Page 67 of Rune
I braced for the man to fall dead right in front of me.
Instead, he grabbed his arm with his other hand, turned, and ran.
Chip stepped aside, letting him, then kicked the door closed and slid the locks.
“Stay down,” he told me, voice rough. As if I had any other choice.
He was winded, his heartbeat likely pounding as hard as my own as the adrenaline surged through our veins.
There was the sound of doors slamming, then tires squealing as a car peeled away.
Chip moved to the window, watching, waiting, his body still tense.
I couldn’t say how many minutes passed then. Ten? Fifteen? It felt like forever.
But, finally, he turned toward me as he clicked off his flashlight and tucked his gun away. Finished with that, he flicked on the light, and his gaze fell on me.
“Fuck.”
That bad, huh, Chip?I wanted to ask.
But I knew it was bad.
As the adrenaline started to fade, all the pain was setting in. My head, face, chest, shoulder, ribs, hips, and, God, my hand.
I felt like one big bruise, throbbing all over at once, all my various injuries vying for attention.
“One second,” he said, rushing past the staircase and toward the kitchen, where I heard him rifling around before coming back with a knife and a safety pin from our junk drawer.
My feet were closest, so he went for them first, slicing through the thick plastic with the knife before half-turning me so he could use the pin to work the handcuffs free.
My arms instinctively moved in front of me, my good hand cradling the aching one as Chip grabbed the edge of the tape and ripped it off in one swift motion.
“Are you alright?”
The only sound I could manage was a whimper.
“You don’t look good,” he admitted with a nod.
“Thanks,” I grumbled. Then, realizing I was being ungrateful, I took the frustration out of my voice. “Really, thanks.”
“Heard the crash and was waiting to make sure it was something to worry about. But then it sounded like you were trying to bust through the wall.”
“I couldn’t scream. All I could do was kick.”
“You did good. It’s hard to keep your wits about you in an emergency situation. You did. This coulda gone a lot worse.”
It felt pretty bad, but I wasn’t going to complain.
“Should we be calling the police?”
“Should we?” he asked, watching me.
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno, kid. That didn’t feel random. And if that wasn’t random, neither was the shooting. And they weren’t trying to get me. What do you have yourself involved in?”
“N-nothing.”
