If The Seas Catch Fire (37 page)

“An—” Felice froze. His gaze slid toward Sergei.

Dom seized his cousin’s momentary distraction, drew his pistol, and fired.

Felice screamed and dropped to the deck, clutching his knee.

“If you call the paramedics now,” Dom said coolly, “they might keep you from bleeding out.” He glanced at this watch. “Probably better not wait too long, though.”

With that, he nodded sharply to Sergei, and they walked off the boat, leaving Felice to bleed and sob beside his enemy’s merchandise.

“Isn’t a shot to the kneecap a bit clichéd?” Sergei mused. “That’s old school Mob, isn’t it?”

“I seem to recall you doing the same thing when we first met.”

Sergei shrugged. “I was merely making a point.”

“So was I. I was making the point that Felice isn’t walking anywhere any time soon.”

“Well played.”

At the end of the ramp, Sergei paused to sprinkle some cocaine on the wood. A little anonymous tip to the cops, and the drug dogs would come right to—

“Uh, Sergei?”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

Sergei turned, and his chest tightened as several pairs of headlights filed into the marina parking lot. Already, men were hurrying down the steps toward the main walkway.

Oh fuck. Someone else must’ve heard them and sounded the alarm. This wasn’t part of the plan.

Time for plan B.

He grabbed Dom’s elbow. “Come on. This—”

“We could just get on a boat.” Dom gestured at their surroundings. “They’ll never find—”

“You remember the big fire this marina had a few years ago?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“That wasn’t a fuel spill. That was your fucking uncle trying to smoke somebody out. We’re getting out of here.” Sergei gestured toward the sea-end of the dock. “This way.”

“What?” Dom hesitated. “That just goes back out to the water!”

“Trust me!” Sergei broke into a run and didn’t bother looking back. If Dom knew what was good for him, he’d follow.

At the end of the pier, Sergei stopped. A few seconds later, Dom stopped beside him.

“Help me down,” Sergei said.

“Down where? Into the water?”

“No.” Sergei pointed at the shadowy outline of a small dinghy. “Into that.”

“What the hell are we doing? Paddling out to sea and hoping no one sees us?”

“Just shut up and get in.”

Dom sighed, but got in. “How did you even know this was here?”

“Because I put it here as a backup plan. Give me that oar.”

Dom handed it to him.

Using the oar, Sergei carefully guided the dinghy under the dock. Using the pylons as guides, he let the tiny boat glide almost soundlessly across the water beneath the walkway.

Feet clomped across the aging wood, echoing above their heads. Sergei glanced up but couldn’t see much anyway, aside from a few shadows moving past. There were shouts and commotion, and he doubted anyone would hear, but to be safe, he whispered, “It’s going to get shallow down here. As soon as we bottom out, stay low and follow me. There’s a path that goes down by restrooms, and it’ll take us back up to the parking lot without being seen.”

“I get the feeling you’ve done this before.”

“A time or two, yes.” He nudged one of the pylons with the oar to keep the boat going straight. “And it’ll be tempting to move quickly, but go slow in the water.”

“Slow and quiet,” Dom said.

“Exactly.”

Seconds later, the dinghy’s hull ground against the sand and came to a gentle stop. Balancing carefully, Sergei stepped out into the icy water. Then he held the boat still so Dom could get out. Dom didn’t make a sound, not even a hiss when he hit the cold water, and he followed Sergei stealthily toward the shore.

Sergei’s heart was going crazy. When he saw Dom’s car, he was almost giddy with relief—they’d made it.

Squealing tires stopped them in their tracks. They ducked into the trees. Sergei’s throat constricted, but then he realized one of the cars was familiar.

“Cusimanos,” he said under his breath. “Perfect timing.”

“Good. Let them fuck things up.”

Using the trees for cover, they jogged along the road to where Dom had parked. There, they got into the car, and Dom fired up and the engine and pulled out onto the road.

Sergei kept his pistol in his lap. They weren’t in the clear yet.

Not half a mile from the marina, Dom growled, “Shit. So much for a clean getaway.”

Sergei looked over his shoulder. Those headlights were coming up way too fast to be a random driver. And there were two cars hot on that one’s heels.

“You know these roads, right?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. Hang on.” Dom didn’t even give him a chance to brace before he jerked the wheel and gunned the engine. The car swerved, the tires shrieked, and Sergei was sure they were going to slam into the sign in front of the bank before Dom regained control, straightened out, and took off.

He looked back. The other cars were still on their tail. “Faster.”

“Any faster is going to attract cops.”

Sergei thought quickly. “How well does this thing handle?”

“Depends—how fast?”

They glanced at each other.

“Get out on the 103,” Sergei said. “The cops almost never go up there, and we can lose these assholes in the hills.”

Dom gunned the engine again.

The three cars stayed hot on their heels.

“Keep an eye on the side streets,” Dom said. “There could be more, and they could come from anywhere.”

Through the streets of Cape Swan, Dom zigged and zagged, taking turns unexpectedly, doubling back, even screaming down an alley between a couple of apartment buildings, and still, the motherfuckers stayed on them.

Sergei’s pulse was out of control. At every turn, he expected flashing blues.

But finally—an on-ramp.

Dom floored it. The engine whined. The speedometer needle drew a rapid arc, and the darkened scenery blurred past them.

And in the side mirrors—headlights.

“Who are these fucks?” Sergei shouted over the road noise. “Cusimanos or Maisanos?”

“You want to stop and introduce ourselves?”

“Good point. Hurry up and get out of town.” He clicked the safety off his pistol. “Then I can start shooting at them.”

“Working on it.”

Sergei took off his seatbelt and climbed between the seats into the back.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting myself where I can shoot them. Obviously.”

“You might want a seatbelt.”

“Can’t shoot with one.”

“And if I wreck?”

“Don’t wreck.”

“Sergei, for fuck’s sake. Are—”

“Simple solution.” Sergei wrapped his arm around one of the backseat headrests, and used it to steady himself. “This is gonna get loud.”

“Great.”

“Sorry.”

If Dom responded, Sergei didn’t hear him—he squeezed the trigger, shattering the back window and deafening him. Sparks flew off the fender of one car. The driver swerved a little, but recovered quickly.

Sergei glanced around, orienting himself. As his hearing returned—sort of—he shouted to Dom, “There’s a sharp curve up ahead. Take it as fast as you can without spinning out.”

“Got it.”

Sergei held the headrest for support, aimed for the front passenger side tire, and curled his finger around the trigger.

Just before he knew Dom was going to hit the curve, he fired.

The tire blew out. The car swerved, colliding with the one next to it, and as Dom’s car swept around the curve, all Sergei could see was glass and metal going in all directions.

“You get ’em?”

“Two won’t be going anywhere for a while, but there’s still—yeah, there he is.”

One car lurched forward, and Dom accelerated down a straightaway before whipping around a switchback. The other car didn’t lose them, and he didn’t go off the road, but he lost some ground. Even more when he had to slow down for an S-curve that Dom took at full speed.

The road straightened out again.

A bullet pinged off the frame. Another off the trunk, a little closer to Sergei’s head than he liked.

The headlights were blinding him, so he adjusted his position. He slid forward, resting his forearms on the rear dash and leaning out through the broken window.

Sergei fired.

From the other car, a bright flash.

Something thumped against his chest. Heat drilled its way into his ribs.

The gun tumbled from his hand. Headlights went everywhere. Sergei dropped onto the backseat. Tires shrieked. His hand went to his chest.

And came away wet.

Cursing in his native tongue, he kept one hand against the wound—
fuck, that’s way too much blood
—and with the other, tried to search the darkness for his weapon, but pain turned his vision red.

“Sergei? Sergei, are you—”

“Just drive,” he ground out. He braced himself for more nauseating pain, and searched for the weapon, but then Dom swore, and the world lurched.

Sergei clutched his chest and distantly heard himself crying out in pain.

Everything shifted to one side. Then the other.

More gunfire. An engine roaring too close.

Another blast, and Sergei’s ears rang again.

Impact. Wobbling.

Tires squealed and the world listed.

Weightless.
Bang
.

Nothing.

The airbag hit Dom hard enough to stun him.

Everything was still.

His ears were filled with cotton, and his head throbbed. He wiped blood from his lip, and he murmured, “Sergei?”

No answer.

“Sergei?” He craned his neck gingerly. The backseat was empty.

Oh God. Tell me he wasn’t thrown out.

Then a shadow caught his eye. He felt around for the dome light, turned it on, and swore.

Sergei hadn’t been thrown, but he was between the front and backseats, motionless, with a lot of blood on his clothes and smeared across the upholstery.

“Oh shit.” Despite the pain, Dom scrambled out of the car. He scanned the area—the other car was wheels up. The night was silent except the idling engine and the whine of one tire still spinning uselessly in the air. He kept his gun close just in case, but his highest priority was Sergei.

He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed Rojas. As it rang, he pulled open the door, climbed back into the car, and touched Sergei’s neck. Still a pulse, thank God. “Sergei? Can you hear me?”

Sergei stirred, mumbling something.

“Stay with me, Sergei, I’m—”

The phone clicked. “Dom? What’s wrong?”

“I need help.”

There was movement on the other end, as if Rojas were walking quickly. “Where are you?”

“Highway 103. There’s two wrecks out here. I’m the second one.”

“That’s not good.” Rojas paused. A million questions on his mind, no doubt. Then, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. What kind of injuries?”

“Sergei’s bleeding. There’s a shitload of blood.”

A car door slammed, and an engine turned over. “Where’s the blood coming from? Head? Neck? Anything vital?”

“Hard to see. I don’t want to move him or—”

“Paralysis might be the least of his worries if he’s sprung a big enough leak.”

“Hang on.” Phone in hand, he tugged Sergei’s shoulder as gently as he could and shined the cell phone’s light into the shadows.

Immediately, his heart sank.

Oh, no…

He tucked the phone into his shoulder and felt pressed his hand against the wound. “Doc, it looks like a gunshot.”

“A gun—oh fuck. Where?”

“Chest. Near the middle.”

“He’s going to need a hospital.” On the other end, an engine whined. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but we’re going to need to put him in my car and get him out of there fast.”

“Should I wait until you’re here to move him?”

Rojas didn’t answer immediately, and if not for the sound of the engine, Dom would’ve though they’d disconnected. Finally, he said, “No. I want to put a C-collar on him. That’ll take a few seconds, and then we can move him to the car. Just keep pressure on that wound until I get there.”

The line went dead.

Dom pulled off his shirt, wadded it up, and pressed it against Sergei’s chest. “Hang in there. The doc’s on his way.”

Sergei groaned.

“Can you hear me?”

Another groan, this time more of an affirmative.

“Doc’s on his way. Just hold as still as you can and stay with me, all right?”

“Y-yeah.”

Dom pushed the shirt against the wound, and Sergei whimpered.

“Fuck,” he ground out. “Should’ve… shot you when I had the chance.”

Dom laughed, more from relief than the comment. Maybe Sergei was more coherent than he thought. “Sense of humor’s still intact. That’s a good sign.”

Sergei groaned. He tried to push Dom’s hand away.

“Leave it,” Dom said. “You’re bleeding.”

“Can’t… breathe.”

“You can talk.” Dom took Sergei’s wrist with his free hand, and gently moved it out of the way. “Help’s coming. Just hang in there. Okay?”

Sergei moaned but didn’t speak.

Dom’s stomach twisted. The truth was becoming less deniable by the second—if Sergei didn’t get help, he was going to die. But 911 would mean paramedics, and paramedics would mean cops. Dom would happily go to jail to save Sergei, but the cops in this town had been known to take people to jail before taking them to a hospital, and he was getting Sergei help or he’d die trying.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, and kissed Sergei’s temple. “You’ve come way too far to lose.”

Dom had no idea how much time passed, but headlights in the shattered rear window made his heart clench.

Please, let it be Rojas…

“Dom?” The doctor’s voice. Thank God.

“In here,” Dom called out. To Sergei, he said, “The doc’s here.”

Sergei moaned again.

Rojas opened the other car door. He had a cervical collar in his hand and quickly put it into place. “This will stabilize his neck. Not much we can do about his back if we want to get him to a hospital in time.”

Dom’s heart flipped. In time? How much time did he have?”

“All right.” Rojas looked at Dom. “Let’s get him into the car. You’re driving.”

“Got it.” Dom carefully slid his arms under Sergei, prompting more moans—more like whimpers—from him. He grimaced. It occurred to him that he had no idea how many other injuries Sergei had. Broken bones? Internal bleeding? More cuts?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in Sergei’s ear, and carefully lifted him.

Sergei groaned, and Dom’s heart sank when he realized it was probably meant to be a cry of pain. But the man in his arms was limp and lethargic, his breathing much too shallow.

“Hang in there, damn it. We’re taking you to get help.” Dom carried Sergei out of the ditch where they’d crashed and laid him across the backseat of Rojas’s car. He’d barely let him go before Rojas yanked him out of the way and shoved him toward the driver seat. “Drive! Now!”

Dom didn’t hesitate. The engine was idling, so he got in and put it in gear and didn’t even bother putting on his seatbelt before he peeled out.

“Gonna get rough,” he said.

“Fine, just go!
Go!
”

Dom drove across the median. The car bounced and nearly got stuck in a grassy spot, but it found its traction and made it onto the pavement.

In the backseat, Rojas said, “This is Dr. Rojas. I’m on my way in with a critical emergency. I need an OR team prepped and ready for—yes, I’m aware you’re busy. This guy’s gonna code if he doesn’t get into surgery soon.”

Shit. Oh, shit.

Dom gripped the wheel with sweaty, blood-smeared hands.

“Won’t know for sure until we crack his chest,” Rojas continued, speaking quickly. “But suspect a cardiac temp. Yes, I’m serious. The jugular’s distended and his vitals are—thank you. We’ll be there…” He looked up. “Where are we?”

Dom gulped. “Less than ten minutes out.”

“Dom, I don’t know if we have ten minutes.”

Cold water rushed through Dom’s veins, and he stomped the gas pedal. “Make it seven minutes.”

They whipped past the accident scene on the other side. A cop had shown up, and it looked like someone had stopped to help. Thank God they hadn’t happened by while he and Rojas were pulling Sergei out, or they might’ve stalled them.

“Sergei, can you hear me?” Rojas asked, his voice calm, but with a frantic undercurrent. No response. “Sergei?”

Dom’s heart was ready to come right through his chest.

“We’re almost to the hospital. Just stay with me, okay?”

The faintest of moans both reassured and terrified Dom.

Please, please, Sergei…

The sign for the hospital came into view. Dom followed the red EMERGENCY signs, and pulled up in front of the ER.

Rojas flew out of the car. Before Dom had even gotten out himself, a team was rushing outside with a stretcher. They descended on the car like a special ops team, shouting in code and breaking out equipment left and right.

“Come on.” Rojas grabbed his arm and tried to drag him away. “We have to go.”

“I’m not leaving him! Are you—”

“The hospital is crawling with cops and your people,” Rojas hissed. “I’m taking you into a colleague’s office. When Sergei’s out of surgery, I’ll come give you an update.”

Dom couldn’t even process all of that, but he trusted Rojas, so he gave the car one last look—he couldn’t see Sergei, damn it—and followed the doc. They went in through another entrance and down a hall of benign-looking office doors. Rojas keyed him into one and closed the door behind him.

And for the first time, the world was quiet. Both men stood and caught their breath for a moment.

Finally, Dom swallowed. “Is he gonna make it?”

“I don’t know.” Rojas’s features pinched with palpable sympathy. “I know this team. He’s in good hands. But…”

“How bad is it?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood. My biggest concern is that I think he’s got blood pooling somewhere. Likely around his heart. If they can get his chest open fast enough, and get a transfusion going in time…”

If. If. God,
if
.

Dom was about to run a hand through his hair but realized it was covered in blood. He was covered in blood, still missing a shirt, and bloody all over. Some of it was probably his, too—he thought there was a steady trickle down the side of his face.

Rojas scowled. “Let me go get my kit. I’ll check you out in here and get you some scrubs to wear for the moment.”

Dom nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Rojas clapped his shoulder. “He’s in good hands, Dom. I promise.”

Dom just nodded again. What could he possibly say right then?

The doc guided him to a chair, and Dom’s legs buckled. He sank onto the seat, and Rojas kept a hand on him until he was fairly steady.

“Just hang tight.” Rojas squeezed his arm. “I’ll be right back.”

He hurried out of the office, and Dom was alone.

Completely alone.

Nothing but the beat of his heart and the buzz of fluorescents.

And nothing—
nothing
—he could do for Sergei.

He leaned on his elbows and, blood be damned, raked both hands through his hair. He’d never liked having authority over life and death. Not when it meant being able to decide whether to kill someone. Right now, though, he’d have given anything to be able to keep Sergei alive. For the power that came with the pull of a trigger, only in reverse. Why the fuck was it so easy to break bones and tear flesh, but mending it all was like bringing ashes back to life?

He was powerless now. All he could do was pray.

And hope someone was up there listening.

And wait.