Page 33 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
"Here," a deep voice says, and I look up to see Hawke, holding out my abandoned hoodie. My eyes widen as he narrows his and tosses the sweater at me, moving past me and around the van to stare at Dmitri's now still and silent form.
"Are you alright?" Mace asks as he speeds by, heading straight for Weston. I nod briefly, and he grunts, watching as I pull the fabric over my head and join the leader of this motley crew next to the comatose form of one of the evilest men I've ever met in my life. Pretty sure my father is the only person I know who exceeds Dmitri's cruelty. Because while I'm pretty sure that the man lying on the ground in front of me has some severe mental instabilities, my dad has a heart. He lost it when my mother was killed, and he's decided not to bother seeking it out. He does feel, and he does understand human emotion and pain; he does all the awful things he does in spite of that.
"Start cleaning up," Hawke grunts as the Hummer pulls around and Colt gets out, leaving the engine rumbling. "Not you," he barks, grabbing Colt's arm and turning him around to face me.
"You want me to take the Tzarina back to the church?" Colt asks as I start to shake. Not from fear though. And that's the part that scares me the most, that I'm not scared. No, I feel invigorated, adrenaline coursing through my veins with no outlet. That's where the shaking's coming from.
"Make sure you're not being followed," Hawke snaps as Arsen lifts Dmitri's body from the pavement like he's a sack of trash that needs to be taken out. Casually, he tosses him over his shoulder and moves over to the Hummer, opening the back and unceremoniously tossing the man inside.
"No shit, Sherlock," Colt murmurs, rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion that's clearly meant for me. "Does that mean I get to take West's car?" He grins as he trots around the front of the vehicle and heads toward Mace and Weston.
I'm almost afraid to follow. Colt and Weston seem so close and at this point, I'm not even sure that the latter is still alive …
Swallowing my emotions down, I take a cue from my father and bury my feelings for later—or for good, really—and follow after him. I'm surprised to find Weston standing and drinking from a bottle of whiskey. Really nice whiskey, actually.
"Should've known better," Colt says, smiling and patting his friend on the back. He takes the booze from him and drinks from it, not caring that there's a bit of his Weston’s blood smeared on the rim. As soon as he finishes grabbing a few swallows, he passes it over to me, and I feel this sense of kinship between the men that makes me envious as hell. They've got something that works here, something that's better than blood, than family, than friendship. I've had all of those things in the past and they've never lasted.
This, what these guys have, it's so much better than that.
A team.
They're a team.
"Five against one? This was so unfair … for them," Colt finishes as I chug the whiskey and pass it to Mace. He sets it on the trunk of Weston's car and then leans down to pick up the body of the man I shot and killed, throwing him and then another man over each shoulder. He seems to have zero problem picking them both up and carrying them to the back of the Hummer; he's not even breathing hard. "Oh, by the way, Hawke says I get to take your car."
"Like hell you do," Weston coughs out, spattering a bit more blood onto the front of his already wet t-shirt. His voice is low and husky with pain. "You drive like a goddamn maniac; there's a reason you no longer have a car of your own. I'll drive."
"We need to get you over to see Portia—" Colt starts and then pales when Weston's gaze snaps over to his face, wild and unhinged. "Shit, shit, shit, I didn't meant to say that."
"No shit," Weston growls out, sagging against the trunk and knocking the whiskey bottle to the ground. I pick it up before it can all spill onto the pavement, mixing with the blood of the dead. Portia, huh? Who the hell is Portia? "Take me back to the church, and I'll patch myself up." West looks like a deflated balloon as he digs in his pocket and hands his keys over to his friend.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking about this Portia person. Whoever she was, she must've been pretty goddamn important to elicit such a reaction from Weston. He's got that chill, easygoing vibe about him.
