𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 {𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲}

6 | hit

Ghost and I head to the back, finally making it up the stairs so we can find the communications room. Our goal was to log into the system, track down Makarov's location, and find anything that could potentially point to the destruction of the Pentagon or any other important government building.

We make contact with Rodolfo.

"Made it up the stairs, what's next?"

"Good. Walk straight down the hall and turn left. At the end, there's going to be a door with a padlock on it. When you get there, I'll tell you the code."

"Copy that."

Before I can continue further, Ghost grabs my arm, pulling me back, "I should be in front."

I huff, "No. I'm doing this."

His eyes soften, but he allows me anyways. Before I continue, I grab the knife back out, holding that in my hand as we walk slowly forward. His body stays close to mine, following me suit as I walk down the hallway.

It was then that maybe I did wish he went in front. As we turn the corner, I don't even get a chance to pull out my knife as the last member of the Russians pulls out a gun, shooting once.

The bullet burrows itself in the flesh above my breast and I fall back onto Ghost from the impact. His arms catch me, and he didn't let another second pass until he was throwing his knife at the man. It hits him dead in the forehead, his body crumbling to the ground.

"Last member was upstairs, Cuda's been hit," Ghost says into his earpiece, his voice husky and gruff as I reach for something to hold onto.

It wasn't long until my left side of my body was red, caked with the blood that was spilling from the wound.

"On our way. L.t."

He grunts again as I grab at his arm, digging my nails into him as I try to get to my feet.

"Just relax, Cuda." He says.

"Ghost, get me up. I got this," I say breathily. God, in all places, the boob?

He exhales, roping his arms under mine as he drags me to the wall. He then slides down it, holding me to his chest.

"This is gonna hurt, okay?"

My mind was too foggy to even respond before his fingers clip onto the fabric of my dress, pulling it down until it was hooked under my bra. Then, he dives his fingers into the small wound. I didn't look at the gun, but the wound was small enough to only be maybe a .22 or .380 caliber pistol.

But fuck it hurt.

I screamed as his fingers dug into me, my breath heavy as tears stung my cheeks. I begged and begged for him to stop, trying to pull his hand away, but he kept digging into the flesh.

"Work with me, okay?" He says before grunting, "I feel it just... hold on."

I felt dizzy, like my head was about to collapse at any moment.

Finally, out of my blurry vision, he pulls out the bullet, holding his bloody fingers up in front of me.

I smile lazily, then my head falls back onto his shoulder. Where are you, Soap?

Ghost throws the bullet somewhere across the floor before placing his palm back over the wound. I couldn't even think normally to care about the risks of germs being transferred from his hand into the wound or the fact that he was groping my breast, I was losing too much blood.

Finally, I hear Soap's voice, the clack of dress shoes and heels running up the stairs.

For a moment, I close my eyes, just to feel the quietness of the world. The muffling of Soap's voice as he kneels down in front of me, pulling out a random shirt he found in the employee's lounge.

"Cuda. Cuda, wake up!" I hear Ghost yell. I open my eyes, and the sounds of panic fill my ears again.

"There's a lot of blood," Soap starts, "She can't finish. Someone needs to bring her to the hospital."

"I'll go," Ghost says as he slowly takes his hand off the wound. Soap immediately replaces it with the shirt which absorbs some of the blood, but surely not enough.

"Rodolfo, Cuda's been hit. We need medical urgently. We're coming out."

"Copy. Driving up now."

Ghost hums, then hooks his hands under my arm before bringing us to our feet.

If I was fully geared up, this wouldn't have been a problem at all, but the fact that I was wearing no protection but a skimpy velvet dress made this situation suck even more.

I've been shot before, many, many times, but nothing as bad as this. Nothing felt worse than this. My skin was on fire, a constant burning sensation rippled through my chest at every heartbeat.

"C'mon Cuda," He hissed, his voice gruff as he slung my arm around his shoulders. Before we headed down the stairs, he pins me against the wall so I was facing him, putting a knee between my legs as he moves the shirt on my chest.

He hums, impatient, frustrated, and scared as he grabs the top of my dress that was tucked under my breast, pulling that back over the bra cup before he stuffs the shirt into the fabric.

"Okay let's go."

He slings my arm over his shoulder as Soap and Dash head forward to the communications room. I hear them talk over the earpiece, then Rodolfo gives them the code to the door.

That should have been me.

We walk lazily down the steps, the music seeping back into my ears. Now the song was some unfamiliar rap song.

It looked bad, really bad as we walked through people who gave us looks. Somehow they noticed this, but not the handful of dead men on the floor. I wouldn't be surprised if anyone hasn't slipped on the "spilled alcohol" yet.

We make it to the door, Ghost stopping before moving on, "You're sick. You've had too much to drink and I am taking you home if they ask."

I swallow my spit, my voice small, "Okay."

We exit the doors, past the bouncers who don't care enough to ask, then Ghost picks me up, placing me into the backseat of the car before sliding in next to me.

"Drive!"