Pursue (Portland Street Kings Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

the thrill of hitting my marks, and quickly, I place the gun on the passenger seat and speed out of the gas station and onto the quiet road.  
    “Dom!” I shout.  
    “Highway,” he rasps out breathlessly.  
    Finding the exit, I turn off, and before I know it, we’re driving in an unknown direction, but at least we’re safe, for now.  

Chapter Four

    Della
    Hearing Dom attempting to sit up in the back and grunting in pain, I offer to pull over, but he rasps out a clipped, “No.”  
    “Were you shot? Should I find the nearest hospital? Holy shit, what do you want me to do, Dom?”  
    Peering into the rearview mirror, I catch Dom sitting to full height and taking his blue T-shirt off. He moans and curses loudly as he rolls up his jeans and presses his shirt against his leg. “Just keep driving,” he replies gravely.  
    So that’s exactly what I do for the next thirty minutes. I speed down the highway praying Dom isn’t dying in the backseat from a gunshot wound. When I feel we’re a good distance away, I search out the nearest exit and take it.  
    Spotting an empty playground, not far from the exit ramp, I turn into the parking lot and switch the car off.  
    Looking down at my cast, staring at how swollen my fingers have become, I grimace, not wanting to know how much more damage I may have done to my hand.  
    Noticing Dom hasn’t questioned why we’ve stopped, I glance over my shoulder and catch him, still hunched over, grasping his right leg and staring at me, wide awake but as white as a ghost. “How’s your hand?” is the first thing out of his mouth.  
    My jaw drops open, and a fluttering begins in my stomach. “Fine, but you look terrible,” I reply, jumping out of my seat and then opening the back door. My eyes follow his arms and land on his blue shirt now partially soaked in blood. It's pressed tightly up against his calf.  
    “Bullet hole or graze?” I ask in a business-like tone. I’m proud of myself for keeping my voice steady, the complete opposite to how I’m feeling on the inside.  
    “Graze,” Dom replies with a hiss as he removes the shirt from his leg.  
    Wrinkling my nose, I recoil at the deep gash showing his flesh and the slowing blood that still seeps from the wound. “Do you have a first-aid kit in the car?”  
    Dom nods. “In the trunk.”  
    Grabbing the kit out, I instruct Dom to turn onto his stomach. He does, gritting his teeth in pain.  
    Kneeling at the back door, I unfold the kit on the gravel ground and begin by folding up the jeans leg and cleaning Dom's wound, as well as the blood off his leg and ankle. He makes no more sounds of discomfort. Only the arch of his back and the whites of his knuckles grasping the seat show his agony.  
    Unwrapping the gauze and placing it over the wound, I can’t help but stare at the many tattoos Dom has on his back. Even so, only one catches my full attention. It has two hands joined together by rosary beads, and with calligraphy font, the words "This I’ll Defend. Family and Faith." are written below it.  
    “Can I ask you something?” I ask while beginning to wrap the bandage around his leg.  
    “Of course,” Dom replies and drags his eyes to mine at the same time.  
    “Your family, you once told me they kicked you out. That you had nowhere to go but to the streets. Is that true?”  
    Slowly, Dom closes his eyes and presses his lips together firmly. After a moment, he answers, “No, I had loving parents. They were proud of me. No matter what I did, I had their encouragement and support.”  
    I freeze bandaging when my breath hitches and tears form in my eyes. Being told the man you love is a fraud is one thing, but hearing the actual words from him is something completely different. I’m surprised my chest is still able to ache after everything I’ve been through. Did I hold out hope? If I did, it was hidden deep inside of myself, and it just shattered to dust.  
    My lips itch to give my