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I froze and my shoulders startled back at the whistling sound flying by me again. I was a bit slow to react, but nothing hit me. Maybe whoever was shooting hadn’t missed. Maybe the bullet wasn’t meant for me. It connected solidly with the guy in the orange vest instead.
A second shot nailed him just as an arm snaked around my midsection and someone lifted me from the ground.
I gasped and did my best to resist. To break free from whoever was holding me, trying to steal away the freedom I’d been close to tasting.
“Stop fighting, Diana.” That husky voice rasped against the shell of my ear as he squeezed me tighter against him. “It’s me.”
No, no it’s not . . . you. It can’t be. It was a hallucination. The drugs.
More shots exploded around us, and he let go of me, only to sling me around like I was paper-light, using himself as a shield, protecting me from incoming fire.
He aimed his pistol, shooting someone dressed nearly identical to him, but minus the combat helmet.
Too worried my mind was playing tricks on me, and that this wasn’t a rescue, I took the opportunity to run again.
Not even two seconds into my escape, I tripped on something and dropped back down to my knees, scraping exposed skin as I twisted to avoid landing on my face. The rope around my wrists was finally loose enough to wiggle my hands free and I desperately pulled at it, finally getting my hands under me and pushing up to all fours.
“Diana.” There was that rough voice again at the back of my neck. Desperation in the tone as he neared me.
Shaking and unable to get to my feet, I started to crawl, but I didn’t make it far.
An arm looped around my body, but I quickly rolled to my back and lashed out. Kicking. Punching. Moving every part of me, as I struggled to force this guy away.
Because no, it’s not you. My delusional brain is out of whack.
The masked man straddled my hips, using the strength of his thighs to keep me pinned there, and gathered my wrists in one of his gloved hands, effectively stopping me from striking again.
“Time to move,” I heard someone yell out. “We have incoming.”
The man on top of me holstered his sidearm and pushed the rifle hanging around his chest to the side to reach for his—belt???
My eyes went wide as his big hand deftly flew over the buckle of his black belt. He had it undone in a second. Then one more second, followed by a snap, and the belt was free from his hips.
He was too close for me to make out his eyes, but there was something familiar about him I wanted to cling to.
“Not you. It’s not you,” my protest of denial punctured the air, and I tried to break free from his hold again.
“It is me,” was all the man said before he stood, peeling my upper body from the ground and . . .
Ohhh shit, you’re going to tie me up with that.
“Sorry about this,” he grunted, then secured the belt around me, restraining my arms by buckling them down at my sides. Next thing I knew, he had me in the air and over his shoulder.
A fresh wave of gunfire pounded the air, and I caught sight of a dog wearing a helmet running our direction along with two other masked armed men.
“Who—who are you? For real?” I cried as I continued bouncing against his body as he ran with me.
“I told you,” he gritted out while abruptly taking a knee. He had his sidearm in his hand in one swift movement, shooting someone that seemingly came from nowhere.
“Carter?” I whispered, doing my best to believe it really was him.
“Yes,” he hissed. “It’s me.”
My heart fluttered. It grew wings of hope that this was real, and I finally slipped free from fight-or-flight mode. The drugs remaining in my system took over, numbing my mind and saving me from the aches and pain in my body as the adrenaline retreated.
And this time, I let the drugs win, slowly succumbing to the darkness. Because if I was with Carter, I knew I was safe.
25
