Chapter 18
Callie could hear the Saints gaining quickly. She was fast losing energy, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She spotted a fallen tree ahead of her and ran toward it.
The sweatshirt chaffed against her sweaty skin, causing her to feel the heat baking around her. She pumped her arms and legs, gritting her teeth as the stitch in her side throbbed. As soon as she reached the tree, she vaulted over the massive trunk and landed heavily on the other side.
She turned to lift her Glock when a face appeared over the trunk, knife raised. Callie fell back, startled, as she fired off two shots, dead center of the man’s chest. He slumped lifelessly across the trunk.
There wasn’t time to get up as another reached the tree. This time, however, she was looking down the barrel of a gun. She didn’t hesitate to shift her Glock and pull the trigger a heartbeat before her attacker.
Her face turned away as she squeezed her eyes closed when his bullet landed in the dirt inches from her head. When she looked back, the only thing visible from her position was the man’s foot since he’d fallen back over the other side.
Callie heard a commotion and turned onto her hands and knees. Someone grabbed a handful of her hair from behind and yanked her upper body up, as she remained kneeling. She winced, clutching the hand that held her.
“Finally found you, bitch,” the man said angrily. “My reward is going to be immense.”
He squeezed the wrist of her hand holding the gun, so she had no choice but to drop it or have her bone break. Her other hand reached around to her knife while he talked. She slipped the blade from its sheath and held it against her arm.
“You actually thought you could outrun us,” he said and turned her toward him.
She looked into his close-set, dark eyes. “You’re going to lose.”
“You’ve already lost,” he said with a smirk.
Callie held his gaze as he tightened his fist in her hair. The pain shot from her scalp all the way down her spine, but she didn’t move. Her eyes watered, and inside she was screaming. Outwardly, she allowed him to believe he was dominating her, showing her who the victor would be.
Then she smiled and smoothly slid her knife between his ribs and right into his heart. When his fingers loosened in her hair and his eyes widened as he fell to his knees, she leaned close to his face and said, “Who lost, bitch?”
It was the sound of approaching hoof beats that caused her to look up. She ducked as a horse jumped over her and the tree. When she looked up again, it was to see Wyatt dismounting from the horse and striding to her with long, purposeful steps.
She was so relieved to see him that she reached for him as he dropped to his knees beside her. As soon as his arms wrapped around her, she closed her eyes and held onto him tightly.
“You’re hurt,” he stated in a gruff voice.
“It’s just a graze on my neck.”
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes shifted to her neck. “I’m talking about the wound on your side.”
Side? What was he talking about? She would know if she had an injury on her side. To prove her point, she looked down to show him, only to stare silently at the blood that stained her right side.
“Let me see it,” Wyatt said.
She didn’t stop him when he gently pushed her onto her back. “The Saints?”
“All dead,” he stated.
Her gaze lifted to the sky and the clouds drifting swiftly past. With the threat now over, her eyes grew heavy, and she let them close, wanting to rest for just a moment.
Wyatt’s hands were tender as he lifted her sweatshirt. It made a sucking noise as he pulled it away from her wound. She could feel him wiping something against her, but she was too tired to open her eyes and see what it was.
She began to drift off. She was so fatigued from walking all night, then running from the Saints. If only she could sleep.
“Wake up, baby girl.”
Was it a dream? Or had he really spoken to her? She couldn’t tell, and it took too much energy to find out.
“Callie.”
This time, she knew it was Wyatt by the insistence in his tone. Gone was the affection in his voice. She grunted and tried to push his hands away.
“Open your eyes. Dammit, Callie, stop fighting me and open those beautiful eyes.”
It took her a few tries, but she managed to wake up enough to look up at him. His dark hair was disheveled and damp with sweat, and he had a day’s growth of whiskers that darkened his jawline, making him oh so sexy. His shirt was missing and showing off that mouthwatering body.
But it was his gold eyes searching her face that made her smile.
“Hi,” she said.
He gave her a crooked grin, the kind that always made her heart skip a beat. “I need to tend to your wounds, which means we need supplies. And that means we need to move.”
She closed her eyes against the scratchiness and groaned. “Now? I just laid down.”
“You’ve been asleep for twenty minutes.”
Her gaze snapped opened. “What?”
“I checked your wound, tied my shirt around it to reduce the bleeding, and I got rid of all the bodies.”
While she’d slept. She felt like an utter fool. “You should’ve woken me so I could help.”
“Not with your injuries. We’ve had a long night and morning, and I don’t know what the rest of the day holds. I might need you later.”
“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly.
Not like she had any choice. She rolled to her side and slowly sat up. Now that she knew of her injury, the pain lashed through her body as if it were struck by spikes.
She clenched her jaw and welcomed Wyatt’s help in getting to her feet. Her lids kept slipping closed, and she had to force them back open. Sleep called to her like a lover with promises of a pain-free slumber.
Somehow, she found herself standing next to a horse. She wanted to pet the palomino, but the effort was too much. The animal turned its head to her, its soulful brown eyes seeming to understand the agony she was in.
“Ready?” Wyatt asked.
Her eyelids shut again of their own accord. Ready? Did he want her to ride? Surely not.
She hissed in pain when he gently lifted her in his arms and set her atop the gelding’s back. On instinct, Callie grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane to steady herself. Then Wyatt mounted behind her.
He wrapped his right arm around her, holding her against his chest as their legs conformed to each other. The pressure of his arm actually helped against the pain. And now that she didn’t have to stand, sleep pulled her under quickly.
The moment Callie’s head rolled back to his shoulder, Wyatt knew she was asleep once more. Fear wrapped him in its iron grip, tightening around his chest so that he couldn’t breathe.
The amount of blood she had lost was staggering. Her entire right side was coated in it. He had no idea how she’d managed to run, fight or even stay on her feet against the Saints in her condition.
He clicked to the horse to start walking. Wyatt wrapped his hand around Callie’s that held the gelding’s flaxen mane. He had to get supplies to treat her, but that meant bringing her around people—people that could be a part of the Saints.
At least the bastards who had been chasing her were dead. She’d fought like an avenging angel, and it caused his blood to heat thinking about it. She truly was an amazing woman.
He steered the horse toward a barn he saw in the distance. The closer they came, the more buildings Wyatt saw. Then he saw movement. A tractor was being driven, moving hay into a barn while two other men loaded a stallion into a trailer.
Wyatt hated being so exposed, but there was nothing he could do about it. The few trees that dotted the pasture would do him little good in getting to any of the structures to find a first-aid kit.
At the last minute, he steered the horse toward one of the trees closest to the barn and dismounted before he could be seen. Wyatt gently lifted Callie down and set her up against the tree as he looked under the belly of the gelding to see where the three men were.
A fourth man, an older gentleman with a wide stomach and a big mustache, emerged from a barn after the horse had been loaded. There were words exchanged before one of the workers climbed into the truck and drove away with the animal.
The older man and the second one talked for a moment before both walked off in different directions. Wyatt’s gaze shifted to the tractor. There was still a lot of hay to unload, so at least that one would be occupied for a bit.
Wyatt stood and patted the palomino’s rump as he walked behind him. “Stay with her, boy. I’ll be right back.”
The horse snorted and continued munching on the grass. Wyatt glanced at Callie before making a quick run to the barn. When he reached it, he plastered himself against it and peeked around the corner of the entrance.
He could hear horses within, but it was too dark for him to see anyone. He took a deep breath and slipped inside, keeping close to the wall. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the inside of the building quickly.
Beside him, a horse walked to the gate of its enclosure and stretched out its neck to sniff him. Wyatt held out his hand, allowing the animal to smell him. He walked closer, petting the beast.
When he was at the gate, he looked inside the stall and spotted the wide belly. He smiled at the pregnant mare and patted her neck.
Then his focus shifted back to the barn. It was made very similarly to the one at his ranch, so he had an idea where the tack room would be—which was where a first-aid kit would most likely be kept.
He moved slowly down the center aisle, always remaining near the stalls. When he came to the middle of the long barn with a wide aisle making a T, he glanced both directions to make sure no one was coming, then hurriedly crossed to the tack room.
The door to the space was ajar and the light on. Once inside, he looked at the rows of saddles, halters, brushes, and the like until he found the white box with the red cross on it set on some shelves. Wyatt grabbed the box and turned to retrace his steps when he came to a halt.
There was a faded denim shirt tossed over one of the saddles, and a brown paper bag with someone’s lunch sitting nearby. He tried on the shirt, happy to see that it fit, and grabbed the bag before hurriedly retracing his steps.
He wasn’t surprised to find the palomino where he’d left him. Wyatt opened the bag and saw an apple and a sandwich inside. He gave the apple to the horse and walked to Callie.
She didn’t appear to have moved. He took out his knife and slit her sweatshirt up the side to better see the wound. If the bullet had shifted a hair to the left, it would’ve hit her kidney. It had done enough damage, though.
He was thankful he wouldn’t have to dig the slug out of her as it had passed through. The location meant that it had most likely not hit any vital organs. She would need a hospital, but right now, his concern was to stop any more blood loss.
Wyatt opened the box and set about cleaning her injuries and stitching both the entrance and exit wounds. For the first time administering such work, his hands shook.
Because it was Callie.
He glanced up at her. Her breathing was even, but she appeared pale. He wanted her to open her eyes and berate him, call him choice names for all of his mistakes. She was too quiet, too still.
“Don’t leave me, baby girl,” he whispered.
He lifted his bloody hands to move her hair away from her neck to see to that wound when he paused. Blood had never bothered him, but this wasn’t just any blood. This was Callie’s blood.
It was all over him and her, even in her hair. He swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat. The more he looked at the stains coating his hands, the more furious he got.
Ten men after them. If the Saints wanted a fight, he would give them one they wouldn’t soon forget. He would show them retaliation.
He would show them vengeance.
And when he was done, there wouldn’t be anyone left standing. No matter how long it took, no matter how many he had to kill, he vowed then and there to take down every last Saint.