Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Fuck.
“Mila, I need you to listen to me.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I'm here.”
“You need help.”
For just a short moment, her lips curl into the tiniest of smiles. “No shit,” she mumbles.
I draw a deep breath, not liking what I have to say. “I need to get you help.”
Her eyes shoot open at that and she peers at me. “No! You can’t leave me alone! You said you wouldn’t!”
My heart fucking breaks. “I know, baby. I fucking know. I don't wanna fucking do this either, but I’m still feeling pretty good. If I wait, and you get worse, my chances will be lower because I’ll be weaker. Not an option. I’m not asking for permission to try, but I wanna make sure you understand what's happening. I don't want you to be scared.”
She wets her lips, then nods. “I understand. I hate it, but I understand.”
Part of me wants her to break down, to convince me to stay. I'm not afraid of the fucking river. I survived it once. I'll do it again, but I don't wanna leave her here. The thought of her afraid and alone stabs me right through the fucking heart. I pick up my jacket. “Here, this is mostly dry. Keep it over you, and stay as far from the edge as you can. I'm gonna find help, and get you the hell outta here.”
She nods, very gently. “I believe you.”
Her trust humbles me.
I briefly look over my boots and the rest of my clothes. Half of it is somewhere between soaked and damp, and all of it’s going to be deadweight in the water. I pick up my boxers, and drop 'em again. They hit the concrete with a sloppy thud. Oh well. Not the first time in my life I've had my dick out.
Looking over at Mila makes me wanna say something I've never had the urge to fucking say to anyone before, but I pick something a little more neutral. “I'm gonna be back for you, girl. I fucking promise.”
“I know,” she mutters, eyes still closed.
I nod. Then I turn and dive into the cold water.
It sucks. I could go on about how fucking cold it is, how the water tastes like muddy shit, and how I tore a nasty gash in my shin against who the fuck knows what, but by letting the current carry me when it’s strong, and swimming hard when it lets up, I finally manage to get to the bank probably a mile down from where I went in. I pull myself up through the rocks and mud like a fucking swamp monster. The muck on the bottom sucks at my feet, and I want to shower for a week.
A woman screams. She’s clutching her phone and holding the handle of a baby carriage. “D—Do you need help?”
I look down at myself in all my muddy glory and put a hand over my junk. “Your phone. I need to borrow it.”
Her eyes are as big as dinner plates. From the look on her face, she can’t quite decide how to feel about her view. I get it. I know what I've got. “You… you're—”
“I fucking know, okay? This isn’t my best morning either. Just throw it over.”
She does, along with a travel pack of baby wipes.
I debate who to call. Eagle-eye or King—our VP—would make the most sense, but I gotta know.
“Who the fuck is this? If you have them, I’m gonna—”
A breath I didn’t know I was holding, finally releases. “Mack, it’s me.”
23
SCRAPPER
“She's resting. I gave her something to help keep her quiet while the antibiotics kick in,” Doc says and closes the door to her quarters. Mila doesn't know it yet, but she's just moved in.
“She gonna be okay?” Mack's jaw works hard. He's frustrated that for once it's not something that he can solve with his muscles. I know the damn feeling.
“Should be. She’s lucky, all things considered. Her lungs don’t sound too bad. Emily's gonna check in on her a little later. As far as I can tell, though, all she needs is rest for now. The fever's broken, but she's exhausted.” He looks over at Reaper and snorts through his chalk white mustache and beard. “You’re lucky you aren’t in the same shape. There were some generous fucking angels sitting on your shoulders.”
Reaper chuckles darkly. “Didn’t have a whole lot of choice, did I?”
Doc nods grimly. “Show me your arm.”
“My shoulder feels fine. It’s sore, but nothing is grinding or stabbing. Should be okay.”
“It’s not that. Do you remember your last tetanus shot?”
Reaper looks over at me and Mack like we’d have the fucking answer.
“How the fuck would I know?”
Doc nods. “That’s what I figured.” He pulls a little vial and a needle out of his coat pocket. Before Reaper can object, Doc grabs his arm and jabs it right into his shoulder. “Fucking bikers. You’ll cut, pierce and ink anything, but you’re worried about a little shot.”