Page 93 of Maddening Fixation

Even injured, his grip was like a vise, crushingly firm and impossible to escape.

I winced.

“Get your hands off me,” I snapped, trying to pull free.

For a heartbeat, he held on, his jaw tightening as though sheer willpower alone kept him conscious.

Then his fingers loosened.

A low grunt escaped him as he shoved the passenger door open and forced himself out of the car.

He managed one unsteady step.

Then another.

His knees gave out beneath him.

His body hit the cracked asphalt with a sickening thud.

“Hey!”

Instinct overrode caution.

I rushed around the front of the car and hurried toward him, my heels clicking against the pavement before sinking into a cautious crouch several feet away.

The docks were eerily silent.

Rows of abandoned warehouses loomed in the darkness like sleeping giants. Weak security lights buzzed overhead, casting pale circles across the empty loading bays.

Not another soul was in sight.

I glanced around once more before looking back at him.

“Sir...”

He didn’t answer.

Blood continued to spread beneath him.

“If you won’t let me take you to a hospital, at least let me help.”

His breathing came in slow, uneven pulls.

“There isn’t anyone here.”

Still nothing.

“You’ll bleed to death long before whoever you’re waiting for arrives.”

At last, he lifted his head.

Frustration burned in his eyes.

As though his own injuries offended him.

The overhead light caught his face.

Blood streaked one side of his face, partially obscuring a long, jagged scar that carved its way down his left cheek.