My knees are weak, and my stomach is churning.
Pressing my palms to the rough surface of the tree, I use it to support myself as I make my way around it.
When I find both Preston and Donovan lying on the ground a few feet apart from each other, I cry out and stumble.
Neither of them are moving.
Did they kill each other?
Tears burn my eyes as I drop to my knees and crawl forward.
Preston’s gun is still in the same place he dropped it before, near his foot. He looks like he’s sleeping. His lips are pink, and his face is peaceful as the sun shines through the branches overhead.
“Preston?” I whimper, straddling one of his thighs as I kneel over him.
Laying my hand on his chest, I wait for movement.
A breath fills his lungs.
He’s alive.
Quickly, I take stock of his injuries.
There’s a small pool of blood forming in the mud underneath his hand. The fabric he used to wrap it is so wet it’s useless now. A gash above his eyebrow is also bleeding quite a bit. Obviously, he got hit in the head pretty hard.
Wrestling off the new gray peacoat Ivan gave me, I bunch it up and slide it under his head.
When I find more blood on the ground around his left side, I unzip his leather jacket, and I see red.
Bright red, soaking the white T-shirt. The fabric is heavy and sticking to his skin, but I push it up. Peel it off, is more like it.
The wet sound from the fabric makes me want to gag, and when I get to a place under Preston’s ribs, there’s a red stream continuously oozing from a bullet hole in his abdomen.
I make a noise of despair.
I’m not familiar enough with anatomy to guess where the internal damage is, but I know he’s losing too much blood.
“Oh, no. No.” Taking off my flannel shirt, I place it over his wound and apply pressure like they would in one of the crime shows. Slow the bleeding. That’s the best I can do.
I’m in just a fitted T-shirt now, and the chilly air adds to my trembling. Shaking so hard I’m practically vibrating, I sob quietly, “P-preston, wake up. Please. Please, d-don’t leave me. I can’t do any of this without you. I love you.”
I softly kiss his lips. They’re warm, and breath is passing through his nose.
I take comfort in that, but my reprieve doesn’t last long.
A grunt comes from a few feet away, and Donovan’s arm twitches. He’s regaining consciousness.
Readying myself to defend my man, I reach back, grope around, and find Preston’s gun. I have no idea how to use it, but maybe the threat will be enough to get Donovan to back off.
When he stands, it’s hard to tell where he’s injured because he’s wearing all black, but the material of his jacket is torn over his shoulder, and it looks wet. Maybe Preston shot Donovan with his own gun during the struggle. Good.
Donovan’s also favoring his left leg, and his nose is busted up even worse than before. Blood runs from his nostrils, down his lips and chin.
He snarls at me while eying the gun in my shaking grip. I’m probably holding it wrong, but my finger is on the trigger.
The concept of shooting is simple enough. Point and pull.
“You’re not going to shoot me, sweetheart.”
“I might.” I’m telling the truth. One hundred percent.
If he doesn’t see how serious I am, then he’s an idiot. He’s backed me into a corner. I don’t like being cornered.
I’ve stopped thinking of him as a person. He’s just an obstacle in my way.
Armed and dangerous.
Armed and dangerous.
Mentally ill teenager on the loose.
The claims from the news reports come back at me like a cruel taunt. Maybe they weren’t so far off after all. I never wanted to be in this position—kneeling over the love of my life, aiming a weapon at someone I want to kill.
But I’ve been given no other choice.
“You’re going to come with me.” Donovan lifts his gun so the barrel is aimed at Preston’s chest.
One more shot, and I don’t think Preston will make it.
Donovan and I are at an impasse. He’ll take my soul mate from me, definitely. I’ll try to take his life from him, but I might miss.
Hot tears coat my cheeks. “I’m not leaving without him.”
“Then you can help me carry his ass to the car. I don’t care as long as you hurry the fuck up.”
“He needs a hospital. Please.”
The flannel shirt is almost soaked through.
With every second that goes by, Preston’s life is leaking out of him. The sight of how much blood is around me is jarring. It makes me feel light-headed, and I sway a little.
I can’t pass out right now. I can’t.
A faint ringing starts up in my ears. I close my eyes, swallow hard, and shake my head.
The ringing gets louder.
It takes me a second to realize the sound isn’t inside my mind. It’s coming from somewhere else. And it’s getting louder.
I know that sound.
Sirens. Lots of them.
My eyes snap open just in time to see Donovan closing the distance between us. Limping, he keeps his gun on Preston. “You don’t have a choice. Either come with me or he dies now.”
He grabs at my hair to pull me up. My scalp stings as chunks of strands come out, and something inside me snaps.
I’m really fucking tired of everyone telling me what to do.
As I’m yanked to my feet, I point the gun and pull the trigger.
Donovan wails as he drops his weapon so he can clutch his upper thigh with both hands. I got him in the right leg, dangerously close to his groin. He falls to his ass.
I just gape at him. I actually shot him. I mean, yeah, it’s not hard to aim at close range, but still.
A new sound joins the sirens as the chop, chop, chop of a helicopter passes over us. My rescue is getting closer, but I can’t look away from Donovan’s wound. It’s spewing blood at an alarming rate.
He lets out a rageful scream as he struggles to get to his feet. With both legs out of commission, he can hardly walk.
Waddling, he makes a slow retreat to the SUV Preston had been driving. I keep the weapon trained on him until he crawls into the driver’s seat.
Since the vehicles are stuck together, it’s not easy for him to get going. He battles with the gearshift, switching from reverse to drive a few times before the bumpers are finally dislodged.
The passenger side door is still open, and as he speeds away, some of the cash from the duffle bag flies out and scatters.
Preston groans, and I look down to see his face screwed up with pain.
“Babe?” I ask excitedly, kneeling beside him. “Wake up. Please, wake up.”
My face is hovering right over his when he blinks and opens his eyes. A relieved sob lurches from my throat.
Grimacing, Preston tightens his lips thin as he grits his teeth. “Donovan.”
“He’s gone. Just rest. Y-you don’t have to talk,” I soothe, trying not to be a blubbering mess. “Help is coming. We’ll tell them the truth.” I try to sound optimistic as I resume pressure on Preston’s abdomen. “We’ll just tell them we want to be together, and they have to let us, you know? We’re adults. We’re free.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
Even when he’s literally bleeding out, Preston’s thinking of me. My esophagus becomes impossibly tight as my emotions become too much.