I take a deep breath, reach up, curl my fingers around the barbed wire to pinch it together, and then I throw myself over. Pain rips through my body as my clothes catch on and the tiny pieces of wire slice into my skin. I cry out and grit my teeth, pushing above and beyond, knowing if I fail now, the consequences on the other side for me are far worse than the pain I’m experiencing in this moment.
I make it over the barbed wire and I taste blood on my lips, from my face or my body, I don’t know. I don’t care. I lower myself down but slip and fall halfway, losing my footing. I land with a thud on the ground, and pain ricochets through my wrist. A strangled scream gets caught in my throat. Oh god. It hurts. I force myself to my feet and try not to glance down at what I’ll already guess is a broken wrist.
Vomit rises up from my stomach as I stumble forward, the voices behind me so close they sound as if they’re right next to me.
I need to run. I want to die.
My entire body burns from the slices the fence created, but my wrist is igniting a pain I’ve never experienced in my life before.
I take two steps and slam into a hard form.
A scream rips from my throat as I try to jump backwards.
“Don’t run.”
That voice.
So familiar.
I try to focus, but I can’t see anything in the dark.
A shoulder meets my stomach and I’m launched into the air.
“No, please,” I croak. It’s pathetic even to my ears.
“It’s Tank. Shut your mouth.”
Tank.
Tank?
I shut my mouth. Mostly because if I open it again, the screams and agonized sobs I’m holding back will surely break free. And I can’t allow that to happen.
Not yet, anyway.
***
Tank runs.
I don’t know how, considering it’s pitch-black out, but he seems to know where he’s going. Flashlights behind us slowly fade off into the distance as we move into the thick trees. He carries me as if I weigh no more than a bag of flour. The pain is so intense right now that I know I couldn’t have run far before passing out. It’s taking everything to keep myself conscious.
Car lights come into view a few hundred feet ahead, and Tank runs directly towards them. When he reaches the truck, its engine running, the door flings open and Sheldon gets out. “Holy fuck. I heard commotion but I didn’t realize you got her out.”
“I didn’t.” He grunts, putting me on the back seat. “She got out herself.”
“Bad ass,” Sheldon says, but his face quickly turns concerned. “She’s bleeding.”
“She scaled a barbed wire fence, fell halfway down the other side, and broke her wrist.”
I whimper as I stare down at the swollen, angry mess of my wrist.
“Fuck. I’ll call Heath.”
“We need to get the fuck out of here, now,” Tank says. “Do it in the car.”
They both get into the truck and Tank speeds off. I let my body fall down onto the back seat, my mind spinning, pain engulfing my entire body until I can hardly breathe through it.
“We’ve got her.”
I think Sheldon says that. I’m not sure.
“She’s a mess. One our way back.”
Heath?
“Yeah bro, not good. Broken wrist, cuts, fuck knows what else. Be there soon.”
My eyes flutter closed and I cry out in pain, clearly louder than I thought because Sheldon turns in his seat, the phone pressed to his ear. “She’s fine, Heath. Chill. We’re coming.”
“Sheldon?” I croak.
He hangs up the phone and reaches over, taking my good hand. “Yeah?”
“It hurts.”
“I know. It won’t soon. Hang on.”
We go over a bump and just the tap of my wrist against the chair has a scream ripping from my throat.
“Easy, dude,” Sheldon barks.
“Sorry,” Tank mutters.
“Did Tank just say sorry?” I slur as my mind begins to black out from the pain.
“He did. Take it in—it’ll never happen again.”
“I think he likes me,” I murmur, letting my eyes close.
Tank snorts.
Sheldon leans in and whispers, “I think he does, too.”
I pass out with a smile on my face.
At least, I think I do.
CHAPTER 24
“Hey.”
My eyes flutter open and for a second, there’s no pain in my body. Then, when I shift, it comes roaring back like an angry storm. I open my mouth and a broken scream comes out.
“Shit, get her out of the truck.”
Someone takes hold of me, hauling me up into their arms and pulling me out of the truck. My hand. It hurts so badly. I want it to go away.
“I’m going to make it feel better, baby.”
Heath.
Heath!
“It hurts,” I sob.
“I know it does.”
Light blasts my eyes as I’m carried inside and placed on the sofa. I try to focus but can only make out four figures hovering around me, talking so quickly I can’t hear what they’re saying.
“It’s a job for Jacob. Call him,” Heath orders, raising a pair of scissors.
My eyes get big and I try to move as far back on the couch as possible. “What are you doing?” I shriek.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, lowering them. “I’m just getting your clothes off without having to disrupt your wrist. You’re bleeding. I need to see where and stop it.”
Bleeding.
Stop it.
“Okay,” I croak.