Page 72 of Ruined By a Devil

The driver slams the gas pedal and we swerve wildly around the circular driveway and blast through the open iron gates, hitting the main road at seventy miles an hour.

I pull myself up onto the seat, my breathing ragged as I look at Malachi.

“We need to take you the hospital, Mal,” I press my hand over his and he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine.

“No, I’ll be okay.” He leans back against the leather headrest, his jaw clenched tight. His left hand is pressing hard against his right shoulder, and he’s holding mine with the other hand. Blood is soaking rapidly through his dark suit jacket, dripping onto the seat.

“You’re hit,” I say, panic finally breaking through the adrenaline.

“It’s fine,” he insists.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

He reaches under his seat with his good arm and pulls out a compact black pistol, racks the slide against his knee with a sharp click, and holds it out to me. “Take it.”

I stare at the weapon, not moving, completely taken by surprise.

“Take it, Jade,” he repeats, his eyes locking onto mine. “Someone inside that house just tried to put a bullet in your head while your own father watched.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“You will keep this on you permanently,” he continues. “You don’t even walk into our living room without it.”

I take the gun. The metal is cold and heavy in my palm. Then my eyes drop to the blood running down Malachi’s sleeve. “We need a doctor.”

“Our priority is getting off the streets,” Malachi replies, his breathing shallow.

“Boss, I have to agree with your wife,” the driver––whom I now recognize as Josh––speaks from behind the wheel. “That wound looks pretty bad.”

“Do you want to keep your job?” Malachi snaps back, but he suddenly coughs, making my heart drop.

“Mal…”

“No,” he insists, leaning forward. “They have to report gunshot wounds at the hospital and having to deal with a bunch of cops and their questions is the last thing we need now.”

“Not with Riley,” I say, holding his gaze. “If she is on shift right now, we go through the underground loading dock and there won’t be any paperwork.”

Malachi glares at me, but he is losing color fast. The blood loss is catching up to him. “Fine.”

Fifteen minutes later, after I check if Riley is working and we get very lucky, we pull into the dark, concrete tunnel of the hospital’s loading dock. Riley is already waiting by the service elevator, wearing blue scrubs and holding a heavy medical bag.

“What happened to him?” Riley asks as soon as Josh takes Malachi out of the car.

“My Dad.” That’s all she needs to hear to understand exactly what happened. She nods and helps us bring Malachi inside to an empty supply room near the basement that she prepared for us.

I watch as Malachi sits heavily on a metal table, stripping his ruined jacket and shirt off. The bullet tore a deep groove right through the muscle of his shoulder. Riley works fast and in complete silence and I stand in the corner, holding the heavy gun Malachi gave me, watching the needle pull the black thread through his skin.

I’m trying hard to process everything that has just happened. The realization that my father would rather have me dead than free breaks my heart, but having Malachi by my side somehow makes all of it more bearable.

He almost died today trying to protect me and it’s not the first time he’s done that. All my family ever did was try to get some advantage through me. I never felt safety or love in that house. It was always me against the world. But with Malachi I’m learning that it doesn’t always have to be like that.

When Riley finishes, she tapes a heavy white bandage over the stitches and leaves to dispose of the bloody gauze.

I finally speak.

“We have to cut all ties,” I tell him, my voice absolute. “I am done being a Moretti.”

“Are you sure?” Malachi’s voice is weak but he looks a lot better than he did when we brought him in.