Page 4 of Satan's Naughty List
Taps against my frozen face force me to focus. Squinting through the flakes on my eyes, I see a really cute guy. His face is gentle, not like the rest of them who all look about ready to eat me alive.
You still can’t trust him.
Shaking my head, I turn to look the other way, my neck cracking as I move. The cold is fusing itself into my joints, my bones. It’s easier to let the ice pound over me and freeze me into the earth. I’ve read about death by freezing.
You’ll warm up eventually.
The same guy who tapped me earlier takes my chin between his fingers and rolls my head back toward him.
“What do you want?” I ask, though it sounds like I’d have a gallon of rum by the slur in my voice. Sike, it’s just death knocking at my door.
“You. Safe.” His voice is stern, but there’s a sort of…pliance to it that makes me almost weak at the knees. Well, if I were standing. Maybe if it were several years earlier, I might have trusted him to take me on a date. That’s one thing I’ll never do again. They’ve fucked me up in ways that I can’t even begin to breathe about.
“Let me go,” I whimper, my fingertips slowly going from freezing cold to warm. It’s like a slow takeover of my body.
It’s happening.
“No can do.” He turns to the men, calling out orders that whiz above me. There’s nothing I can catch, they talk too fast for me. “Up,” he barks, and my body floats.
It’s an odd feeling, being this high up. The trees are missing almost all of their leaves, but the branches are covered in ice and frost. Comparing it to those old, black and white movies, we move slow enough for me to admire the darkened sky. There are no stars, just a forest painted in the night.
Blinking, my head feels heavy and my eyes feel droopy. The cold ground has nothing on this floating shit. The world could own me, yet I’d never give up the feeling right now. My brain can’t connect with my fingers nor my toes. It’s like they’re moving, but none of them even so much as twitch.
That’s a good sign for me. I fought long enough to hit the brink. Now I just need to stall for me to slip past the edge.
“Wait,” I breathe, tilting my head so it drops from their hold. They stop, fumbling to keep me from going down. Parts of me slip through their big hands, dangling before they’re grabbed again. I should have felt them grappling with my fucked up leg, but I feel nothing.
Exactly how I like it.
“Look over there,” I whisper, using my eyes to motion. If I can get them to stall long enough…
“We’re out of time,” he grumbles above me, pushing hair out of my face.
“It’s perfect,” I mutter, my eyes rolling back as white static consumes me.
Chapter Four
“Fuck!We’relosingher!”Picking up the pace, we hustle to get her fragile body back to the van. It’s far worse than Widower made it out to be, that’s for fucking sure. “Why did no one think to tell me that her leg is practically shattered?” A heavy weight in my chest pushes us faster, the guys struggling to keep up. She ran pretty fucking far with no resources and three huge executioners chasing her. Not only that, but her bone was sticking out of her leg until she managed to set it. Don’t ask me how she managed that because I’m fucking clueless.
All I know, is she’s fucking good.
“It wasn’t like that until she climbed the stack on the south,” Razor grunts, keeping her leg stable as we reach the top of the hill. “We tried to stabilize her then, but she set her own fucking leg.”
“She did that?” I question, looking back at her covered, mangled leg. Her tiny body is covered in a simply black shirt, one that isn’t meant for the cold winter months. From the suspected location of the warehouse she escaped to here…that’s almost two weeks in running full speed. She would have needed a ride to get this far. If that’s the same place, of course.
“It was gruesome, man.” He shivers roughly, his skin a slight grayish color. “She didn’t even make a sound when she did it. We all just about threw up,” he says on a gag. Finally cresting the hill top, the crew gets to work in preparing an area for her in the van.
“Where’s doc?” I call, glancing around the area. The area is lit up with headlights, though the darkness threatens to shroud us.
“She’s setting up shop at the club house,” Razor responds, gently settling the girl on the makeshift gurney.
“I’ll patch in the girl's condition.” Pulling my phone, I dial Doc Solla. She answers immediately, neither of us bothering with basic formalities as I run her through what I can see.
“Alright, what all do you have in your go-bag?” She questions, calling orders on her end.
“The only thing I have that would be of any use is a splint kit that we’ll use for the drive and a bag valve.” Pointing at the bag, I get Razor started on the wraps.
“That should work for now. Drive and work, if she’s lost as much blood as you’ve described, we’re running out of time.” Hanging up, orders are barked from all angles. Widower is running her own task force as we rally the van.
