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The sickly scent of blood fills my nostrils, and I swallow the bile rising.
“Can I come closer?”
“Yeah, babe. You still wearing that scarf?”
I unwrap the material from my neck and feel around for his hand. “Here.”
“Need your help.”
I scoot closer, gently feeling my way up his abdomen and chest. My stomach rolls when sticky liquid coats my hand.
Get over it, Rowan. He needs you.
“What can I do?”
“We need to stabilize my other arm.”
“Why?”
“It’s broken.”
I can’t contain the squalling whimper that escapes. “Oh, Talon, what did they do to you?”
“They weren’t happy with what I did to their friends back at the house.”
“What friends?”
“The one I took out on the back porch before beating the shit out of the one with you.”
“There was another man?”
“Yeah, babe.”
The fight replays in my head.
Talon materializing in the kitchen, jumping the man who had abducted me. His gun skittering across the floor.
The crashing sounds of wood splintering, glass shattering, the wall caving. Grunts and shouts, blood spattering, bones crunching.
Me standing there paralyzed with fear.
The man getting a split-second advantage out of Talon’s hold and retrieving the gun.
Placing it to my chest until Talon was forced to retreat.
“Do you know what’s happening?”
“Help me make a sling,” he hisses, and I clamber around to locate the scarf and follow his lead around his bad shoulder. His breathing picks up again when my hand brushes the skin of his arm to wrap the material and tie it off.
“Jesus, when I get back out there, I’m killing that asshole.”
I was so relieved to hear Talon’s voice earlier it didn’t register what the man had said.
Now it hits me with such force, I rock back.
“What did he mean by Mr. Whitman will be more cooperative?”
“It means they have Ford.”
