Chapter 155: I can’t lose him.

The gun falls from my hand as I drop beside him.

"Lysander! Oh my God, Lysander!"

My hands immediately find his stomach, pressing against the blood soaking through his shirt. He winces, his jaw tightening, but somehow he still manages to look at me.

"Are you okay?"

I stare at him.

Is he fucking serious?

"Shut up. Just shut up! You’re the one bleeding! Not me."

He lets out a faint breath that almost resembles a laugh.

"Always so feisty. My peque?o motín."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!"

I look down at his stomach, then at the blood covering my hands. There is so much of it. Far more than I can process.

"You’re bleeding a lot. Can you walk? Hakeem is downstairs. We can drive to the hospital."

He shakes his head slightly.

"No. No hospital."

I stare at him.

"What?"

"I think she’s dead."

His eyes briefly move towards the blonde’s body.

It takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about.

She’s lying on the floor, completely motionless, a pool of blood spreading beneath her head. Her gun is still a few feet away from her hand.

My stomach twists.

I shot her....i actually fucking shot her.

My hands begin trembling harder, but I force myself to keep applying pressure to Lysander’s wounds.

"You might be charged with murder," he says quietly.

I look at him.

"Are you seriously thinking about that right now?"

"I’m thinking about you."

I swallow.

Maybe later I’ll process the fact that I just killed someone. Maybe later I’ll think about the consequences, the police, the investigation, and what our families will say.

Right now, all I can see is my husband bleeding in front of me.

"What do I do?" I ask, my voice coming out much smaller than I intend.

For once, I have absolutely no idea what to do.

Lysander places both hands against the edge of the table and tries to push himself upright. His face tightens, and a strained sound escapes him.

"Careful!"

I move closer, trying to support him.

He manages to get to his feet, although his weight immediately shifts towards me.

"Come on. Let’s go home."

"Home? Lysander, you’re fucking shot! We can’t just go home."

"No hospital."

I want to argue.

God, I want to argue.

But he’s already reaching into his back pocket for his phone. His movements are slower than usual, and I can see how much effort it takes him to keep standing.

He pulls out the phone and places it in my hand.

"Dial Rocco. He’ll come fix me up."

I immediately unlock the phone and search through his contacts.

"Rocco. Rocco. Where the hell is Rocco?"

I find the name and press call, then tuck the phone between my cheek and shoulder. With my free arm wrapped around Lysander’s waist, I try to support as much of his weight as possible.

The call rings.

Once, twice and on the third ring.....Finally, someone answers.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Rocco. We need your help."

There’s a brief silence on the other end.

"Nerissa?"

"Yes. It’s me."

"Are you both home?"

"No. Not yet. We’re heading home now."

"Great. How bad is it?"

I glance at Lysander.

"It’s a bullet wound. Two of them."

"Fuck."

I hear movement on the other end, followed by what sounds like a drawer being opened.

"Are you applying pressure to the wounds?"

"Yes, I am."

I press harder against his stomach, trying to cover both injured areas as best I can. Lysander sucks in a sharp breath, and I immediately loosen my hands slightly.

"Sorry," I whisper.

He shakes his head.

"Keep going."

Rocco’s voice comes through again.

"Listen carefully, Nerissa. Keep firm, steady pressure on the wounds. Don’t keep lifting your hands to check them. If the bleeding soaks through, put more material over it. Don’t remove what’s already there."

"Okay."

"Is he conscious?"

"Yes."

"Good. Keep talking to him. Don’t let him try to walk around unnecessarily."

I look at the man leaning heavily against me.

"Tell him that. He’s being fucking stubborn."

I hear Rocco sigh.

"Of course he is."

We finally make it out of the penthouse. The hallway seems much longer than it did when I walked in. Every step feels like a battle, and Lysander’s breathing is becoming increasingly uneven.

His arm is draped over my shoulders, his hand resting against my upper arm. I’m practically carrying him now.

"Come on," I whisper. "Just a little further."

When he doesn’t answer, i look up at him.

His face is pale. Not his usual intimidating expression. His lips have lost their colour, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead.

Fuck.

It seems he’s losing too much blood.

"Rocco," I say into the phone, my voice trembling. "He looks really pale. He’s losing too much blood."

"Fuck. Keep him supported and get him home as quickly as you safely can. I’ll be waiting. I’ve already started preparing."

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone for half a second before pulling it away from my face.

"Rocco?"

Nothing.

Of fucking course.

I shove the phone into my pocket and concentrate on getting Lysander outside.

Just as we’re approaching the entrance, Hakeem comes rushing towards us.

His eyes widen when he sees Lysander.

"Don!"

"Oh, thank God."

I nearly sag with relief as Hakeem takes over, slipping one arm around Lysander and supporting his other side.

"Careful," I warn him. "He’s been shot twice."

Hakeem’s expression hardens.

"Who did this?"

"Not now, Hakeem. Please."

He nods and helps Lysander towards the car.

I hurry ahead, open the back door, and step aside so he can get him inside.

Lysander lowers himself onto the seat with a strained groan and Hakeem moves towards the driver’s door.

"I’ll drive, ma’am."

"No."

He stops.

"Ma’am?"

"I’ll drive. I need you to apply pressure to his wounds."

"Are you sure?"

I look at him.

My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely hold the car door open but I can’t sit beside Lysander and watch him bleed while someone else drives us. I need to do something and my hands are shaking too badly to apply firm pressure to his wounds so I opt for driving.

"I can’t..." I swallow, forcing the words out. "I can’t. I’ll drive. I need you to apply pressure on his wounds."

Hakeem looks between me and Lysander before nodding.

"Okay, ma’am."

I hurry around the car and slide into the driver’s seat. My fingers tremble as I insert the key and start the engine.

I look into the rearview mirror.

Lysander is slumped against the seat, his eyes partially closed, while Hakeem settles beside him and immediately places his hands over the wounds.

I grip the steering wheel.

I can’t lose him....Not like this.

I take a shaky breath, shift the car into gear, and pull away.