Pushing his way through stunned people, he shouted, “Alana!” his voice hoarse with fear. The tires of the sedan were still spinning as he ran up to it. Flames shot out the hood. Someone grabbed his arm to stop him, but he shook it off. He jumped on the rear bumper, climbed across the trunk and latched onto the rear passenger door handle. Ignoring the crunched metal, he pulled with all his strength, cursed when it didn’t open.
Flames licked across the hood. Sunlight glared off the window. No sound came from inside the car. Nothing but the frantic pounding of his own heart. Reaching behind his back, he pulled his Glock. The same gun Alana had refused to shoot. Pain tore through him. Pulling his arm back, he prepared to smash the window. But someone saw the gun and screamed, “Gun!”
Numerous sets of hands tackled him to the ground, pressing his face into the hot pavement. The gun was wrenched from his hand. “No,” he shouted, fighting them. They dragged him clear of the car, now half engulfed in flames.
Fear of losing Alana drove him forward. He knocked one man down with a fist to the jaw, another to the midsection. When they released him, he jumped onto the roof of the car, fingers scraping on jagged metal. He clawed at the twisted metal, leaving red streaks where they bled.
“Fuck!” The door was jammed closed. The other side rested on the pavement. No way in. No way to save her.
“Here, this might help,” someone offered.
Slade looked down from where he lay across the hood. An elderly man with a bloody gash on the side of his head held out a tire iron. He took it from his hand, ordering everyone back. The car could explode at any minute if the flames reached the gas tank. The crowd shrank back.
With a grip on the iron, he pulled his arm back and brought it down on the window, but it simply bounced off. Again and again, he hit the windshield until it splintered from the frame. Tossing the bar aside, he grabbed the freed edge and bent it back far enough he could fit through. Heat from the burning front end licked at him. Smoke blurred his vision.
“The car is gonna blow,” someone yelled.
Slade ignored the warning, sliding down to peer inside the window, balanced on the edge. Ross was slumped in the seat. Blood covered the side of his face. Pressed against the door were two lifeless forms. If not for the cascade of red hair, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish them.
“Alana.” Urgently, he spoke her name. Prayed he got an answer.
She stirred, her head lifted. “Cristian?” she said groggily.
Relief surged through him, making his chest ache. “Can you move?”
“I--oh my God. Leya! She’s not breathing. I think her neck is broken.” Her breath hitched, on the edge of panic. There was movement inside the car, then Alana’s tortured voice. “She’s dead.” Followed by a sob.
He hurt for her. “Alana, listen to me. We have to get you out of the car. Can you move?” he asked again.
“Yes. I think my wrist is broken, but I can move. She’s dead.”
“I know, Doc. I’m sorry about that, but we don’t have time. You need to climb up and grab my hand.”
“It’s hot in here.”
His leg felt like it was inside a furnace. “Grab my hand.”
“Do I smell smoke? Oh God. I’m coming.”
She moved inside the car, climbed over her friend and fell onto Ross, who still hadn’t moved. When she hesitated to press two fingers to Ross’s neck, he cursed. “Come on, Alana, leave him.”
“I can’t. He’s still breathing.”
Flames beat at his leg and side. Slade felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Reaching in the window, he latched onto her arm. “The car is going to blow.”
Seconds later, it did.
Chapter 23
Alana opened her eyes with a cough, groaning as every muscle in her body screamed in protest. She hurt all over and her ears were ringing. Something warm seeped down her neck.
The car crash.
The explosion.
Bolting upright, she cried out in pain, remembering. A hand gently stopped her from jumping to her feet. “Take it easy, Miss.”
An elderly woman leaned over her, her soft blue eyes full of care and concern. A small crowd of people hovered. Smoke billowed behind them. Sirens blared in the distance.
“Cristian.” Oh, God, where was Cristian? The last thing she remembered was him dragging her out of the car and running. Then the world exploded and went black.
“I’m sorry, dear--” the woman began, but Alana cut her off in a rush, pushing to her feet. Sharp needles shot up her leg and she gasped, her knees buckling. She fell hard on the ground, slapping at the hands trying to help her. “No. I have to find him.”
“You’re in no shape to move,” someone said.
Alana ignored them and tried to get to her feet one more time.
“Get your hands off me.” Pushing them away, she rose to her knees. Blood dripped down her neck onto her shirt. Pain like she’d never experienced drove through her body.
“She’s out of her mind.”
“Let her go.”
Alana blocked out the voices, searching frantically for Cristian amongst the wreckage. She limped a step, which hurt like hell. There was devastation all around her. Cars smashed, some turned over. Glass and metal shards littered the road everywhere she looked. People stood around, dazed, staring at what was left of their vehicles. But she didn’t see Cristian.
“Ma’am, let us help you.”
Shaking off the hand touching her elbow, she blinked away tears and shuffled another step, ignoring the pain.
“Alana.”
Mercer rushed toward her. “Mark,” she sobbed, stumbled, and fell to her knees again. Broken leg, she thought absently, as Mercer’s arms folded around her. He smelled of smoke.
Grabbing the front of his shirt she demanded, “Where’s Cristian?”
“Over there. He’s fine, Alana.”
Needing to see for herself, she peered over his shoulder. “Where? I can’t see him.” Her hand twisted in his shirt. “Take me to him.”
“Your leg is broken. You probably have a concussion. You were supposed to stay put.”
“Now, Mercer.”
Heaving a sigh, he guardedly lifted her and rose to his feet. Biting down on her lip to stifle a sob of pain, she cradled one wrist and held on to his neck with the other.
“Slade is going to behead me for this,” he muttered, striding through the parted crowd.
Alana didn’t hear him. She searched the faces for Cristian. If there had been any doubt before whether she loved him, there was none now. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
“My God,” she whispered, looking at the devastation around her. “Gavin did this.”
“Yes, he did,” Mercer growled.
“I have to help them. After I find Cristian…I have to help.”
“You can’t walk, Doc. You need medical attention yourself. There he is.”
She looked over to see Cristian being loaded onto a stretcher. Another ambulance, lights flashing, pushed its way through traffic toward. “You said he was fine. Put me down.” Struggling in his arms, she fought to be free.
Mercer’s grip tightened and he didn’t put her down. “He’s fine. Just got the wind knocked out of him.”
“They wouldn’t be loading him on a stretcher if that was all. What happened to him?”
Mercer scowled. “He pulled you free of the car and went back to save a disoriented man who wandered too close.”
“I’m not a child, Mark. You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. How injured is he?”
“Yes, I do,” Mercer said quietly.
Heart in her throat, Alana stared into his somber, golden eyes. “He’s not okay, is he?”
“No.”
Tears filled her eyes. “How bad?”
“He was too close to the explosion. He lost a lot of blood. It doesn’t look good.”
Alana shook her head. “No,” she whispered. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t
lose him now. They had been through too much together. He’d survived an infected gunshot wound in a jungle environment, for heaven’s sake! Who did he think he was, playing hero and almost getting himself killed?
Anger replaced her tears and she wiped them away. “Take me to him.”
“I don’t think--”
“Now.”
Clenching his jaw, Mercer carried her to the ambulance. A paramedic climbing into the back with Cristian glanced at Alana and climbed back out. “Is she hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Alana answered. “I need to see the man you just loaded in the ambulance.”
The paramedic glanced at Mercer. “We don’t have much time.”
Upon her request, Mercer lifted her into the ambulance. Sliding to Cristian’s side, she bit back a sob, trying not to notice the blood covering him or the pallor of his skin. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against high cheekbones. She forced her eyes away from the white bandage circling his head.
Wrapping his hand in hers, hating how lifeless it was, she leaned over him. Not strong and sure like the man she knew. “Oh, Cristian,” she whispered, wishing he would open his eyes or squeeze her hand. “Don’t leave me.”
A tear landed on his cheek. When he didn’t respond, her head fell onto his chest and she held him, willing him to order her to stop crying. Scowl at her. Hold her. But he did none of those things.
“Why did you have to be a hero?” Broken, she held him tighter, longing to feel his strong arms around her. He hated it when she cried and she wanted him to tell her so right now. She wanted him back to gruff and overbearing, taking control of the situation.
“Alana, come on.” A hand squeezed her shoulder, pulled her gently away from the man she was terrified to lose.
She didn’t fight, anger once again filling her like a disease. Glaring at Mercer, she said, “Gavin doesn’t get to win this. He doesn’t get to take Cristian away from me too.”
Mercer nodded as he lifted her out of the ambulance so the paramedic could climb in. “I’ll hunt you down if he doesn’t make it,” she told the EMT as the doors closed.
From Mercer’s arms she watched the ambulance swerve through traffic and speed away, her heart going with it.
“Take me to him,” she ordered.
“You need to be treated.”
“There aren’t enough paramedics here to treat everyone. Others need them more than I do. I’m fine. Please, Mercer. I have to go with Cristian.”
After a moment, he nodded and carried her to Sam’s truck.
* * * *
A cast on her ankle, a sling on her arm, Alana glanced at the monitor hanging above Cristian’s bed for the hundredth time that day. Mercer had insisted she be treated when they arrived at the hospital. He’d left no room for argument and refused to let her see Cristian until she did, so she’d angrily agreed, cursing stubborn mercenaries. The reasonable part of her knew she needed to get her injuries tended, but the irrational part wanted only to be with Cristian. They’d rushed him into surgery immediately for internal bleeding. He’d only just gotten out a couple hours ago, but he had yet to regain consciousness.
Lying in the narrow bed connected to wires and monitors, unmoving, his head bandaged, made her realize how mortal he really was. She’d thought him too stubborn to let anything keep him down. Too vital. But here he was, lost inside himself.
Lacing her fingers through his, she murmured, “Fight it, Cristian. Come back to me.”
No response. Not a flicker of movement. She refused the disappointment rising like a tidal wave inside her. It was early yet. The anesthesia had only just worn off. Then he should be awake, the doctor inside her reminded.
The door behind her opened. She looked up, expecting to see a nurse coming in to check Cristian’s vital signs, but Mercer strode in, a paper cup in hand.
“Thought you could use this,” he said, handing it to her.
She reluctantly let go of Cristian’s hand to accept it. “Thanks.” Hospital coffee was nothing new to her. She had lived on it during her internship, as had every other intern. They often drank it cold and old, needing the caffeine boost and not the taste. This coffee was no different than she remembered.
“Anything yet?”
“No.”
She studied him, noticing a subtle shift in his demeanor from earlier. “What’s wrong?”
He sipped his coffee and said nothing.
“Mark. Tell me.”
His gaze moved from Cristian to her. “It’s Ross.”
The name made her go cold. “Gavin is dead.” No way did he survived the explosion.
“They only found one body in the car. A woman.”
The bomb dropped. Her vision blurred. Leya. Her friend. Killed in the crash by the monster who’d murdered so many she cared about. Her heart ached for the innocent girl. And every other person whose life Gavin had stolen. “No. That can’t be true. He was still in the car when Cristian pulled me out. I remember climbing over him.” But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember after that. The car explosion had knocked her unconscious.
She looked at Mercer. “The driver?”
“We think he pulled Ross free before the car exploded.”
Of course. Gavin’s employees had always been loyal. Out of fear or consent, she couldn’t be sure. Either way, they would die for their boss. Despair settled heavy and full in her chest.
Looking at Cristian she said absently, “This is never going to end, is it?”
There was a light rap on the door. Sam Ryden and Rick Sarver walked in.
“Sam,” she cried softly, rising to her feet. She set her coffee on the bedside table and walked awkwardly on her cast over to him. He drew her into his arms. “What are you doing here? Caleb needs you.” Of all Cristian’s friends, Sam made her the most comfortable. Maybe because they formed a bond through his brother. Whatever the reason, she was happy to see him.
He released her from the hug. “Caleb can take care of himself.” A glance at her casted foot had him nudging her back to her chair. “You need us more. Sit down. You shouldn’t be walking on that foot.”
“It’s only a sprain.” Still, she sat down, too drained to stand. “I suppose Mark called you both?”
Sam nodded, glanced at Mercer sipping his coffee. Sarver leaned a shoulder against the wall, silent.
“Dave is still under protection?”
“Fortier and a couple of his brothers are handling it. The threat is to you, Alana.”
Unwilling to think about that right now, she grasped Cristian’s hand. “And you are my bodyguards,” she guessed, an ache in her chest because Cristian wasn’t able to do it. She was familiar with this routine now, she knew what it meant.
“Right,” Sam agreed. “We’re going to post two at your door and the other will…well--”
She shook her head, interrupting. “Go hunting. I know how this works and I’m okay with it. Gavin has stolen too much from me to be a bleeding heart now.”
Sarver, who kept glancing at the bed, suddenly pushed from the wall. “I’ll take first post.” He abruptly left the room.
Alana frowned at his sudden departure.
“He’s a little spooked,” Sam explained. “After Fortier’s accident, I guess we’ve all been. Hospitals are like landmines for us. We avoid them at all costs.”
Just like Cristian and needles. She knew about hospital and doctor phobias. Many people had them.
“So, what now?”
“Well, we go where you go. Cristian is registered under an assumed name. I don’t think Ross will come after him. He’ll go for you first.”
In her heart, she knew it to be true. Gavin would come for her. He would make it his mission in life. He still needed her and he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.
“I have nowhere to go but here.”
“I have a key to Slade’s penthouse,” Mercer said. “He would want you there.”
Mercer was right. Cristian would want her somewhere saf
e. The thought of sleeping in his bed without him made her feel very alone.
“I want to stay here.”
“You know that isn’t an option.” Sam’s voice was gentle, but not a suggestion.
Alana’s shoulders slumped. “I know. I still want to. What if he wakes up and I’m not here?”
“The hospital staff will call. Arrangements have already been made.”
Looking at Cristian, she murmured, “Thank you.” She hadn’t given any thought to what she would do outside the hospital. Not without him, anyway.
Sam squeezed her shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. We’ll take care of everything.”
Again, she felt helpless. Something that never used to happen. This situation made her feel completely out of her element. Not even learning new procedures in medical school had made her feel so inept.
“I don’t want you to,” she said with a tiny sigh.
The door opened again and a pretty young nurse walked in. Startled by the addition of Sam and probably intimidated by Sarver outside the door, she stopped short, glanced at Sam, then at Alana. A blush spread across her cheeks. Alana hid a smile. She understood how intimidating a room full of testosterone could be.
“I just need to check his IV and vitals.”
“Come in,” Alana invited. “Don’t worry about them. They’re friends.” And hired guns. “Shift change?”
“Yes, sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Beth. I’ll be Mr. Reynolds’ nurse until seven AM.”
The night shift already. Had she really been here all afternoon? “Hi, Beth. I’m Alana.”
Beth smiled in greeting as she marked down numbers off the monitor. Quietly, she said, “Visiting hours are over at eight o’clock. Is this your husband?”
“No.” Just the man she loved.
“Then I can’t let you stay. I’m so sorry.”
“I know the rules.” How many times had she said the same thing to family and friends who wanted to stay?
“If you need anything before then, just let me know.”
Alana nodded. “Thank you.”
Beth finished her assessment and slipped out of the room, casting shy glances at Sam and Mercer as she went.
Hard Core (Onyx Group) Page 25