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When he’d collapsed after exiting the tunnel, Scotty had screamed, sure Zander was gone. He’d clamped a hand over his mouth to smother his cries while Vince had checked Zander over and declared him still alive.
Still alive but hurt badly.
What were they supposed to do? How were they going to keep him alive? If they couldn’t stay in their location, where could they go that would ensure their safety?
Vince crawled through the back, careful not to jostle Zander’s legs, holding several strips of cloth. “Okay, move your hands. Help me with this.”
Scotty did as instructed, easing Zander’s body onto one side, then the other, in order for Vince to wrap the cloth around his torso and then pull it tight enough to be effective in helping to slow—or better yet stop—the bleeding.
As Vince tightened the makeshift bandage, Zander jerked awake with a cry, legs kicking out.
“Shit, Zander! Scotty, hold him!”
Scotty held Zander’s shoulders down. “Zander, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He kept murmuring it over and over, even though his voice wobbled and his vision blurred. Eventually, Zander stopped moving.
Scotty’s heart stuttered, but when he blinked to clear his vision and gazed down at the wounded man, he found Zander’s eyes open.
Unfocused and heavy with pain, but open.
“Zander! Vince, he’s awake! You’re okay,” Scotty told Zander. It wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter, not then. “We’re gonna take care of you.”
Zander’s lips moved and Scotty bent over him, trying to make out the words. “Derri. Call...”
Vince squeezed in next to Scotty, bending closer to Zander’s moving lips. “A number.” Vince jerked his head up, gaze frantic. “It’s a phone number. He wants us to call Derri.” He gestured wildly. “Get me one of the phones.”
Scotty scrambled out of the vehicle ass-first, racing around to the trunk where they’d left the bag stashed with the money and phones. He powered on one of the phones and raced back to Vince’s side.
Zander’s eyes were closed once again, but Vince didn’t look as grave as before when he got out of the car and took the phone from Scotty, punching in the number Zander had given him. He put the call on speaker and they waited impatiently as it rang.
Could they trust Derri? Maybe he would save Zander, but what about Vince? And Scotty? Scotty wanted to ask Vince, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Yeah.”
“Is this Derri?"
A pause. “Who is this?”
“Zander is hurt.” Vince uttered the words bluntly. “He gave me this number and—” He fisted his free hand, jaw flexing. “He’s been stabbed and it’s not looking good. I?—”
“Is this the marshal?”
“Yes. But I—” Vince scrubbed a hand over his face. “Listen, I don’t know what happened with DuBois, but Zander is unconscious. He gave me this number, but I need to know if you can be trusted. He seems to think so.”
“Give me your location,” the person demanded, tone brusque.
“How do we know we can trust you?” Scotty blurted out.
“Listen, I don’t give a fuck about you, but I’m not about to let Zander die. Give. Me. Your. Location.”
Vince hesitated.
Scotty stared at him, chewing on his bottom lip. They had to go with Zander’s decision. He’d wanted them to call this guy. So Scotty put his trust in Zander and hurriedly shared where they were. “A parking garage a block over from Zander’s place. Parking level three.” Vince’s fingers tightened around the phone, but he didn’t speak, allowing Scotty to continue. He did. “Zander gives a fuck about us. You don’t but he does. He protected us, so if you or your people hurt us, Zander will be pissed.”
The voice on the other end simply grunted. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Guess that meant in ten minutes they’d know if Zander’s trust was misplaced or not.
Derri showed up with two other men.
