Chapter 48 Cruz
CRUZ
My eyelids feel like they're glued shut with cement. I pry them open, copper-scented warmth trickling into my mouth. Blood. My head throbs with each heartbeat, ears screaming like I'm standing next to a jet engine. Every breath sends daggers through my ribs.
I force my neck muscles to work, lifting my head an inch. Blink. Blink. Blink. The world tilts into focus.
Green duffel bags. Black metal cases. Shit scattered everywhere like confetti.
“Fuck,” the word scrapes out of my throat.
The armored truck lies on its side, the interior a tornado aftermath. Casino chips in red, blue, and black spill from cracked plastic bins, rolling across metal flooring that should be beneath me, not beside me.
I push against the floor, trying to get my legs under me.
My right thigh catches fire. A scream rips through my clenched teeth as I collapse back down.
A jagged triangle of metal—it looks like part of the door frame—juts from my flesh, the fabric of my jeans darkening around it. Blood pulses out with each heartbeat.
“Oh, fuck me.” My fingers hover an inch above the metal, trembling like I've been awake for days. Leave it in. That's what they always say. Pulling it means bleeding out.
“Gage?” My voice cracks as I twist toward the driver's seat. The cab's crushed inward on his side. Just silence and shadows where my brother should be.
My chest tightens, lungs refusing to fill. Sweat breaks cold across my forehead as red and blue lights flash behind my eyes. Cops. Prison. Twenty-five to life. I force three deep breaths, blinking away the spots.
My gaze darts around the wreckage, searching for that flash of honey blonde I've gotten used to seeing beside me. No Bellamy. Just twisted metal and scattered cash.
I drag myself toward the gaping rear doors, the metal frame bent outward like something exploded from inside. Each inch costs me a gasp, blood leaving a snail's trail behind me.
We're close to the city limits, probably near Riverside. Any second now, someone's gonna drive by and see a fucking armored truck tipped on its side.
Blonde hair splayed across metal, darkening crimson at the roots. One arm bent backward. Not moving. “Bellamy!” Her name tears from my throat, raw and ragged.
I clamp my fingers around the twisted metal shelf, knuckles bleaching white.
My good leg trembles as I haul myself upright.
The shard in my thigh shifts, sending lightning up my spine.
Black spots dance. Copper floods my mouth—bit through my lip.
Blood drips into my left eye, blinding me.
I swipe it away, leaving my face slick and sticky.
The overturned gun safe blocks the path between us, four hundred pounds of steel I need to get around somehow.
I stumble toward her. “Bells!” My voice cracks. “C'mon, pretty girl, open those eyes.” The words come out wet, metallic. “Gage! Where the fuck are you?” The silence answers, pressing against my eardrums.
The truck tilts beneath me. Or maybe it's just me tilting. Black ink bleeds into the corners of my vision, spreading inward like spilled coffee on paper.
“No, fuck.” Each breath tears through my lungs. In. Out. In. Out. Sweat drips into my eyes, mixing with the blood. Five more steps. My legs give out, knees hitting metal with a crack that echoes through my bones. Five feet still between us. Her fingers aren't moving.
I stretch my arm toward her, fingers trembling, grasping at air five inches short of her blood-matted hair. “Bells?” Her face is turned to the wall, one cheek pressed against twisted metal, lips parted slightly.
The truck's interior pulses, darkening at the edges like a vignette filter. My head drops forward, chin hitting my chest. I force it back up, blinking hard, but the darkness keeps closing in.
Heavy footsteps crunch through broken glass. Black tactical boots appear inches from my face. Gloved hands slide under Bellamy's limp shoulders, lifting her away as my cheek slams against cold metal.
Everything goes black.