Bonus Scene - Green Road Bridge
Ria
I’m fucking owning PUBG today. My entire team was wiped in the first five minutes because they didn’t listen to me — chose to drop into a high-loot warzone like amateurs. But not me. I played smart. Got the gear and made my own plan.
Hmm. I wonder if Tank managed to refill his tires. Maybe leaving him stranded was too much. He was on his best behavior today.
Eh. He’ll figure it out.
Back to the game.
It’s just three of us left, circle closing in, and I’m parked in a bush with full camo, perfectly centered in the last safe zone. These poor bastards don’t even know I’m about to light them the fuck up.
“Ria, get your damn feet off the dashboard. It’s dangerous,” Griffin grumbles like a nervous dad, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road.
Ugh. He’s helping with deliveries today. Nice guy. Sometimes. But right now?
“Shut up, Kitten,” I hiss, eyes glued to my phone screen. My trigger finger is ready. Twitching.
He groans. “Why the hell do you keep calling me that?”
I smile at my screen. “Because when you come, you let out this tiny little whimper. It’s honestly kind of cute. Like a mewling kitten.” Oh, yes! Headshot, fucker! One more to go and I’m eating my chicken dinner!
He practically chokes. “WHAT?! Did — did Temperance tell you that?”
I glance over just in time to see him turn lobster-red. “Tempe didn’t have to. You had sex in the bathroom of my coffee shop. I heard you.” I give him my best judgmental glare.
I’m about to turn back to my game — final two, baby — when I see her.
From the corner of my eye.
A woman walking along the bridge as we cross it. She’s hauntingly beautiful. Hair wild in the wind. Eyes vacant. No coat. No expression. No fucking pants!
I blink and she’s gone.
Gone!
She jumped.
“STOP THE FUCKING VAN, KITTEN!”
He slams on the brakes and we lurch forward. My phone flies somewhere into the abyss. Oh, no! There goes my win. There probably goes the cake in the back, too. Fuck it. Not important.
“That woman jumped! We have to help her!” I fumble with my seatbelt like it’s trying to kill me.
Kitten’s frozen, staring through the windshield like a moron.
I shove at his shoulder. Stupid, muscular Kitten! “Snap out of it! You’re going in after her.”
He finally blinks, takes off his seatbelt, and we’re out.
We run to the side of the bridge.
“She surface?” I ask, eyes darting around. The drop isn’t high at all, but the river is deep enough for someone to drown comfortably in it. And the water is freezing.
Griff says nothing. He’s toeing off his shoes, scanning the water.
“Jump already, Kitten!” I yell. “ You’re the only one between us who can swim. Stop dilly-daddling, she’ll be dead by the time your inner hero wakes up.”
I bolt back to the van for my phone. “I’ll call the professionals!” I yell over my shoulder.
I hear a splash by the time I reach the passenger door. I find the phone under the seat, thumb swiftly stabbing at 911. It rings once and I’m already speaking.
“Green Road Bridge! A woman jumped. My friend jumped in after her. Send someone!”
The operator says something about ten minutes and starts asking questions. I answer in a haze, eyes locked on the water, chewing on a lock of my hair. The tension is killing me! I can see Kitten going under water, searching and then coming back up for air.
Please, please, please—
Then — finally — he is rising from the current, dragging a body behind him.
She’s too still. Too pale.
He hauls her to the riverbank as if she weighs nothing. I sprint down like Wile E. Coyote is chasing me himself from the depths of hell.
He’s panting, soaked to the bone. “She’s not breathing,” he gasps. “She — fuck — she needs CPR.”
He looks terrified, but determined.
“I’m not letting your bear paws shatter her ribs, brutal Kitten,” I snap. “Get to the van. There are blankets. Go!”
He backs off and I drop to my knees.
Check for a pulse.
Nothing.
Shitshitshit. Fuckityfuck!
I start compressions. Hard. Fast. Just like the CPR course taught me. Give her the kiss of life. Keep going. Keep going.
My arms burn. My lungs ache. Still, I breathe for her.
Come back, come back, please.
Finally, a gasp. A cough. Water sprays from her mouth and she chokes, but she breathes.
Her eyes stay closed, but her pulse flutters beneath my fingers. Faint. So faint. But there.
The ambulance screams in less than a minute later. They rush in, take over. They also wrap Kitten in a thermal blanket. Check him out, too. He’s okay, which is good. Tempe would’ve lost her shit if something happened to him.
In the end, we follow the ambulance.
Whether this woman lives or dies, she won’t be alone.