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But there in the frame of the broken window, looking shaken and frightened himself, stood Tyler.
CHAPTER 31
Nick swayed with the motion of Tyler’s truck. He leaned against Adam and wished his head would stop aching. At Quinn’s insistence that they couldn’t drive around town covered in blood, he’d washed his face in the studio bathroom—at least the water worked—but now he was damp and cold and shivering. Shock, probably.
Or maybe it had something to do with the agonizing pain he’d felt when he’d pried a bullet fragment out of his own forehead.
Adam had found him on the tile floor, and he’d been ready to drag Nick to a hospital again.
But now they were in the truck.
He didn’t trust Tyler. At all.
But what choice did he have?
Tyler’s cell phone didn’t work, either. The Guide’s car was still in front of the studio, windows blasted out. The trees along the road had been ripped out of the ground and lay across the parking lot, except for a few taller ones that lay across power lines.
a while, she realized she could open her eyes. She turned her head.
Glass everywhere, sparkling in the light.
She couldn’t see Nick.
She couldn’t breathe.
Her ears were ringing and full, and she couldn’t seem to move right yet.
Where was the man?
He’d shot Nick. She’d seen the flash, had seen Nick jerk and fall.
She had to run.
She had to get to her phone.
Her brain was racing, but everything else seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Move!
She still couldn’t breathe. The pressure was intense, as if an elephant had set up shop right on top of her chest. Her vision was turning spotty.
Had she been shot? She felt like she’d been dropped into liq-uid amber, and her world was slowly coming to a crystalline stop.
What was happening?
And then, without warning, reality snapped back into place.
Wind rushed into the studio, chilling her face and making the glass tinkle and drag across the wood.
She could move. She could breathe. She could crawl.
But no. When she rolled over, trying to get to her hands and knees, her body shook and protested the motion. Every joint hurt. Her head swam. Her skin pricked like she’d been sliced open by a hundred tiny knives.
Oh, look. Her arms were bleeding.
The lightbulbs. Glass under her palms.
Nick.
