19. Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Remington
My blood has recirculated, I’m thinking more clearly, and my eyesight has finally returned to normal. Or as normal as it can be with one eye nearly swollen shut.
“We need to get off the street,” Warlock announces with some urgency.
Colton helps me to my feet. Doc and the biggest of them—Nitro, I think—do the same with Ricochet.
“You’ve been amazing, Remi. You haven’t freaked out or been hysterical. It’s impressive.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“But the fun isn’t over yet. I’m really sorry. Unfortunately, we need to move fast. Can you do that?”
“Whatever you need me to do, I can do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I didn’t come this far to give up now.”
He stares at me with something like respect and admiration. His arm extends, like he’s going to reach for me, then he abruptly pulls back. “You don’t have to hold on this time, but stay close and move with me, alright?”
I bob my head and psych myself up. I’m not ready.
I’m afraid, woozy, and still fighting the urge to throw up.
My heart is pounding, but I don’t want to be a bigger liability than I already am, and I really want to get out of this alive.
So, when he starts to jog, I keep my eyes on his feet and concentrate on mirroring his footfalls.
Warlock takes point, jogging in front of us.
Behind him, Doc and Nitro support Ricochet, arms around his waist while he’s got one arm looped around Doc’s shoulder, like they’re in a three-legged race.
Somehow, all three are still holding their rifles up, ready to fire one-handed.
Colton and I come next, and Hawk brings up the rear.
A surge of pain bolts through my body with every strike of my sock-covered feet against the pavement. I stumble more than once but manage to stay upright. I keep going, refusing to quit. I’ll do whatever it takes, endure whatever pain I have to, in order to survive.
We stay in the shadows, moving quickly through the streets. We cut through alleys, changing direction often, until the team eventually stops in front of a random office building.
Warlock picks the lock like a seasoned prowler, while Colton and Hawk stand guard with their rifles raised. Doc and Nitro continue supporting Ricochet between them.
Once the door is open, we flood through the entrance. Doc and Nitro deposit Ricochet on a couch in the lobby. I collapse onto the cushion next to him with a groan. The team begins moving from room to room, clearing the building.
I’m exhausted. In pain. But happier than I can say that we’ve finally stopped and no one is chasing or shooting at us anymore.
At least for now.
Once they determine the building is clear, Doc starts tending to Ricochet’s leg. The rest of the team huddles together, talking in low voices, discussing their options.
I glance around and see an employee break room. I get up and slowly make my way to it. After finding a discarded bag, I open the fridge, collect as many bottles of water as I can carry with my one good hand, and bring them back to the couch.
“Can you use this to clean the wound?” I ask Doc, sitting next to Ricochet again.
“This is great. Thanks, RJ.”
Ricochet cracks open one of the bottles for me when I can’t accomplish it one-handed. I thank him, tip it up, and drink, wondering how long it’ll take to feel like I’ve had enough water.
Doc digs in the small pack around his waist. It’s like a bigger, bulkier fanny pack.
“I’m going to give you some morphine. It’ll make you feel a whole lot better,” Doc tells me, pulling the drug out of his pouch.
Then he turns to Ricochet. “After this clusterfuck of a mission, we’re low on med supplies.
My main aid bag got left behind in the crash.
I’ve only got one dose of morphine left, and I’m giving it to RJ.
The dose I gave you at the crash site will have to be enough. ”
Ricochet flops back against the couch with a groan. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
I’m bruised, scraped, and sore from my days as a prisoner and the recent car crash.
My whole body hurts, but Ricochet’s leg is in bad shape.
His pant leg and the bandage Doc put on at the crash site are already soaked with blood.
I can’t imagine how much pain he’ll be in if Doc cleans and sews up that wound without the additional morphine.
Doc moves to inject me.
“No. Wait,” I say, stopping him with a hand on his forearm. “It’s, um, what do you call it…triage. I’ve been dealing with this for days. I don’t like it, but I’m sort of used to the pain now. And it’s better since you stabilized my arm.
“I’ll be okay until we get out of here. Ricochet’s injury is more severe. Give him the morphine instead. He needs it more than I do.”
“You sure?” Doc asks with a questioning look.
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“You’re a fucking angel, RJ. Thank you,” Ricochet tells me after Doc jams the single dose of morphine into him.
“I do have some Vicodin,” Doc offers.
“Now that, I’ll take,” I say without hesitation.
Doc hands me the pills and a snack-size bag of Skittles. “You need the sugar, and it’ll help with the adrenaline crash,” he explains when I throw him a questioning look.
Huh. Who knew?
I swallow the pills and dump the tiny bag of candy into my mouth.
Doc perches on the coffee table with Ricochet’s leg between his knees. When he removes the bandage and cuts his pant leg free, I take a good look at the wound. The flesh is torn in an angry, jagged slice that runs from right above his knee almost to his groin.
Even with the morphine, it’s obvious he’s in a great deal of pain. With the way Doc’s cleaning it out, I don’t know how Ricochet isn’t screaming.
I reach over, taking his hand in mine, trying to offer what little comfort I can. “All things considered, it doesn’t look that bad.”
Ricochet gives me a pained smile. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?”
“You’re not squeamish around this kind of thing?” Doc asks without looking up.
“I’ve spent some time in the Middle East and other war-torn countries. I’ve seen my share of battlefield injuries and blood.”
Ricochet’s eyes widen. “Are you military? Former military? Is that why you’ve been so calm through all this?”
I can’t help my small laugh. “No, I’m not military. And FYI, I might seem calm, but inside, I’m a basket case.”
Colton appears, sitting next to Doc. “Let’s see if we can clean you up a little and take care of these cuts and scrapes.”
While Doc works on Ricochet, Colton uses some of the water to wash my face. “Uh-oh.”
I don’t know what he sees and start to panic. “What? What is it?”
He grins at me. “I’ve made a clean spot.”
“You’re so funny,” I say sarcastically. “If they weren’t so sore, I’d roll my eyes at you.”
Once Doc’s finished sewing and bandaging Ricochet’s leg, he stays busy making his way around the room tending everyone else’s wounds.
He examines and bandages Hawk’s bleeding head. “I don’t think you have a concussion, but if you start having symptoms, let me know.”
“Why are you fussing over a fucking scratch?” Nitro complains as Doc stitches up a cut on his arm.
“Shut up and let me do my job so your scratch doesn’t get infected, and you end up losing your arm.”
Then he moves to Warlock, pulling small shards of glass out of his face.
When Colton’s done cleaning my face, he dabs antiseptic on my cuts and scrapes. I suck in a breath through my teeth. His eyes dart to mine in concern.
“It stings.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“When was the last time you slept?” Colton asks once he’s finished putting butterfly bandages on some of my bigger cuts.
“I honestly can’t remember.”
He takes my hand, and I let him help me to my feet. “C’mon.” He leads me to the closest office with a small couch and helps me lie down.
“I’ll leave the door open. You’re safe now, Remi. We’ll watch over you while you rest.”
I nod. He makes his way to the door and looks back for several long seconds, then steps out of the room, leaving the door halfway open behind him.
Knowing these men are watching over and protecting me, fatigue and exhaustion overwhelm me, and I fall asleep almost as soon as I close my eyes.