Three knife wounds.
Her mind rushed into the past as a flood tide of memories flashed bright and hot. Two men fought in a downpour, but she couldn’t focus. Why couldn’t she focus? Was she hurt? Drugged? She couldn’t tell who the men were beyond the fact that one was young, just a boy, and one was older. Should she root for one or fear both?
The icy rain sliced into her flesh and chilled her bones and yet she was on fire. Hot and cold warred for her attention as the men struggled.
Her mind plucked a fact out of hindsight, a truth she didn’t know back then. One of the fighters was Kubrick Ravinder, the man who’d abducted her fifteen years ago. And the other one … he had to be Wynn. Kubrick’s brother. Because he’d rescued her.
But he didn’t have the scar on his wrist when she interviewed him in prison. Her rescuer had been bleeding from his wrist when he gave her water in his truck. A defensive wound, deep and ugly. A wound Wynn didn’t have. And yet the DNA test came back positive. It had to be Wynn.
Another memory ripped her from the present and dragged her into the past. They fought hard and Kubrick got her rescuer down. He wedged a knee into his throat, baring his teeth like an animal.
She could barely see past the rain, but she heard him when he said, “You’re gonna learn what it means to be a Ravinder, boy.”
Her rescuer scissor-hooked him and slammed him onto the ground. He was fast. Faster than Kubrick. And young. He scrambled on top of the older man before Kubrick could recover. From there, he began punching the older man in the face. Over and over. Pummeling him until he hovered in and out of consciousness. Then the kid did the same thing Kubrick had done to him. He lifted his knee onto the man’s throat and pressed his weight into his larynx.
Her rescuer was so focused on his mission, on crushing the man’s windpipe, that he missed the knife until it slid into his side. Sun realized she had to have known which one to root for even back then, because despite her disoriented state, fear washed over her. He kept the pressure on the man’s throat regardless, as though completely unaware he’d just been stabbed. Kubrick pulled the knife out and slid it into her rescuer again.
That time he stopped. Leaned back. Looked at the knife protruding from his gut as though in disbelief. Kubrick pulled it out again and the boy grabbed hold of his abdomen just as the older man slid it in a third time. It sliced into the boy’s wrist as well as punctured his midsection.
When Kubrick slid out the knife to repeat the heinous act a fourth time, the boy moved so fast, Sun’s mind didn’t register it until he held the knife perpendicular to Kubrick’s chest. Right over where his heart should have been if he’d had one.
Kubrick looked at him, hatred twisting his face as the boy rose onto his knees, pressed a palm to the hilt, and shifted all of his weight forward.
It sank into Kubrick’s chest in one smooth thrust. Kubrick stopped moving instantly, but he was still alive as he looked at his opponent, his face the picture of shock.
The boy kept his weight on the knife, waiting it out, his face mere centimeters from Kubrick’s. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds, maybe as little as ten before Kubrick’s gaze slid past the boy and into oblivion.
He rolled off the older man, lay flat on his back for a couple more seconds, then stumbled to her, clutching his side. She looked up, tried to see through the shadows created by the hood, but the rain pelting her face made it impossible. Until one perfectly timed flash of lightning set the area ablaze with light. And in that briefest of moments, she saw him. His perfect face. His sculpted mouth. His strong brow.
Levi.
Her rescuer.
“What are you hungry for?”
She heard his voice from far away, but she was trapped in the past as he lifted her into his arms and stumbled forward. She was so wet he could hardly hold on. He fell to one knee, lifted her again, and charged forward just as she lost her battle with the encroaching darkness.
“I happen to make a mean fajita.”
Sun clawed her way back to the present. Tried to focus on the question. Tried to school her features. But the past kept tumbling around in her mind. She couldn’t get her footing.
“Hey,” he said, concern softening his face. “You okay?” He reached up and brushed something off her face. A tear?
She took the opportunity to look at his wrist. A scar, straight and deep, cut across the top side, probably to the bone, and she couldn’t believe the knife didn’t slice through an artery or sever a tendon.
He was there. If he wasn’t a part of the abduction scheme, why not tell her he rescued her? Why keep that a secret? And how did Wynn’s blood get on Kubrick’s jacket?
She tried to focus through the darkening edges of her vision.
“Vicram?” he said, growing wary.
“Yes.” She snapped out of it the best she could. “I, um, I have to get to the hospital. I told Auri I’d be there hours ago.” She hurried and gathered her clothes, throwing on the blouse braless when she couldn’t locate the damned thing.
He looked around confused, as though trying to figure out what had triggered the change in her behavior. She didn’t give him time to ask. She ran out of there so fast, she left a cloud of dust in her wake. At least it felt that way.
Once she was safely ensconced inside her cruiser, she threw it into reverse, peeled out, and called her lifeline.
She remembered heavy breathing, but not hers. Hers was shallow. Barely enough to form a wisp of smoke on the frigid air. She remembered a heartbeat racing in her ear, but not hers. Hers was weak. Barely enough to push the blood to and from her heart. She remembered a warmth around her, but not hers. She was ice and the warmth was doing its darnedest to keep her from freezing to death. She curled into it, begging for more.
He stumbled again, jostling her against him as he lifted her into the vehicle. Then he stepped back. Tried to catch his breath. Dropped to one knee and clutched his side, doubling over. But she wanted him closer because she was falling again. She didn’t want to lose him.
“Quincy,” she said into the phone as she tore down Levi’s long drive. “Where are you?”
A hand held the back of her head while another pushed a water bottle against her lips. A soft whisper encouraged her to drink. Water flooded her mouth, causing her to choke. She coughed, her stomach muscles writhing and constricting until she vomited.
She remembered the clear liquid soaking into his jacket, onto her pants, and running over the seat of a truck. Mortified, she tried to wipe it off but her limbs were filled with cement. Impossible to lift. And again she fell.
“I’m at the hospital,” Quincy said. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
The overhead lights blinded her. She felt his warmth again. Heard the heartbeats in his chest. He called out. “Nurse!” But she couldn’t figure out why he was calling for a nurse in his truck.
No, not his truck. Too sterile. Too bright.
His warmth evaporated and the blinding lights overhead rushed past her. People’s faces popped in and out of her vision, all of them talking to her, but she was falling again. She reached out for him.
“Did you get a name?” someone asked.
“No. He took off. He looked hurt.”
He was gone.
Sun pressed the phone to her ear with a shoulder as she took the turn out of Levi’s drive too fast. Her tires spun and dirt billowed in her headlights. “I’ll be there in an hour,” she said, then hung up as her world spun in circles around her.