Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Everything was a blur. Police sirens blared behind them. The van’s engine roared. Siren’s hands were steady on the wheel, navigating through the back roads as they put distance between them and the carnage at the gas station.
Reed was in the passenger seat, wrapped in a blanket, Siren’s sweater soaked with blood against his ribs. He felt dizzy and lightheaded from blood loss.
“We need to find a place to stop to patch you up,” he heard her saying, though it sounded like her voice was underwater.
Siren kept driving through the rural county roads, the full moon bright overhead. Finally, she came to a stop on a dirt road, surrounded by trees.
“Where are we?” he asked, as she cut the engine and pulled off her seatbelt.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, helping him into the back of the van.
He sat heavily on the bed while Siren tore open the first aid kit. Her hands were shaking when she knelt in front of him.
“Let me see,” she said, lifting the sweater from the wound.
The bullet had grazed his side, taking out a chunk of his flesh. He sucked a breath through his teeth as she poured antiseptic on the wound.
“This needs to be sutured,” she said, looking up at him with apologetic eyes.
“Do it,” he said through gritted teeth.
She grabbed the sterile strips from the box and tore open the package. Blood seeped from the wound, wetting the area. He watched her face as she washed and dried the wound, pinching it together.
“I need you to hand me these strips,” she said, keeping the wound dry.
Pain radiated from his side, and he groaned. But he took the packet and opened the suture strips. “Here,” he said, handing her the first one.
Siren worked methodically until she had the wound closed with suture tape. She then covered it with heavy gauze and taped it down.
When she was done, he was breathing heavily, the pain almost unbearable. “You need to lie down,” she said, helping him onto the bed.
He rested against the pillow, and she stood at the foot of the bed, staring at him. “I told you to run,” she said in a low voice.
“I wasn’t going to leave you to fight three to one.”
“So, it was a decision. That was a controlled shift?”
“Yes. I chose to stay and fight beside you. You might be my bodyguard. But I’d never leave you to fight alone.”
His eyes were half closed. But he watched her standing at the end of the bed, hands on her hips. Her expression raw and unguarded.
“We need to keep moving,” she said. “Try to get some rest.”