Her vision swam, every breath dragging fire through her ribs. She wanted to shove him off, spit some venom just to keep the balance between them, but her legs buckled before the words could leave her mouth.
“...You,” she rasped, tasting blood. Her fingers curled in his sleeve anyway, holding on because she had no choice.
For a moment she let the weight shift, let him take it, even as her pride screamed against it.
“Don’t make me regret this, Russo.”
Her voice was thin but sharp, shaky, even. And yet, with her warning, came the firm squeeze of her hand around Billy's arm.
Her legs weren’t steady. Every step felt like glass digging deeper into her ribs, but she kept moving because stopping wasn’t an option. She leaned heavier into him than she wanted to admit, jaw tight, trying to make it look like control when it was anything but.
The heat pressed down, smoke stinging her eyes. She coughed hard, spit thick with dust and blood, then dragged in another breath that scraped like knives down her throat.
“This wasn’t random,” she muttered, voice hoarse, the words spilling out more like a promise to herself than for him. Her grip on his arm tightened, enough to bruise. She forced her gaze up, catching his through the smoke. “Someone wanted me here. Wanted me dead.”
Her mouth twisted, even through the pain. “And if that someone’s you, Russo—” she stumbled, caught herself on him, biting her lip as the sting of her wounds reminded her of her vulnerable state. “I’ll find a way to kill you again.”
She shook her head, pushed her weight forward. “We need to go. Let's get out of here before I bleed out in your arms.”