Page 46 of Declan

I felt Max and Brooks’ presence hit the room but didn’t spare them a glance. I couldn’t take my eyes off Autumn’s. Kyle worked on her arm at a breakneck pace, tearing the sleeve of her shirt away, digging through his kit for supplies, bandaging her arm. But her gaze never left mine. So I saw every wince, every pinch of her brow, the tightness in her face. But more than that, I saw remorse.

Motherfucking remorse.

Autumn Pierce talked a big game, she had the tough girl act down to a science. She played the game, and wanted everyone to believe she was nothing more than a cold-blooded mercenary when really she was anything but.

Remorse, but not regret.

Fucking shit. I hated this.

“Done,” Kyle announced. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Coming out, Thad,” Max radioed.

“Copy.”

The next ten minutes were a blur. We exited the house, Max and Brooks split off to go to their car, Kyle went to meet Thad, and Autumn and I beat feet to where I’d parked.

We were nearly there when I heard Autumn wheezing.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“If we need to slow down, just say so.”

“I’m. Fine,” Autumn snapped and I stopped to look at her.

The fuck she was. I didn’t need to hear the tension in her voice. The evidence of her pain was streaming down her face.

“Baby—”

“Don’t,” she grunted and took off running.

With no choice but to follow, I took off after her. She made it to the car before me and was opening the door when I stopped her.

“Let me give you something for the pain.”

“No. I need a clear head.”

“I can—”

“I said, no, Declan. I can’t be jacked-up on drugs in case something happens. I need to be able to protect myself.”

Right, because I couldn’t protect her.

I let her get into the car and jogged around to the driver’s side. Two cranks later, the piece of shit sputtered to life.

Two minutes after that, we were on our way to the airfield. Thad and Kyle in the lead, Max and Brooks in the middle, and I was taking up the rear.

Autumn had already taken off her helmet and was wrestling with her vest. She wasn’t used to wearing either, and by the sounds she made, she was happy to get them off.

“How’s your throat?”

“Not bleeding. Or at least there’s no blood dripping. I’m taking that as a good sign.”

“And your arm?”

“Throbbing like a bitch.”