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She’s banged up, though, and the scrape along her arms and the red smeared across her head stop me in my tracks.
“Fuck! Are you okay?”
My hands go to her face, and it takes everything I have not to just turn and run straight at that fucking car.
I wouldn’t stand a damn chance, but this asshole has to go.
“I’m okay.” She nods. “Just, ow.”
“Yeah, doc. I can imagine.” I swipe my thumb across her cheek, brushing away a bit of dirt. “Can you stand up?”
Helping to pull her up to her feet, Clara doesn’t even wobble, and damn, if she doesn’t impress me all over again.
Pain flares through my thigh, however, and when I look down at the bullet graze, it’s bleeding even harder.
“Shit.” I grip the hem of my tee shirt, tearing it free to tie around the wound.
“That’s not going to—” Clara looks up, and her mouth falls open. “Luke!”
Spinning around, I see Marco heading for us again. We have seconds, and thankfully, Clara and I are able to get inside one of the open shipping containers.
The hollow box dents inward as Marco’s car impacts it, and with the moments we have, I yank Clara out of the thing and run across the open lot toward that main office again.
Marco is hot on our tails, and I can just make out the sounds of him shouting out through his open windows.
“You fucking whore! Goddamn motherfucker! I’ll kill you both!”
Clara and I leap behind a series of parking posts in front of the office that keep Marco’s car from getting too close.
“He doesn’t sound mad at all. I think he likes us.”
Clara is holding herself up by planting her palms on her knees, and the throb in my leg is even worse now.
Warmth seeps down my leg as the blood leaks out faster. I can’t keep this up.
Flicking her stare up to me, Clara looks like she’s going to be sick. I rush over.
“Hey, hey.” I pull her into my arms. “What’s going on?”
“My…my stomach. Sorry.” She shakes her head, pulling herself all the way up and taking a step back. “It’s fine.”
My stare snaps to the side as I hear the car rev again, and Marco swings the thing around in a massive loop.
The door inside the office isn’t far, and we rush around the side of the building, the screeching tires of Marco’s car right behind us.
Our steps pound on the concrete walk, and I swing Clara and myself around the corner. The wooden door is right there.
But turning the knob does nothing.
“It’s fucking locked. Dammit!”
I pound my fist on the surface, and then Clara is looking over her shoulder again.
“Luke, he’s coming.” She’s not screaming at me, but the worry clogs up her voice.
“Fuck!”
Smashing my shoulder into the door, I try to get the thing open, but it’s not happening fast enough.
