Chapter 10
I don’t faint.
At least, I don’t think I do. I do slump, and my vision darkens. But I definitely don’t faint for real.
Since Cade’s arm is already around me, he holds me up for about thirty seconds. Embarrassed, upset, and bewildered, I try to pull away, but my knees wobble dangerously.
Without a word, he swings me up into his arms.
A small part of me feels like struggling.
It’s not that I don’t like how it feels to be carried like this by his strong, familiar body, but something has changed and my mind isn’t clear enough to process exactly what it is and how I’m supposed to feel about it.
So being this close to him—relying on him so completely—doesn’t seem right.
But that small part of me isn’t loud enough to make a scene. I’m already self-conscious enough. That one guy was saying, “She’s here,” like they were looking for me on purpose. And there are dead bodies littering the wet road, blood mingling with the water running off the pavement into the ditches.
The sky is getting darker. It must be well past opening time.
I’m supposed to be in the Pub right now.
And so is Cade.
“What the fuck is going on?” I hear myself asking in a pitifully weak voice.
“I’m real sorry, angel. I’ll explain everything when we get somewhere safe.”
The angel is new. It soothes my jumbled emotions like a balm. So does the familiar gruff texture of his voice.
The world is a dark, violent, sopping-wet disaster, and my head is pounding like someone took a jackhammer to it. But Cade is holding me in his arms and he said he’ll explain.
Maybe he can.
I end up in a vehicle of some kind. I don’t remember the part where Cade carried me to it, and I don’t remember the part where he put me in. But I’m in it now. It’s got a roof and doors because we’re not pelted with raindrops as we drive.
It also must have a back seat because I’m stretched out in a prone position. I can’t straighten my legs, but I can almost fit. And my head is on someone’s lap.
Cade’s, of course.
I’d know his body anywhere, and if I couldn’t touch it, I’d still know the smell of him. “Cade?”
“Yes. I’m here.” He caresses my forehead, brushing back some of the loose, wet strands stuck like glue to my skin.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re going somewhere safe. That road is sometimes trafficked by militia, so we couldn’t stay there any longer than we had to.”
“But why…” I blink, trying to clear my head. I can’t. “Why… How…”
“When we’re safe and you’re feeling better, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Okay.” I say the word softly. With a long exhale. Then I close my eyes since the shifting light is making my head hurt worse. “I don’t feel good.”
“I know you don’t. I’m sorry all this happened to you. I’m sorry for everything.”
I don’t know what any of that means, but the timbre of his voice is nice and soothing. I sigh again. Keep my eyes closed.
Until the world goes dark again.
I don’t know how long it takes, but it’s pitch-black outside and my headache still feels like it might kill me when the vehicle finally comes to a stop.
Cade has been gently shaking my shoulder, trying to wake me up.
“Jill. Jill, talk to me.”
“I’m talking to you.” I blink up at his shaded face. At least he’s taken off that damned mask. “Aren’t I?”
“Now you are. Do you think you can stand up?”
“I don’t know why not. The main thing hurting is my head.”
“I know. You got a pretty bad bump. Did one of those bastards hit you with a bat or something?” He asks the question in a weirdly careful tone, as if he’s purposefully trying to sound mild.
I frown. “I don’t think so.” After a few seconds, I remember. “Oh, no, it was when the truck slammed on its brakes. The first one ran into a big hole of some kind, and when my truck stopped, I got thrown around in the back and hit my head.”
I’m pleased that I sound so articulate. I made more than one complete sentence. I use the momentum of this accomplishment to sit up.
It’s more painful than I expect. My entire body is sore, and my head throbs so much it makes me dizzy.
“Go slow,” Cade says, climbing out of the back seat and then reaching in to gently pull me out. “You definitely have a concussion.”
“Shit.” I manage, with his help, to get to my feet, but I’m so dizzy I don’t trust myself to stay standing. I grab at his shirt. “You’re as wet as me.”
He lets out a dry huff and swings me up into his arms again. “The whole damn world is wet. But I’m not going to complain about the rain this one time because it was all the water on the road that helped hide that hole we dug to stop the trucks.”
It takes me a full minute to piece together this information. He’s carrying me somewhere—up a muddy path through some trees—and I ponder the enigma while he does until I finally gasp. “You dug the hole!”