He releases my arm and lifts the lighter back to the rope. I hold my breath, watching the flame attack the rope. With a snap, it breaks apart. Dax struggles to put out the fire, instead having to unravel it from me while still burning.
The rope falls to the ground, heating my skin as it slips past, and Dax stomps on it.
He then rushes to tend to my arm. “Are you hurt?”
I pant, heaving my chest. “I’m okay.”
He clutches my hand, looking me over. “Are you sure?”
I push off the chair and fling my arms around him. “Yes. You’ve got me. How could I not be okay?”
As we stand, holding each other, Dax’s balance wobbles.
“I got you,” I whisper.
Dax doesn’t reply, instead walking me out of the room. In the hallway, he leans and scuffs himself along the wall. I whisper encouragement, pulling him up and helping him bypass the bar.
Lance, McCoy, Hugo, and Stitch’s voices echo from the bar, and I’m in no mood to serve Dax up to those wolves. A twinge of guilt cycles through me, presuming Stella is stuck with them. But I can’t get her while Dax is slumped beside me.
I nudge him. “C’mon. We’re so close.”
But it’s too late. His eyes roll back, and he slips out of my arms.
His thud wasn’t as heavy this time, and the bar sounds carry on. I lift his head onto my lap, coaxing him awake.
“What do you two think you’re doing?” Boscoe’s boots stop beside us.
I don’t look up. “He needs help.”
“His time was up, anyhow.”
“You’re not listening to me.” This time I do give him eye contact. “Boscoe, if you care about him, you’ll call for an ambulance.”
Boscoe shifts as if he’s considering it, and then grunts. “Nope. The cops will wanna talk to him. I can’t risk drawing more attention to the clubhouse.”
“This is bigger than that. He’s unconscious again, and if we don’t do something, he mightn’t pull through.”
“He’s tougher than that.”
“He has been, but there’s only so much fight his body can take.Please, Boscoe, get help.”
Boscoe fidgets in indecision.
“Lance will be livid if his brother doesn’t wake up,” I say, desperate to put the man into action. “Or what about his dad? What will he do if he finds out you stood here and did nothing?”
Boscoe huffs, turning in the hallway. “I’ll see if they’ve unloaded the truck yet. Maybe I can take him in that.”
With Boscoe gone, I run my hand over Dax’s icy face and the tears stream from my eyes. “Oh, baby, please wake up.”
My tears drop onto his face. When two fall onto his eyelashes, he moans.
I lean over him, buzzing. “Dax?”
He moans again, and his eyelids flutter.
I tap his cheek. “Dax? Dax?”
He coughs, turning his face to the side. His eyes lethargically open and close. When he shifts in my arms, he looks up and squints.
