Chapter 27
Boone
Sharp pain stabs my stomach when I shift to get more comfortable.
I hiss and open my eyes. The room is dark, but not black.
There’s a glow coming from an unfamiliar large window across the room.
Disjointed thoughts pierce my brain as I try to piece together what the hell happened, but my mind is hazy, as if I went on a weeklong bender.
Cool fingers wrap around my hand, and I turn my head.
The muscles in my stomach scream again, and I squeeze my eyes shut while absorbing the pain.
Damn, did I get shot? That thought brings a barrage of memories.
I entered a house, where the pungent smell of decaying wood and soil layered with dust and rotting food made me want to gag and cover my nose, but I kept my arms raised, gun in hand, as I crept through the back door.
I should have known something was wrong when I found it cracked open as if it was an invitation.
The fingers squeeze my hand, and I’m torn from the memory, or maybe it was a dream.
“Boone.” More fingers, just as chilled, brush along my forehead, and I know whom they belong to—Harlyn.
I try to blink again, and the outline of her face comes into view.
I swallow, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as a wince tightens my features.
Damn, everything hurts, including my throat.
“Wha…” I croak.
“Shh,” she coos while sniffling. “You’re okay, you’re going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”
I move my tongue, trying to tell her not to be sorry. There is no way this could be her fault, but again, words fail me. I’m too tired to speak, too tired to do anything but turn my face toward her sweet touch and hope she understands.