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“The fuck to you think?”
I whipped my head around. The man who stared at me through the window drew nearer from behind. It wasn’t until I saw the gun in his hand that I fully understood the danger. “Go!” I cried. “Drive!”
Marc hit the gas. The car trembled as the wheels gripped the asphalt to finally shoot forward, straight for the line of men in black cutting off the road.
“Get down,” he shouted above the sound of gunshots echoing through the woods.
A spray of glass fragments exploded into the car. I screamed, covering my face while folding like a pocketknife to get away from the bullets sailing through the air. The car slammed into something solid. Loud thuds made me sick to my stomach as I imagined the body hitting the hood and rolling to the ground. Then everything calmed. No more shots. No more shattering glass. No screaming. Just the rush of wheels against the asphalt as I dared to look up. The windshield was cracked around three holes but held together.
I threw a look over my shoulder and relaxed slightly. No one followed. “They’re gone,” I breathed. “Shit!” My hands trembled as I brushed the glass off my clothes. A few pieces cut me, and I winced at the sudden pain.
I looked at Marc and froze from the sudden icy cold fear gripping my belly. “Are you okay?” It was a stupid thing to ask, but I couldn’t stop the words from tumbling from my mouth. His tanned skin was several shades whiter, and his face, a mask of controlled pain. He was not okay. Far from it.
“Marc?” My voice trembled. “What happened? Wh—what can I do?”
“Shut up,” he gritted out. “I have to focus.”
I nodded, brushing more pieces of glass off me in a desperate attempt to distract myself from the steady decrease in speed. A sudden turn off the main road had me jerk my head around to stare at him. A slight tremble to his hand made him grip the wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white from tension and a sheen of sweat coated his skin.
Gravel crunched under the tires as the car wobbled over bumps and holes. Every move had him wince, and I tried to hide the panic building up.
“Marc?” I whispered, no longer able to stand the silence.
He told me to zip it, but how could I? When he was torturing himself by driving, even though it was clear he was in serious pain. As the thought crossed my mind, the car came to an abrupt halt.
“Give me a moment,” he hissed before I could ask.
“We can’t stop!” I blurted and regretted it the moment my gaze jerked back to his face. He threw his head back, eyes squeezed close, and jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck flexed from each swallow.
Shit.
He wasn’t even looking at me or anything around us. I threw a quick look in the mirror, seeing only trees and shrubs line the narrow road. But there was only a matter of time before they caught up. We had to get back to the main road. We had to get away.
But instead of driving, he stumbled out of the car, stood clutching the door before leaning forward over the car’s roof.
I fumbled with my seatbelt, getting out too and rushing over to him. My head swam from the sudden movement, and my body was as weak as Marc looked.
Laying a trembling hand on his back, I thought of what to say. He stood immobile for too long, then sucked in a deep breath before moving.
“I knew you were trouble,” he rasped.
I winced inwardly as the truth dawned on me. He was right. This was my fault.
“I never wanted any of this to happen.” I held on to him as he sunk to the ground. Sitting against the car, he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and cursed out loud.
I removed his hands, trying not to vomit at the sight of the blood coating them, and let my own, as trembly fingers undo the shirt, pushing it down his arm.
Blood pooled from a deep hole piercing through his bicep, trickling down his arm and soaking the shirt.
“You’ve been shot,” I stated the obvious with a cold feeling spreading through my body. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry won’t save me,” he hissed. “Stop the fucking bleeding and get us out of here.”
If the goddamn wound didn’t hurt like a motherfucker, I would have been impressed by her sudden lack ofprincessism.
While my vision flickered in and out of focus, she left my side and came back with the first-aid kit she stole from the B&B and a rolled-up piece of fabric, which she pressed to the wound.
Biting back a curse, I threw my head back against the car and focused on breathing. I didn’t remember taking a bullet hurt this fucking bad. But the last time I was too damn shocked to feel physical pain. Now, it took all I had not to scream as she applied as much pressure as her delicate hands could muster.
