Page 81 of Little Ballerina
The others at his heels.
Allina stopped him at the door. “I don’t think you should be here. You’re way too emotionally involved. Don’t blow this. Remember if you do it could mean the difference between saving Naomi’s life or not.”
That Naomi’s life could be riding on every single decision they made was the only thing keeping him under control. He also knew that he was skating on thin ice with Allina, and he wasn't going to do anything that would get her to physically remove him from this building before he was holding Naomi in his arms. And he knew that Allina would have him removed in a heartbeat if she thought he was too unstable to handle things.
Sam gave her a brisk nod but kept his place at the door, he was going in first, he wasn't getting relegated to the back. He needed to see Naomi. It consumed him. He couldn’t breathe properly until he laid eyes on her.
Guns drawn, they opened the door and stormed the hotel suite without another word.
Gene Sullivan lay unmoving in a pool of blood on the floor over by the open bathroom door, but Sam barely saw him. His gaze was immediately drawn to the couch where Naomi lay, also unmoving, also drenched in blood.
Ignoring every bit of training he had ever received that they had to make sure the threat was neutralized first, Sam abandoned it all, left checking on Gene to the others, and rushed to Naomi’s side.
She was so still.
So pale.
And there was so much blood.
His whole world tunneled until it included nothing but Naomi.
With a badly shaking hand, he held his fingers to her throat, relieved beyond belief to feel her pulse.
His relief wasn't long-lived.
It was clear that Naomi’s condition was serious.
Beneath his fingertips, her pulse was weak and thready.
Her breathing was rapid and whooshed in and out of her with a wet sound.
She had been shot in the chest.
She was dying.
Right in front of him.
In her hand she clutched something.
A photo of her deceased brothers. It seemed like some sort of horrifying premonition.
“Where are the paramedics?” he screamed to no one in particular.
“They’ll be here any second now.” Nick appeared beside him with a stack of towels.
“Put pressure on her chest, I need to see if there are any other injuries we need to be worried about,” he ordered.
While Nick knelt beside him and pressed a towel to what appeared to be Naomi’s most serious wound, Sam checked out the rest of her body. There was a lump on the side of her head, and the prospect of her having suffered another head injury scared him. Her wrists were red and scraped, and he could see several nails protruding from her arms and hands. It was obvious that Gene had tortured her, but none of the injuries were serious, a huge bloodstain on her pants, however hinted at another potentially life-threatening wound.
Ripping at the hole in her sweatpants, Sam found what appeared to be a deep knife wound to her right thigh. It was starting to clot, but blood still oozed out. Grabbing another towel he wrapped it around her leg, tying it as tightly as he could.
Naomi’s breath was still gurgling in and out of her chest, and the paramedics still weren’t here. He was not going to sit helplessly beside Naomi and watch her die.
“I need something plastic to seal the gunshot wound,” he demanded, shoving aside Nick’s hands and tearing her sweater to get better access to her chest. He let out a growl as he took in the bruises already forming over her entire torso. If Gene Sullivan wasn't already dead, he would have killed the man himself. The ragged hole from the bullet was just under her left breast, if it had hit her a little higher, it would have pierced her heart, killing her instantly, or leaving her with injuries she could never survive. As it was, he could still lose her.
“Here.” Rylla handed him a piece of plastic.
“Thanks,” he barely glanced at Rylla’s pale, tear-streaked face, his entire focus was on Naomi. He positioned the plastic over her wound and sealed it so that air could no longer enter her lung through the hole, and immediately her breathing eased a little.