Page 1 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
Chapter 1
Natalia
The copper taste of blood fills my mouth as I struggle to sit up.
“Shh, Talia, don’t move.” It’s Mace, his huge arms wrapping around me as someone else fiddles with my seat belt.
“She’s free. Go.” Hawke.
That’s when Mace pulls me from the seat, and I realize with a start that I was upside down. He drags me from the wreckage of the Hummer, gunshots blasting around me, the sound like thunder in a storm. I’m so disoriented from the crash that I can’t quite make out what’s happening. All I know is that we’re in seriously deep shit.
“We need to call in a favor,” Weston shouts from somewhere nearby, struggling to make his voice heard over the commotion. When I blink some of the blood away from my face, I notice Colt lying comatose on the ground near the vehicle. I’m not even sure that he’s breathing.
“If we do that …” Hawke snarls, but then he just trails off, raking his fingers through his short, dark hair. It’s spattered with blood, all sticky and disheveled, not at all like I’m used to seeing it.
“Like we have a choice?!” West snaps back at him. I have no idea what they’re talking about—and not just because of the possible concussion I’m developing. So I let my eyes scan our surroundings until I spot Arsen, his dual pistols in his inked hands, taking fire over the top of the overturned Hummer.
On the road above us, there’s a veritable army.
Konstantin Petrov’s army.
My father’s minions.
“We’re going to die,” I whisper, but I can’t actually hear the words when they come out of my mouth. My voice is too raspy, and there’s too much noise. I lick my lips and find them coated in blood. “Mace …”
“Shush, Talia,” he growls, as Hawke turns his gray eyes back to us. “We’ll make it out of here. We always do. Now, call in the favor.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Hawke snaps back, but I can see it in his eyes when he looks up at the ridge above us. Without this favor, whatever it is, we’re dead. “Shit.” He pulls a satellite phone from his belt, and dials up a number.
“We’re going to have to do more than just stand here,” Arsen drawls, dropping the clips from his pistols, and slamming in a new pair. “I’m running out of ammo.” He yawns, like he could give a shit less, but when I catch a glimpse of his gaze, I see a resigned darkness there. Arsen doesn’t care that he’s about to die, but he’s accepted that it’s going to happen.
“Is Colt dead?” I ask Mace, not sure why it matters since we’re all about to die. Or maybe I’ll just be shot, dragged back to Daddy’s hidey-hole, and raped senseless by his favorite cronies. Or maybe he’ll send his elves in to torture and kill me slowly?
Either way, getting shot out here is sort of best case scenario for me.
"He's alive," Mace grunts, holding me against his chest in what feels almost like a ... hug? ... and then setting me down on the ground beside Colt's unconscious form. "But barely." He kicks a first-aid kit my way, blood running down his own face, obscuring his deep blue eyes. "Patch him up as best you can, Talia. I'll try to keep us alive long enough for the helicopter to get here."
"Helicopter?" I ask, but Mace is already unloading a long-range rifle and a tripod, setting up behind the front wheel of the Hummer. To be quite frank, I'm surprised we're still alive at all. Daddy must be holding back for some reason. But why?
"Favor's called in!" Hawke shouts as he whips a machine gun over his shoulder. "Hold position until they get here."
I bite my lip and shake my head, but that doesn't clear the dizziness. If anything, it only makes it worse. All around me, there's chaos. But on the inside ... I look up and glance around at the guys, their steady arms, their grim expressions (except for Arsen who’s, you know, laughing). At least if this is my last moment, I feel like I'm a part of the team.
"Come on, Colt," I whisper, reaching over to touch the side of his face. Mace is right: he's just barely breathing. Running my hands down his body, I try to determine what injuries he might have that I could help with, if any. If it's all internal bleeding ... But then I notice a long gash down his arm, from wrist to elbow, blood pumping steadily from the wound.
Not good.
Shit.
Snapping the first aid kit open, I dig through it and find a curved needle, meant for sewing flesh. I should probably disinfect the site, but there's so much blood ... I decide the need for speed is more important; I have to stop that bleeding. My shaking hands manage to thread the needle, and I lean down, pinching the flesh closed as best I can. The wound itself is ragged though, and I imagine it'll scar. There's no time for whiskey and sex and perfect, tiny stitches, not like I did with Weston.
