15. Kennedy
CHAPTER 15
KENNEDY
R ain pelts me from all sides as wind whips the drenched strands of my hair. My clothes are plastered to my skin, and my bare feet slap against the wet pavement. Blood pours from my forearm, but I do my best to maintain pressure on the wound.
I just have to survive long enough to make it to the boat. As soon as I do that, I can leave this place and sail somewhere they’ll never find me. Somewhere not even the devil himself can hunt me down.
Who am I kidding? He’ll always find me. Tonight is merely an example of that. The marshals tried to hide me, but he found me, and now they’re dead.
They’re all dead.
I choke on a sob. Crying will do me no good now. Later I can grieve, but right now I have to stay focused. If I die, everything I know dies with me.
My frantic dash toward freedom does nothing but buy the feds enough time to fully close in on him. If I can do that, then I stand a chance at living to a ripe old age. Otherwise—I shove that thought away because it’s no help to me now.
I trip, my toe splitting open against a crack in the pavement. Pain shoots up my leg like lightning, momentarily obliterating the burning agony of the gash in my forearm. I whimper, my knees slamming into the ground as I go down. Asphalt bites into my skin, and even though I know I should keep running, I can’t bring myself to stand.
Knowing they’re not that far behind me, I try to hide myself as best as possible by crawling behind some boxes in the alleyway I’d chosen. In hindsight, I might have been able to get help if I’d stayed on the crowded street. But doing that would only put anyone who offered me aid in danger. And I can’t let anyone else die because of me.
The body count is already too high.
Clutching the wet Bible beneath my shirt, I tuck my legs up as best I can and lean back. Just a minute. I need just a minute to catch my breath.
A door opens behind me, and an old man peers out. I do my best to remain still even as the freezing rain has soaked straight through to my bones.
Please don’t see me.
Please don’t give me away.
A steely gaze levels on me. “This is not a place to sleep, girl,” he snaps.
“I’m not trying to sleep. I promise. Just resting. I’ll be gone soon.”
Yelling echoes in the distance, though it grows closer.
They’re closing in, and they won’t hesitate to kill this man just for looking at me.
“Please, sir, I’ll go. Just get inside.” I stand, but my legs turn to jelly, and I fall back into the hard wall.
The stranger must notice the blood saturating the front of my shirt because his gaze narrows further on me before raising in the direction of the angry voices. He reaches for me. “Get inside, girl.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You have to get inside.” Tears sting my eyes as I try to move away from the building, but my legs won’t cooperate. Every step I try to take sends me falling right back into the wall. Rain hammers the ground, the storm above picking up speed.
“Inside. Now.” He reaches forward and pulls me inside then shuts and locks the door. I look down. My toe is already drenched in blood, a stark crimson against the white tile I’m standing on.
“You’re making a mistake. You need to put me back outside. Please.”
The man says nothing, just takes my hand and pulls me toward an office chair situated in front of a computer. He takes the Bible from my hands and sets it on the counter beside me. It takes me a moment to gather myself enough to actually look around, but as I do, I note comfortable-looking animal cages with two wide-eyed dogs staring back at me, both of them with their legs wrapped.
A glass-front refrigerator sits on one wall, prescription bottles filling its shelves. A bookcase stands beside it, also full of medication, and as I glance around the room, I note there are medical supplies organized carefully throughout the entire space.
The man retrieves a clean towel from a cabinet and grabs bandages, a bottle of cleaner, and a small sterile bag from a shelf then returns to me. “Let me see your arm.”
I hesitate for only a moment before I hold it out. The gash is deep, and blood continues to drip from the jagged wound. He wraps it in the towel. “Keep this pressed to your chest to apply pressure,” he orders. I do as he says. “What’s your name?”
“K—” I start but stop myself. “Sammy,” I reply, using the nickname the marshals gave me instead of the one my mother gave me at birth. A name I haven’t gotten to use in over a year. Maybe one day. If I survive this.
He pulls a short stool over and sits down. “I’ll let the lie slide, Sammy. What happened to you?”
A buzzer rings, and I jump. He turns over his shoulder and glances at a security camera. My blood turns to ice in my veins as I take in the black-and-white image of Jexton and Bruiser, the two men they sent after me. The image may be grainy, but I can see the harshness of their murderous gazes.
My stomach twists into knots so hard I can barely breathe.
“You have to let me leave,” I insist, panic setting in. “I can sneak out ? —”
“You’re going to bleed out if you try to go anywhere,” he says, gesturing to the already-soaked towel pressed against my arm.
“They’re going to kill you,” I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks.
The man’s expression hardens. “I’m not that delicate.” He stands and crosses over toward the security monitors then presses a button on the side. “Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for my sister,” one of the men replies, his tone a facade of worry. “She fell and hit her head, so she’s disoriented and confused. We think she could be a danger to herself and others.”
“I am so sorry to hear that. Did you try the police station? They’re right down the street. There’s a hospital two blocks over too.”
“We’re headed there next. Please, sir, can we come in and just take a look around? She might have snuck in somehow.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m locked down for the night. It would have been impossible for anyone to have snuck in without my knowing it.”
“Please, sir,” he insists, tone more frustrated now. “Can we just come in for a moment? Look around?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t have an issue with it, son. But tonight, I have two animals who are very sensitive to strangers and are barely clinging to life as it is. I’m afraid I cannot risk them hearing you enter and losing their minds.” The man forces a soft sigh. “But if I see anything, I’ll be sure to contact the authorities. I hope you find her safely.”
One of the men glares up at the camera, a challenge in his gaze. Can he sense me in here? Does he know that the stranger is lying? I hold my breath, waiting for him to use the brute strength he’s known for and kick in the door. “I appreciate that,” he replies then reaches into his pocket and withdraws a business card, holding it up for the camera. “Here’s my number. Please call me first. She’ll panic if she feels cornered.” He leaves it in the mailbox near the door.
“Understood. Good luck. I pray you find her.”
I don’t breathe again until they’re no longer in the camera frame. The man rushes over to me and sits back down on the stool then removes the towel from my arm.
“We need to contact the police,” he says quickly.
“No,” I say, frantic. “They have officers on his payroll. Please. I need to disappear. Just for now. I know who to call.” The thumb drive hanging around my neck has never felt as heavy as it does now.
It carries the weight of two more lives now.
“You can’t go anywhere yet,” he says.
“I can’t stay here. They’ll come back.”
He uses a large syringe to draw liquid out of a container. “This is going to hurt.” He grips my arm and depresses the plunger until liquid hits the wound. I suck in a pained breath and do my best to maintain my breathing as the liquid washes away the blood and dirt from the injury.
The man assesses the injury then reaches up onto the silver tray to pick up a vial and another syringe. He withdraws the liquid. “This will numb the area enough that I can close it, okay?”
I nod, tears in my eyes. The pain is severe, but I remember what my mother used to tell me when I got hurt. “We can do anything for ten seconds, right, Dee?” she’d say. And somehow, I always knew she was right.
He injects the medicine, and I keep my eyes closed as I feel the tugging of thread around my injury. Breathing through it, I remain perfectly still, all the while trying to make sure I do my best not to pass out as the adrenaline I’ve been carrying bottoms out.
“All done.” His hand leaves my arm, so I open my eyes and stare down at the neatly stitched line going from my wrist up to just below my elbow.
“It was big.”
“I’d say so. You’re lucky you didn’t bleed out.” He rises from the stool and pushes the metal tray with blood-soaked gauze and tools off to the side then washes his hands in a deep sink.
“We need to tend to your feet, too,” he replies. “But I need fresh supplies. Give me a few.”
I stare down at my dirty feet. They’re crusted with dirt and blood, and now that the pain in my arm has ebbed away just a bit, I can feel the stinging pain shooting through my foot and up my leg from the toe I basically split open.
The man sets a stainless-steel tub of water at my feet along with a tray of clean gauze and bandages. “I don’t think you need stitches here, but I won’t know until they’re clean. Put your feet in here.”
“I’ll get it dirty.”
He arches a brow. “I’m counting on that.”
“But these supplies cost you money.”
“Girl, I’ve already stitched up your arm; what’s a bit more?” Instead of waiting for me to do it, he lifts my injured foot and gently guides it into the bin. I hiss in pain as the liquid hits my injured toe. “Yikes, no stitches, but you did a number on it. If you’re squeamish, don’t open your eyes.”
I’m not, but I keep them closed anyway.
It’s easier to hide the tears that way.
I’m not sure how long he works on my foot, but it feels like forever before he’s wrapping it in a bandage. “All done.”
I open my eyes as he’s lifting the pan of filthy water and dumping it into the sink. The man places his tray of soiled tools and gauze beside the sink then washes his hands and returns to the stool in front of me.
“Why did you help me?”
“Because you needed it.”
“But you didn’t have to help me. You risked your life. If you’d have known ? —”
“I still would have done it.”
Tears blur my vision. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Cillian,” he replies.
“Cillian.”
He nods and crosses his arms. “Now, how about you tell me what’s going on so I can see just what I’ve gotten myself into?”
The tears come hot and fast, my shoulders shaking as the weight of everything comes crashing down on me. Gentle arms come around me, and Cillian offers me a firm hug, holding me close as I cry.
“Easy, girl,” he coos. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you help.”
“We can’t,” I tell him as I pull back, finally managing to get control.
His brow furrows. “You said no police, but what about the FBI? Surely someone ? —”
“No. He has people everywhere. It’s how they found me. Anyone at the FBI that’s good is already doing everything they can. If I go to them, he’ll find me again.”
“Who? Who is after you, girl?”
I can’t tell him.
I know I can’t.
So I don’t.
“Then tell me your name. Your real name,” he adds. “You can tell me.”
The reward for me is likely going to be a high one.
For my own safety, I have to keep my mouth shut and hope that, if Cillian is truly a good man, he’ll understand my need for privacy.
“Just Sammy,” I say.
He doesn’t try to hide his frustration, but he doesn’t press, either. “What were you doing bleeding in my alley, girl?” He stands and reaches for his phone. Panic shoots through me, and I push to my feet, hopping over toward him.
“No. Please stop. Don’t call anyone. You can’t.”
“Someone is hurting you. We need to report it ? —”
I close my eyes, my throat constricting. “I told you. You can’t call. No one can know I was here. Please. If they find me ? —”
Slowly, he lowers the phone. “What will happen if they find you?”
I answer without hesitation. “They’ll kill me.”
I come awake slowly despite the nightmare. Tears have dried and crusted to the sides of my eyes already, but it’s not anything I’m not used to. The nightmare is one I’ve had nearly every night for the last two years, and it’s showing no chance of slowing down.
Truth is, I work myself so hard all day because, if I’m exhausted enough, sometimes I can manage a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Unfortunately, lying in bed all day is not conducive to exhaustion.
I reach over and turn the lamp on then swing my legs over the bed. After grabbing one of the crutches Lani left for me, I hop my way into the bathroom. Every movement hurts, but since it’s not quite as bad as yesterday, I’m taking it as a win.
After splashing some water on my face, I take a minute to study myself in the mirror. My eyes are red from crying and sleep, and my cheeks are streaked with dried tears. Unfortunately, it’s not an uncommon look for me.
After making my way back into the bed, I leave the crutch beside me and throw the comforter up over the top of my leg. I literally cannot sit in this bed all day today or I will go crazy.
Straight bonkers.
Closed spaces for long periods of time do that to me.
Someone knocks on the door.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door opens, and Bradyn sticks his head in.
My heart hammers in my chest as my stomach does somersaults. Why, oh why does he have to give me the butterflies?
“I saw your lamp come on as I was making my way up for breakfast. You doing okay?”
“Yeah. Just woke up.” As he opens the door further, the delicious aroma of coffee and frying bacon fills my lungs. My stomach growls.
“I was actually going to see if you wanted to come down to breakfast. I can help you down the stairs, but then you can get out of this room. I imagine, even with as lovely as it is, you might be losing your mind a little.”
I smile. “You would be right.”
“I also spoke with my mom, and after I promised to make sure you were eating and well cared for, she’s agreed to let you return to your cabin.”
Hope shoves the attraction out. Back in my space. Near my things. Near the one thing that carries the weight of my freedom. I can’t believe I took it off before going out into the storm. It was foolish and a mistake I’ll never make again.
“Really? I mean, I don’t need you checking in on me; I’ll be fine.”
“I know you don’t, but I did promise to hand deliver food twice a day. If you’re okay with that? She’ll also be by to make sure you’re resting.”
I get the feeling that if I told him no, he’d respect it. But I also really don’t want to tell him no. Momma Hunt’s cooking is spectacular, and not having to worry about feeding myself twice a day would be nice. Especially since I don’t see myself getting to the store anytime soon. “Food delivery would be great.”
He beams at me. A genuine ray of sunshine that would have the sun itself jealous. “Great. I’ll step out for a few minutes. Just call out when you’re ready to venture down the stairs.” With a final smile, he steps out and shuts the door softly behind him.
I waste no time as I throw the covers off of me and eye the jeans and shirt folded up on the chair in the corner.
I could try to put them on.
I’d probably be successful.
But the thought of falling on my butt makes it not worth the try. So, I grab the crutches and opt to come back for them. Instead, I slip my unwrapped foot into my boot then make my way over toward the door.
When I pull it open, Bradyn turns to look at me. His gaze darkens just a bit before he smiles. Warmth spreads through me, turning my stomach into a pit of butterflies yet again. “I’ll have to come back for my jeans when I’m able to get them on without a struggle,” I tell him with a smile. “Until then, sweats will have to do.”
He chuckles. “I can bring them to you with the first food delivery.”
“Sounds good, thanks.” I use the crutches to get out of the room then eye the stairs. Somehow, they looked less intimidating as I was literally being carried up here by Elliot the first time. Then again, I’d been freezing cold and somewhat out of it then. “I’m not sure I can do this easily, and scooting down on my butt might be a bit more than my pride can take at the moment.”
Bradyn laughs, and the rich sound envelopes me in warmth. “While I spent many years scooting down on my own butt, I get it. Here.” Without waiting, he grips my arm, plucks the crutches out, and scoops me into his arms.
He does it so effortlessly that it makes me feel like I weigh practically nothing.
And even though I know I should, I don’t fight it because it feels amazing to be held in his strong arms. “Thanks. This is much better.”
He chuckles. “I’ll come back for the crutches, but let’s get you breakfast before Tucker and Dylan eat it all.”
“Both my empty stomach and I thank you for that.”
We move down the stairs easily, and by the time we get to the bottom, I can already hear the brothers arguing back and forth. It’s all friendly jesting and makes me smile. I would’ve loved to grow up with siblings.
Instead—my thoughts darken, and I have to actively shove them out of my mind to avoid being pulled under.
“I’m just saying that you should pick up the slack a bit more, Dylan. I can’t be the best looking and the hardest working of the two of us,” Tucker says.
“What a burden that must be,” Riley replies with what I imagine is an eye roll.
We emerge into the dining room, and all gazes shift to us. Color floods my cheeks. Why didn’t I think this through? Why didn’t I insist he put me down at the bottom of the stairs? I must look absolutely ridiculous being carried through their house in sweats!
Ruth enters the room. “Oh good! You got her down here safely! Come and sit, honey. You must be starving. Get the girl a chair, Riley. Bradyn can’t do all the work.”
Riley gives us a grin before he stands and pulls out a chair for me. “Here you go, Sammy. You can sit right between me and Elliot. Break the tension a bit.”
Elliot snorts and shakes his head. “They’ve been going at it since mom let Dylan have the first pancake.”