of jewelry from the road, brushing off the dirt to uncover the Lombardi crest.

Despite leaving the family years ago, I still have mine tucked in the back of my desk drawer, a constant reminder of why I do the job I do.

But my stomach sinks when I realize it’s not just dirt clinging to the gold band.

It’s blood.

CHAPTER THREE

KINGSTON

THEN

TEN YEARS AGO

Sleeping in the armchair in the corner of the room is far from ideal, but it’s as far as I can allow myself from Chloe while I rest.

I tried the couch on the first night, but not having eyes on her when I woke up made me uneasy, so this is the lesser of two evils.

It’s been well over twenty-four hours since she last woke up, but every time I call the doctor, she tells me the same thing.

Chloe’s body and mind need to rest.

She’ll wake up when she’s ready, and I just need to be patient until that happens.

Or at least that’s what Christine says.

I drag a restless hand down my face and stifle a yawn.

For some reason sleep won’t come tonight, and not even work is doing the trick to distract me.

It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I remind myself that she’s breathing, I can’t kick the feeling that something’s not right.

It’s probably just paranoia after years of not giving a fuck about anyone. I’m not used to feeling anything toward other people, let alone the kinds of emotions swirling in my chest ever since I saw Chloe curled up on that gas station floor.

Pushing to my feet, I move toward the bed to watch her breathe for a few minutes.

Yes, I realize how completely batshit crazy that sounds, but it’s the only way I’ve found to reassure myself she’ll be okay for a few hours while I sleep.

I crouch down at the edge of the bed and run my eyes over her face, frowning when I find sweat on her brow.

The room has been kept at a constant temperature since I first tucked her under the mountain of blankets, and I haven’t changed anything in the last hour since I checked her.

Reaching out, I press my fingers to her forehead as gently as I can manage. At this point I’m convinced Chloe could sleep through a hurricane, but if she needs the rest, I want to give it to her.