Page 9 of King of Ruin

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Page 9 of King of Ruin

“You see that?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Just heard it. It sounded like…”

“Fireworks,” he answers, before he pushes me inside the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And then he shuts it again.

I stand in my dark living room and listen to the sound of Vigo half yelling at Vincent as the trunk of the car opens and closes, before the car speeds away.

What the hell just happened?

The house is dark and quiet. I don’t move, listening to the night. And that’s when I hear it.

A low groan.

And then another.

It sounds like a wounded animal or a… man.

Reaching for the knob I slowly open the door and step outside…

CHAPTER THREE

Maddie

The groaning only grows louder.

I know the sound of a wounded soul and this one has all the markers. “Hello?” I softly whisper.

The night is so dark, I have no idea what or who I’m going to find. I can’t even see the outlines of large shapes.

“Shit,” I hear a deep male voice grind out. “That fucking hurt.”

“What hurts?” I ask, inching closer. I reach out a hand, the feel of light wool sliding under my fingers.

Suit? If it is, it’s expensive.

“Chest.” he reaches for my hand, strong fingers grabbing mine as pulls my hand toward his body and places it on his torso.

I don’t feel any blood and his body feels padded under my hand. Spreading my fingers out, I search for a wound and only manage to find a hole in his shirt. Definitely a dress shirt. What’s a man in a suit doing outside my house on the ground?

Placing my finger lightly over the hole in his clothing, I press down. Cool metal touches my skin. “What’s this?”

His fingers replace mine and the air rushes out of his lungs. “Bulletproof vest.”

I draw in a quick breath because the details are stitching together. This man was shot while wearing a bulletproof vest, and Vigo and Vincent… “Who shot you?”

He groans. “Can we check my head first? It hurts like hell.”

I run my hand up his chest, over the strong cords of his neck and into his hair. He’s half sitting, propped against the brick wall that fences in my yard and I only need to search the softly curled strands of hair for a moment to find a giant lump forming on the back of his head. I gasp even as he winces away, in obvious pain.

“My friend could look at you,” I say as I slowly reach back into his hair to explore further. “Lucia has medical training.”

“Lucia?” he asks, a bitter note of cold lacing his voice. “I don’t think so.”

I nip at my lip, not sure what to do. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No.”




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