Page 102 of Violent Little Thing

I blinked, thinking I was seeing things as a man leaned into the cruiser and held his hand out for me.

Thinking that it was a good Samaritan, I gave him my hand, even though everything in my body protested the move.

Then I was unceremoniously yanked out of the vehicle.

My leg screamed, and I vaguely found myself looking down and staring at my leg.

I could see white bone sticking out of it.

It was poked right through my jeans.

“Hey, man!” I heard yelled. “Don’t move her! She could be really hurt!”

But whoever was pulling me didn’t listen.

I was being moved so roughly that my broken leg was being jarred with each rough patch of grass I was being yanked over.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop!”

But the man moving me didn’t stop.

He kept moving until we were at a car.

He picked me up then, and I was able to see his face.

Chris.

Oh, fucking hell.

“Chris,” I pleaded. “My leg is broken. You can see the bone poking through!”

Chris looked down at it and grimaced. “I can see that.”

“I need the hospital,” I begged. “Put me down.”

“No,” he said as he walked to the back of his car and yanked the door open.

The jolting motion jarred my leg, and I passed out again.

Thirty

Get up and dust yourself off. No one is going to do it for you.

—Court’s previous secret thoughts

Court

I got to the scene in less time than was probably safe.

It was a two-mile sprint down the road.

I sprinted it by foot.

I’d tried to drive, but I couldn’t get past the main road because traffic was backed up so badly from the emergency vehicles and the cars trying to get through.

The road being one of the main roads through several small towns, as well as the main road that led up to Yellowstone, it was used frequently by tourists.

Hence the running.