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I pull my shirt up and over my head and try to wrap it around his wound, but it’s too short to wrap around his torso.
“Shirts!” I shout, kneeling in front of Bo in the dark.
I crumble my shirt and press it to Bo’s wound.
“Bo, stay with me. It’ll be okay. Okay?”
I sound stupid, like a guy out of a movie. My hands shake.
But Bo is not responding, only grunting as his body gets lax.
Someone passes me another shirt ripped in the middle. Someone else lifts Bo to a sitting position, and I wrap the cloth around his waist, holding my shirt to his wound.
Another shirt comes.
A flashlight lights the sight.
Fuck!
“Lift him up! We have to hurry!” I bark out the orders.
And though my heart tugs in the direction where Callie disappeared, there is a life at stake.
One of us.
Another friend.
Bo.
This island is a vicious circle of hell.
51
CALLIE
The stupid goonsdrag us up the path. One of them is holding me by my arm, the grip so strong that I know I will have bruises.
I don’t want to go to the Westside. Not like this. Not with Archer. I thought I could reason, explain. But Archer is not the guy I knew four years ago. There is something ruthless in him. Dark and cold. It’s scary.
Katura tries several times to rip out of the hold of the two guys who drag her like a dog, but her hands are tied, whenever that happened. And she wanted to be on the Westside all along. So she follows, occasionally snarling at them when they handle her too roughly.
It’s dark. The flashlights are not bright enough to show much of what is around. And it’s much colder than on the shore. I shiver—not from the lower temperature but the realization that something is going really wrong.
“Hey!” Katura shouts after another attempt to get the guys’ paws off her. “Archer!”
Archer stops, and so do the rest. He turns and points his flashlight into Katura’s face, making her squint and turn away.
She lifts her tied hands toward him. “Do you mind? I am not a prisoner, am I?”
Archer sweeps an up and down look at her, accompanied by a cocked eyebrow as if he’s only just noticed her now.
“Not bad.” He smirks.
What a dog. Hod did I not see it before?
He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. “It’s another ten minutes to the shore further south. You can come on a boat or ATVs,” he announces, stepping close to Katura. “Are you going to fight?” He exhales the smoke into her face. “Martial arts. Extensive physical training. Navy SEAL daddy. Ukrainian mommy, diseased. Home-schooled. Theft charges in Thailand. An attempted assault charge in the state of Pennsylvania. Twice.”
He is reading her dossier, and man, do I find out things about Katura.
