I explode with a monstrous scream, and both the birds fly off.
Gasping for air, I wish for death, before the darkness finally has mercy and takes me.
20
Liv
I stumbleout of the backseat and rush to Damon, falling and scraping my knees as I go.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God.” I reach down to touch him, while Fender turns him over. When the light reveals his face, we all gasp.
“Fuck me.” Hawk turns his head from the gruesome sight. He’s bloody from head to toe.
“Damon,” I cry his name as Fender checks his vitals. Lucky for us, we have a paramedic on hand.
“He’s all fucked up.” Fender inspects his wounds, first on his stomach, then on his face. His eye is completely gone. Only a gory hole is left where it once used to be.
“Is he alive? That’s the important question.” Ky is a scary mix of rage and fear.
“Barely. We need to get him up and get him out of here now. I wish I had a bag of fluids, but bottled water will just have to do.”
Ky, Gerard, and Hawk work in unison to scoop him up. “Careful. Be really fucking careful,” Fender advises as they slide him into the back seat of the pickup. “Liv, you ride in the back with me. I’m going to need your help.”
I nod vigorously.
“Hawk, you call the local hospital and tell them we are coming in with a stab wound, dehydration, first, possibly second-degree burns, and trauma to the left eye. Text Ky the address.” Fender jumps into professional mode, giving me a brand-new appreciation for him.
Once Damon is situated the way Fender wants, I climb in by his head. I try not to let the sight of him upset me, but dear God, he’s a fucking wreck. Yet luckily, still breathing.
“I need you to pour capfuls of water into his mouth.Slowly,”Fender instructs as he rips open his book bag. He pulls out a bottle of water for me and a small first-aid kit for himself. “Slash, drive. Fast.”
Fender doesn’t have to tell him twice; his foot is on the pedal before the words even come out. We have one hell of a long road back to Vegas.
I pour the water slowly into the little white cap, but my hands are shaking, and the speed of the truck isn’t helping. “Shit.” I spill several capfuls before I finally get my shit together.
“Hang on.” Fender reaches for Damon’s face in the midst of cleaning and bandaging his wound. He pulls his jaw down so the water can go straight into his mouth.
I pour the tiny capful between his dry, cracked lips and lift his head slightly so it will make it down his throat.
Fender nods. “Wait two minutes and then do it again. Too much too soon could be life threatening.”
“As if he isn’t in that state already.” My chin quivers, but I hold back the tears. Not yet. I won’t allow myself to cry, yet.
“We’re going to find that motherfucker Knuckles.” Ky sounds homicidal. “And we’re gonna return the favor.”
The dark and disturbing tone in his voice chills me straight to the bone. He is out for blood, and he doesn’t care who knows it.
“I know all his usual spots. I’ll list every single one.”
“It’s a good start.” His response is filled with so much malice, it eerily reminds me of my father. I don’t know this Ky well. He’s always been the smiley boy who wanted to be just like his biker dad when he grew up. From the look and sound of it, he got exactly what he wanted.
Damon groans after his second capful of water. It’s a pained, agonizing sound that rips me to shreds. He instinctively reaches for the wound on his stomach, small little cries of torture escaping from his throat.
“No, man, don’t touch,” Fender speaks to him calmly, holding his wrists down. Damon is too weak to fight, so he just lies there, lifeless, whimpering in pain.
Tears threaten. This is all too much, all too real. How did this happen? How come I couldn’t stop it?
The weight of it all sits on my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I lean over and kiss his forehead, salty streams escaping down my cheeks and onto his flushed skin.
