Page 83 of One Night Years Ago

Natalie watched, fascinated, as blood pooled around Ford. She watched him pull on the bedsheet, expertly applying a makeshift bandage around his armpit and arm.

Shit, can he staunch the blood flow?

A moment later she was reassured as the white sheet turned crimson.

Ford’s face was a mask of fear.

“Run, Natalie, now!”

Natalie ignored Hunter. She grasped the knife so tightly her fingers went white. She sidestepped Ford and weaved towards Hunter. She gasped as she saw the full extent of his injuries.

Hunter finally gave up on trying to get her to leave.

“It’s okay, Natalie. Get behind me and slice at the rope on my wrists.”

“It’s really tight,” she whimpered. “I’m going to cut you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, his voice reassuringly calm. “Just do it.”

Natalie sneaked another look at Ford. The doctor was lying on his belly. He wasn’t yet dead. She knew because the pool of blood kept growing around him.

Her fingers shook. She grabbed on to Hunter’s shoulder, making him groan in pain.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

“It’s okay,” he said.

She nicked him twice before finally freeing him. He shuddered, his face a mask of pain as he finally brought his arms forward. She realized his right shoulder had popped out again.

“Your shoulder …”

“It’s okay. Give me the knife,” he asked. He used his left hand to cut the ropes by his legs, then gave it back to her.

“We need to get out of here,” he said.

Natalie shivered, looking down at herself. She had completely forgotten she was naked. She watched dispassionately as Hunter took off his shirt and draped it over her shoulders. It was bloody and reached almost to the top of her knees, but it still smelled of him.

Hunter tried to button the shirt but failed.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll hold it closed.”

Hunter went first. He stood over Ford’s body and used his foot to shake the man’s body.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

“Looks like it,” Hunter said.

Natalie kneeled down beside Ford. She forced herself to touch the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse.

“Move back, Natalie,” Hunter said. At his words, the hair on the back of her arms stood on end.

“I can’t feel—” she began.

Ford exploded upwards like a shark. His bloody palm came flat up against her nose. Natalie screamed. Suddenly, Hunter was between her and Ford, protecting her from the blow.

She saw Ford reach out and grab Hunter’s dislocated shoulder, pulling upwards.

Hunter roared in pain and fell.