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I'd told Dominique to protect Natasha whilst I dealt with things downstairs. I had my gun aimed at Marshall's forehead when I heard it. It.

It was her.

Her scream.

Natasha's scream.

I hadn't clearly heard the gun shots, but the world seemed to slow down. I yelled a command at one of my men and darted towards the step. Every heartbeat felt like an hour. Every blink of an eye seemed like a century. Every step felt like a mile.

I dashed to the bedroom, raised my gun, and with a hell of my own, shot three bullets clearly through Dre's head. His body slowly fell to the floor, hitting it with a sudden thud.

Minutes seemed to turn to seconds.

I saw her on the floor.

Dominique had fallen half ontop of her, his breathing was rapid as his blood stained my carpet. Natasha's eyes were closed, blood oozed from her stomach like thick tar. She wasn't bleeding as much as Dominique, but I didn't care, she was still bleeding.

"Phone a fucking ambulance!" I yelled to one of my men. I crouched between my best friend and the woman I loved. Neither of them could be replaced, and I wasn't willing to give either up.

"I-I'm sorry man." Dominique grasped my wrist with his bloody hand, his body trembled.

"You ain't got fuck all to be sorry about, stay awake man, keep those eyes open. You ain't leaving me." I casted my eyes to Natasha as I held Dominique's hand. She looked beautiful, her eyes closed and her body peaceful. I would've thought that she was asleep if blood wasn't running from her stomach.

It felt like forever since the ambulance came, the blood was everywhere. Both my friend and my woman were carried away. I stood, I was covered in crimson red blood. I shook violently, I wasn't prepared to lose them.

I ran downstairs, Marshall and the rest of Dre's crew had escaped whilst my men were focusing on my demands. I didn't care at that point. I looked down at my blood covered hands, running from me only meant their torture would be worse.

I wanted blood.

Their blood.