Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Justin's world imploded.

There was no other way to explain it. A small part of him had known it could happen and that coming here would lead to the inevitable conclusion where everything went to shit.

And it had. His hand shook, and the only thing supporting his arm was his bent knee. He had a gun turned on one of his oldest friends.

And worst of all, he didn't drop it.

Justin just stared as the pain made his breath hitch. Something wasn't right inside. He shouldn't be feeling like that now the bullet was gone.

Gabe stared at him, his mouth open, his eyes wide, shaking his head in disbelief. So far he hadn't said a thing.

"You said your name was Tom," Sam said. He didn't sound accusing, more stating a fact. "Are you…?" Sam stopped.

Justin knew what he wanted to ask: was he that Justin? He didn't have to answer because Gabe replied for him, only his voice was dead.

"Justin. Allens. Ethan's brother. Marcus's youngest son. My friend." Gabe said all that staccato, like every syllable was hard to get out.

"Gabe…." Justin's voice was low. "Witness protection, okay? No doctors, no hospital, promise me. If anyone finds me, I'm dead. And you, everyone…."

Gabe was still on his knees, but shock was giving way to questions, and Justin could see that.

"What the hell?" Gabe asked.

That was the leading question, the one that Justin had no answers to, the one that went back over twelve years.

"He was shot," Sam said. "I think there may be something in the wound that needs cutting out."

Gabe glanced at Sam, his face a mask of disbelief.

Justin couldn't let go of his gun. If he did, then he lost all leverage and Gabe could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

"Justin—fuck."

Justin stumbled to stand, waving away Sam who'd stepped closer. Finally upright, albeit leaning against the wall, he let the hand with the gun relax by his side.

What are you going to do? Shoot one of your oldest friends?

He watched as Gabe followed him and stood too, allowing Sam to yank him upright. And then Gabe stalked closer to Justin and stopped about two feet away.

Sam didn't know what the hell to do, by the looks of it, hovering just out of sight, watchful and frowning.

"Gabe. You need to—" just go back to the ranch and forget you saw me .

"Where?" Gabe asked, reaching out a hand to touch Justin but pulling it back. "Where have you been? Why did you go?"

God, if Gabe knew where he'd been and what he'd done, he wouldn't be reaching for him.

Gabe dropped his hand when Justin said nothing.

Justin still stood with the gun at his side, his expression carefully blank—or at least he hoped so. "Go away, Gabe." He coughed as pain cramped in his thigh. The pain would pass, just as the hurt in Gabe's eyes would fade. Only the pain didn't lessen. If anything, it was getting worse; the burning sensation wasn't just in his leg, it was shooting into his spine. He doubled over.

And then Gabe's hand was on him, Sam had the gun, and fuck, Justin was done.

He held tight to Gabe, allowed himself to be walked forward, but the pain was more than even he could handle and he cried out. With superhuman strength coming from desperation, he wrenched himself away. "Witness protection, no cops," he repeated, although talking was hard. Frustration laced his words, and he couldn't form a sentence, couldn't even get across the panic that welled inside him. With the momentum he had going, he stumbled back, and even though he scrambled to find a hold, he fell back hard against the wall, his skin scraping, his shoulder smacking hard on the old wood.

A second later, Gabe was cradling him, holding him tight, and shouting words. Justin couldn't make them out, couldn't understand, but then Sam was there too, holding him and telling him to stay still.

I will not faint again , he repeated over and over. I'm stronger than this.

"We need to get him to a doctor." Sam's voice was strident.

Sam's supposed to understand. Why doesn't he understand anymore?

And then Gabe was shouting back, like he understood instead. "But he wouldn't let me."

"Dangerous if they know I'm here," Justin mumbled. He was pushing through every second of pain to make sure Gabe understood. "They'll kill everyone."

Gabe's tone softened. "We just need to get you home, J."

No. Home? I don't have one anymore, not since I sold my soul and killed my first man.

Sam intervened. "If he's in witness protection, there has to be a reason, like Adam, right?" Sam's tone was off, defensive maybe, Justin couldn't tell. "We need to think about Ashley, the kids."

Gabe stared at him, looking utterly lost. "What if he's dying?"

"Gabe, he said no."

Gabe cursed loudly. "We need to at least get him away from here."

"That's why I called you, even though he said I shouldn't. This is not a good place."

Justin felt sick again: too much chaos in his head and he was shutting down. He could feel every muscle in him tense up in pain, the heat on his skin, the bile rising in his throat again, and then?—

Black.