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He adjusted his grip on his knife and spun to face whatever it was head-on, and as he did so, realized it wasn’t an animal coming for him at all. At least one with four legs.
No, this little animal had two legs and was almost on him.
Before his brain could process what the fuck was happening, since the last thing he expected to see was a young boy, the aluminum baseball bat made contact with his leg, collapsing it at the knee and knocking him to the fucking ground.
What the fuck!
He rolled onto his belly and tried to get up so he could grab the kid or bat or both, but before he could, the kid howled like a banshee and took another wild swing, making contact with his head and scrambling his brain worse than normal.
Luckily, he was able to dodge a direct impact, but the extreme agony that followed knocked all the oxygen from his lungs and prevented him from rising again.
He groaned when he tried to roll over to prevent another strike.
He couldn’t do it.
Shade blinked, trying to get the blood out of his eyes and clear his blurry vision, so he could protect himself.
Instead of finishing the job—which the kid could’ve easily done with Shade on the ground and unable to move quickly—the boy began to run. Not in the direction of the camper but away from it. “Mom! Mom!”
“Mommy! Mommy!”
No. Not now.
For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t think straight. He needed to stay in the present and not get sucked into the past. He needed to stay conscious and get the fuck out of there.
Shade pulled in a slow breath, filling his depleted lungs. Trying to clear his double vision. Trying to think past the unbearable pain.
But all he could see was spots. Worse, blood poured from the wound on the side of his head. His fucking leg might even be broken.
Fuck!
He needed to move, otherwise he was going to die on Hillbilly Hill and that was one hill he didn’t want to die on.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself in the direction of the van. It would take him days to get there dragging himself through the mud, leaves and over rocks. If he even remained conscious for that long.
His thoughts wavered as he continued to pull himself along, driven by the thought of never seeing or touching Chelle again. Never inhaling her scent, never hearing her husky laughter, or her moans as he fucked her...
He didn’t know how long or how far he crawled but once he found a hole near a tree where he could hide in the dark, he did his best to cover himself with loose brush.
If the Shirleys found him, he was dead. To prevent that, he needed his brothers to find him first.
Thank fuck Judge insisted he put an app on his phone so he could be located if something happened. A fuck-up just like this. It was one thing the enforcer insisted on before agreeing to Shade going up the mountain alone.
He could no longer see shit between the dark of the night, the blood in his eyes and his spinning head, so using his fingers, he felt his way down his possibly broken leg—hissing when a bolt of pain as hot as white lightning shot through him—until he located his cell phone in the side pocket in his cargo pants. He only hoped it hadn’t been destroyed.
After working it out of his pocket, he brought it to his face but couldn’t focus on it. He couldn’t even see the screen through his fucked-up vision.
He tilted the screen downward and hit the side button, grateful when the phone lit up. He concentrated as hard as he could to see if he could identify his contacts app. Once he thought he found it, he pressed it, then hit whatever contact he could find.
He didn’t have a lot of numbers in his phone. Mainly his brothers and Chelle.
Fuck. He hoped he didn’t dial Chelle by mistake.
He barely got it to his ear in time to hear, “Yo, brother. Whassup?”
“Need...”
“Yo, Shade! What the fuck is—”
“Help.”
He hoped to fuck he said it out loud and not only in his head. Because the night was closing in on him in a hurry. The little vision he had narrowed until there was nothing left.
Nothing but darkness, stillness and silence.
Bright lights.
Loud beeping.
The distant murmur of voices.
Nothing but more darkness, stillness and silence.
Bright lights.
Loud beeping.
The murmur of voices. Not so distant.
The sharp smell of antiseptic burning his nostrils.
Shade blinked.
Blinked again.
He did a mental inventory of his body.
He didn’t hurt but floated on a fluffy cloud instead. That might have to do with the needle stuck in his hand and hooked to an IV.
He blinked again as things became slightly clearer.
He was in a hospital. He glanced down and saw he was wearing some sort of shitty ill-fitting gown, but at least his scars weren’t exposed. Thank fuck.
