by J. R. Ward
Danny looked around one last time. Then he shifted his eyes to her arm and wondered, Can I do this?
“It’s the only way,” she said into the smoke and heat. “If you won’t save yourself.”
He didn’t make a decision. He just started moving. Because if he thought for a moment—for one goddamn millisecond—that he was going to hurt her? He was going to vomit the pepperoni-and-onion pizza, side of fries, two Cokes, and a cherry pie he’d had for dinner all over the fuck.
With hands that shook, he pulled off his gloves, unlatched the front of his jacket, and reached in through his bunkers to his woven nylon belt. When he brought the strap out, Anne closed her lids. And shrugged out of her heavy jacket again.
Danny drew the strap around her upper arm, busted the fork in the buckle, and pulled the length tight. She was right with him, reaching across with her good hand and taking the end, cranking it over until her bicep puffed up around the ligature.
Nope, he thought. If she lost consciousness and couldn’t hold that tight, she was going to bleed out. Plus, he was going to have to carry her once she was free because chances were good she was going to go into shock—so he couldn’t keep it in place.
Pushing her hand away, he loosened the length and made a slipknot. “Brace.”
When she nodded, he used all of his strength to make a self-holding tourniquet, and the grunt she let out went through the center of his chest like a bullet. But it worked. Even though her upper arm was well muscled, the nylon bit into her flesh like fangs, going deep and locking in.
With a yank, he pulled her PPE back up so she would be protected from the heat, making sure the tough fabric was flat and tight over her forearm for a clean cut—
Another warning creak from up above had him ducking and looking to the ceiling at the same time.
“Do it!” she yelled.
The long-handled axe was on his belt, and he popped it free and removed the head cover. The grip was insulated, certified to handle up to twenty thousand volts of electricity. Too bad the bitch was not rated to cover the shock of cutting off a piece of your partner.
Just so you could maybe, possibly, probably-not-but-still, save her life.
Anne stared up at him, unblinking, unafraid. And that steely expression on her face reminded him, not that he needed it, that she was the single most courageous person, man or woman, he had ever met.
I love you, he thought. Not for the first time.
“Put your oxygen on,” he ordered. “Or I’m not doing shit.”
When she complied, Danny closed his eyes, but only for a second. Then he masked himself and changed position so he could get a clear swing with good aim. Testing his angle, he lowered the blade so it rested on the PPE sleeve in the middle of her forearm. And then he settled his body into a stance, and thought about all the firewood he had been chopping for the winter.
This is no different, he told himself. This is a piece of wood.
If he thought for one second it was Anne’s flesh and blood, he was going to lose his nerve and fucking maul her.
Clean cut.
One chance.
Continue Reading…
Consumed
J.R. Ward
More from this Series
Consumed
Book 1
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Blood Truth
The Savior
Prisoner of Night
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Wedding from Hell, Part 1: The Rehearsal Dinner copyright © 2018 by Love Conquers All, Inc.
Wedding from Hell, Part 2: The Reception copyright © 2018 by Love Conquers All, Inc.
Wedding from Hell, Part 3: Exclusive Excerpt of Consumed copyright © 2018 by Love Conquers All, Inc.
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First Gallery ebook edition May 2019
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ISBN 978-1-9821-0624-9