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My fist struck out, as fast as I could make it move, but Patman sensed it and stepped out of the way.
His unimpaired self was quite simply more functional than my body was.
Even with all the years he had on me, he still could handle himself better in that moment.
All it took was a shot to the knees for me to fall.
My balance, already compromised thanks to the head injury, took a nosedive.
My body hit the floor so hard that I couldn’t stop my head from following suit.
Right before I passed out, I heard Patman laughing.
“Try to escape again, and I’ll find a way to bring Hastings over here. I’ll make her cry, boy. Have you ever seen a girl cry?”
I waited, patiently, for the door to open, praying that this time I would be able to get out. Get free. All the while keeping my girl safe while I did it.
I would only get one shot.
That was literally all the energy that I had.
One. Shot.
The moment I heard the soft brush of footsteps, I started to ready myself.
My hands were once again tied in front of me, though I’d managed to pull my legs over them and get them out from behind my back.
All that movement had caused a fine sheen of sweat to dot my chilled form.
The footsteps paused, then I heard the snick of the truck door opening.
With the limited space that I had to maneuver, I launched myself outward the moment that the door opened all the way.
I hit the body like a clumsy Great Dane taking his first steps.
The form underneath me fell with my combined body weight, and we both hit the grass hard.
The gasp of surprise had me opening my eyes despite the pain, and what I saw made my heart thunder in my chest.
I was dragged off of Hastings—thank God.
It’d only taken a half of a second after I’d taken her down to realize who it was that I’d hit.
And seeing her burst into tears at the sight of me? That was a blow that I would never recover from.
The someone that’d dragged me off of Hastings sat me down on the ground next to her, but I was seriously too weak to even make my way back to her without falling straight on my face. Something I did moments later.
My brain swam with the sudden movement.
A wave of nausea rolled over me, and it took everything I had not to dry heave. Again.
I’d been doing that a lot lately.
I probably had a traumatic brain injury, and each time I moved my head, I caused even more damage.
“Hastings,” I croaked, trying to get to my girl.
Someone untied my hands.
I wasn’t sure who.
All I knew was that for the first time in days I could move them freely.
So how did I choose to utilize my suddenly newfound freedom?
By punching Patman in the face.
Seconds later, all the energy that I’d been able to produce to hit that stupid motherfucker left the building. As did my consciousness.
***
“Blood pressure is low. I started him on IV fluids,” I heard said.
I blinked my eyes open to see that I was in a white hospital room with quite a few doctors and nurses floating around me.
My eyes scanned the room for a familiar face, and I paused when I saw my sister.
Sierra was standing in the corner of the room, her hand over her mouth, as silent tears tracked down over her face.
She saw me staring and moved forward, her steps hesitant, as if she blinked, I might disappear.
I held out my hand, surprised that I could make it move, and grinned as best as I could when she placed her small hand in mine.
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” she accused. “We were at your funeral, you asshole.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry, Sie.”
Sierra wiped a tear off of her cheek, and then took a long, shaky breath.
“What happened?” she asked.
What happened?
“I was in an accident, Patman hit me upside the head so badly that I knew that I had a brain injury, and then he took pleasure in starving me over the next couple of days so that I was too weak to fight back.” I gave her the condensed version. “Then the asshole wanted me to witness my own funeral. The funny thing was he was going to try to bury me there in the same damn field.”
At least, that’d been what he said.
Who knew if he actually meant it.
Patman had been playing a heavy mental game with me over the last few days.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure what he said was true or not true at this point.
“He in cuffs?” I asked hopefully, interrupting her when she would’ve replied to my explanation.
“In cuffs, under about eight officer’s supervision. Everyone assures me he’ll be denied bond.”
God, one could only hope.
