“Hang on, fairy.” He urged. “We’re almost there.”
More dirt exploded around us, and I screamed.
Derek hunched down, shielding me with his own body. I was lifted into his arms, and he started running again.
I glanced at the corn field, a beacon in my dimming vision.
It seemed farther than ever even, though we were closer now than before.
Derek’s body jerked. I glanced up. His eyes went wide.
A string of curses flew out of his mouth. “Are you fucking shitting me right now? Goddamn it. I’m gonna kill those son of a bitches.”
Oh my.
“Derek?”
He grunted and kept running.
Vaguely, I heard shouts behind us.
Derek’s stride slowed. He swayed a little. His eyes collided with mine, glassy and far away.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he slurred.
I grabbed him by the face as he sank to his knees. I don’t know how, but carefully, he placed me on the ground.
Promptly after, he passed out.
12
Derek
I was really starting to get pissed off.
They shot Rose.
Then they tranquilized me again.
What the fuck?
And there was something else. When they were shooting the real bullets and exploding the earth around us, it was Rose they aimed at.
Not me.
Again, I ask what the fuck?
I tried to run even after I felt the dart sink into my back. I did run. Until I fell the fuck over.
You’ll have to excuse my language. I tend to have the mouth of a sailor when someone’s trying to kill me.
It’s not you they want to kill.
My eyes sprang open. Everything in front of me was blurry. I blinked, trying to get our surroundings back into focus.
Rose!
This time my eyes flew open. I didn’t pay attention to the fuzziness. I glanced to my side, only to find it empty. I glanced to the other side.
She wasn’t there.
Panic delivered a nice uppercut to my chin. Where was she? God, had they shot her again when I was out?
Was she bleeding out somewhere?
Is she already dead?
The idea was intolerable. Physically excruciating. If she died while I was lying here passed out…
I shook off the thought. I couldn’t allow it in my head. It would mess with me. It would cripple me. Right now, the surgeon needed to come out. The cool, compartmentalized man I was when I did surgery even in the grimmest of situations was exactly who I needed to be right now.
This wasn’t the time to be taunted by thoughts of death.
Blinking hard and shaking my head, I glanced around. It appeared I was back in a silo. But not the one I’d been in before. This one was different.
There were no tractors or any kind of equipment. It was bare, so bare I could make out the rounded shape to the walls. They were metal just like the other room. This one had a skylight in the tip of the roof. From it, rays from the sun shone downward, giving the place more illumination.
It made it easier to see Rose wasn’t beside me.
I pushed up, a familiar weight and rattling sound making me look down.
I was chained up again.
This was the kind of shit that made men have bruised egos. I should have been able to take those men. I should have been able to strangle one, then go for the other.
They used Rose against me. Like a lovesick fool, I allowed it.
No. Not lovesick.
I wasn’t in love with Rose. She was my coffee fairy. A spark in a tiring day. She was someone I planned on seeing way, way more of.
If she’s still alive.
I shook off that thought, too.
I wasn’t in love with her. But she was someone I could fall for.
That made her a weakness.
Seeing a gun pointed at her head caused me to relent far faster than I would otherwise. Hell, I’d even felt bad when I shoved her away, trying to give her as much distance when she started to run.
There was no room for weakness right now. There was no room for guilt.
If she was dead… I’d bring this place down. I’d take a bullet. I’d take more than one. I’d find that dart gun and shove it so far up their asses they’d walk funny the rest of their lives.
Which wouldn’t be long.
The dart.
It was perfectly clear now what Rose told me was right. They didn’t want us harmed. Well, me anyway. If they didn’t care, they would have shot me with a gun like they did her.
Why was I so valuable? What was it about me they needed?
Instead of thinking of my weaknesses, I thought of my strengths. What was my greatest strength?
Horror dawned.
No way.
No goddamn way.
You’ve been briefed on this. You’ve been schooled.
Sure, I’d listened to the lectures. I’d even read the material. Well, some of it. The problem with possibilities is that’s all they are.
You never think something like that would happen—until you’re sitting in the middle of a silo with a chain slapped around your wrist.
My body protested when I forced myself into an erect sitting position. I was stiff and sore. It didn’t matter, though.
Inhaling and exhaling, my fingers shoved back my hair, then rubbed at my eyes.
When I looked up, I noticed something I hadn’t before.
Across the wide, round silo was a curtain. A familiar-looking curtain.
My leg muscles stretched as I stood cautiously, glancing around, half expecting one of the assholes who put me here to jump out. Next time I saw them, I was going to fight.
Even if it was to the death.
But first…
First, I wanted to see what was behind that curtain, because the thoughts in my mind were anything but happy.
I took a step and noticed something else.
Yeah, I was a little slow on the uptake today.
I blamed the drugs, the lack of water and sleep… the general pissiness of my entire mood.
The chain attached to the cuff around my wrist stretched out across the concrete floor. It was like a trail that snaked away from me and disappeared underneath the curtain.
“Rose?” I called out. I couldn’t take not knowing where she was anymore.
I couldn’t take the thoughts swirling in my head and the implications of those thoughts.
She didn’t answer.
Even though I wanted to run, I didn’t. I walked with equal parts caution and dread.
Please don’t let her be dead behind that curtain.
Please don’t let it be worse than death.
But if what I was thinking was correct… nothing happened.
Not yet anyway.
The room was eerily silent, except of course for the dragging chain. It was ominous and unwelcome, but at the same time, I was glad for it.
It was better than absolute quiet.
The curtain came closer. The pit in my stomach threatened to open up and swallow everything around it. The fabric was familiar to my touch. The slightly stiff texture from too much starch warred with the fact it was soft from being laundered so many times.
It was exactly like the curtains I pushed back on a daily basis as I did rounds. Sometimes they hung by while I did surgery.
My fingers dug into the material, and impatience kicked me. Without hesitation, I ripped the curtain back.
The sound the metal hooks made sliding over the makeshift rod was also unnervingly familiar.
My vision was no longer blurred, the edges of sight no longer vague.
I saw everything with complete and utter clarity.
Everything was exactly as I suspected.
No.
It was worse.
13
Rose
There was a bullet in my leg.
Hot, metal ammunition burrowed below the surfac
e of my skin. It didn’t belong there. It was a foreign object of mass destruction, and my body knew this.
My body screamed at me to get it out.
Problem was I couldn’t.
I thought I was scared before.
Now?
I’d give anything to go back to several hours ago when I was being distracted by Derek’s kiss. At the time, it was unavoidable, getting caught up in his eyes. I’d felt a little guilty for that. For letting myself feel something other than extreme fear in our situation.
But I’d had some time to think.
It’s all I’d done.
Mostly about the situation. I’d conjured up so many conspiracy theories, from aliens to superheroes to odd scientific experiments. I’d thought of Silence of the Lambs and comforted myself that I wasn’t being rubbed down with lotion.
I brainstormed ways to get the hell out of here and plotted the death of the men who kidnapped me.
In between the morose and morbid thoughts, I thought of him. How could I not? He would be the last person to see me alive. He would also be my last regret.
I regretted not having a chance with him. Not getting to feel his lips anywhere but on my lips.
Most of all, I regretted not getting to know him, because really, he seemed like someone I would really like.
And I liked it when he called me fairy.
He wasn’t dead.
I consoled myself with that thought more than once. The second he face-planted in the field, I’d seen the dart sticking out of his back. I’d pulled it out and tossed it aside. Not that it helped at all.
Seconds later, I was “put out,” but a lot less politely than with a dart.
Boss Man hit me in the side of the head with the butt of his gun. Next thing I knew… I was here.
A place I thought only existed in really good horror movies.
Through all my mental torture, I cried. I couldn’t not cry. I was past that point of self-control. All I had left now was pain and fear… and the pure stubbornness to refuse to let them hear.
I might be crying big, fat tears and soundless sobs might be ripping up my insides like a 10.0 earthquake, but those bastards would never get the satisfaction of hearing me.
Plus, there was the fact my mouth was taped shut.
Not only that, but there was cotton or something shoved in my mouth.
I tried not to think about it because when I did, a panic attack threatened to take over my body.
What if I choke?
Gah, just the feeling of something pressed against my tongue, not being able to swallow the way I was used to doing…
Shut it down.
No more of that.
But for the record, even if my mouth weren’t duct taped shut, I would still refuse to let them hear my cry.
I’m not sure how long I sat like this, but it was a long time. Beneath my leg, blood oozed. The idiots did tie something around it, something they seemed to glean a lot of pleasure from doing. They tied it extra tight.
To help stop the blood flow, you know.
Right. ‘Cause they cared about that shit.
If they cared that much, they might have gotten the bullet out of my body. Or wait… Maybe never shot me at all.
I was bleeding through the cloth. I could feel it. Blood was heavy and sticky as it soaked into fabric. It also itched and burned.
Honestly?
I was starting to get numb.
Numb inside and out.
Fatigue clung to me like a well-worn blanket, molding around every curve. Between fear, blood loss, and dehydration, I knew it was only a matter of time. I was going to slip away to unconsciousness, and I might never wake.
On and off, I think I dozed. Or maybe I passed out and came to. I really didn’t know.
The sounds of rattling chains and movement where I couldn’t see brought me out of the haze I existed in. I tried to turn and look.
I couldn’t.
This was likely it.
The only comfort I would know in death was that I wouldn’t have to live another second of this cruelty.
“Rose.” Derek’s voice was an echo in my head. Far away but close. I clung to that sound, hanging on to my last moments of comfort and marveling at the ability my mind had to conjure up his voice.
The violent sound of a curtain being ripped away followed by a cry of distress made my eyes snap open.
I turned my head as much as I could, and Derek filled my vision. Sounds gathered in my throat, which wanted so badly to escape. The relief of just seeing his face was like being given a drink of water.
(Seriously. I could have gone for like a gallon of water.)
“Rose, sweetheart,” Derek crooned. His hands hovered over me, around me, like he didn’t know what to do.
I made another sound, more desperate and loud. Derek was like a jolt of espresso to me, waking me and giving me a burst of energy.
“What the fuck did they do to you?” His voice was hoarse and gruff.
Deftly, his fingers worked at the tape on my mouth while my eyes begged him to rip it away.
“One, two… three!” he said and ripped it off like it was a giant Band-Aid.
My skin screamed in agony, but I ignored it. The second the tape was gone, I spit out the cotton, letting it fall over my chin.
He made a sound and pulled the rest out. I gasped and sucked in air. Relief poured over me like warm water.
“Derek.” My voice broke.
I was tied down, ankles and wrists. There was even something holding my head down.
Do you know what it’s like to be strapped to a table, prone, at the mercy of someone else? Someone who was most definitely not a friend.
I did.
I think I’d rather take another bullet.
Derek ripped the band off my head. It sounded like Velcro when he pulled.
“Where are they?” I gasped, looking around, trying to see everything around us.
“Don’t know,” he grunted as he undid my wrists. When my hands were free, he helped me sit up. I wobbled a little. I felt so woozy.
But I pushed past it and reached for an ankle. Derek made fast work of one of the buckles, then gently pushed my hand away and undid the other.
“Shit.” His hand encircled my ankle, the leg with the bullet wound. “I’m gonna take care of this right now.”
“Derek,” I whimpered.
Damn my voice. Damn my shaking insides.
His eyes flashed up. Hell, his entire body jerked when I said his name. Not even one second ticked by and I was swept against the hard wall of his chest.
I nuzzled into his neck and tried to make myself as small as I could get. If I could have crawled inside him, I would have. His hand stroked the back of my head, soothing, sure. My body shook and quivered.
I didn’t cry. Honestly, I don’t think I had any tears left.
“It’s all right now, fairy,” he murmured. The brush of his lips against my hair made me shiver.
He held me only a moment. Long enough to give me a dose of comfort and strength. Too soon, he pulled back, keeping his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s clean up your leg.”
The table I’d been strapped to was stainless steel. No more comfortable than the concrete. Gently, Derek slid my body back so my leg was resting on the surface.
I’d been ready to leap off, but I knew I couldn’t just yet.
I hated this table.
“Guess I don’t need to ask where you’re gonna get the supplies.” I tried to joke. It didn’t come off as snarky or fun.
I was out of sarcasm like I was tears.
He didn’t say anything as he moved around the makeshift doctor’s cubicle. This entire place was creepy as hell. They’d turned the silo into a medical room. Large operating table, large overhead lights. Small rolling trays filled with shiny and sharp-looking instruments. An IV pole with a bag of fluid (hell, maybe poison) already hanging from it. There were monitors and stuff I didn’t recognize. Scrubs and caps lay fo
lded nearby.
The whole place was constructed with a lot of care.
It was clean. I would almost argue it was sterile, but I knew better. I was in the middle of a farm in a makeshift operating room… Sterile was not the word I would use to describe it.
One of the pieces in here looked like a large rolling toolbox made of stainless steel. Derek was digging around in it, piling most of what he needed on top.
He looked almost comfortable here. He worked and moved as if he knew where everything was.
It made this odd feeling of panic claw its way up the back of my throat again.
“You still with me?” Derek said, glancing over his shoulder.
I just stared at him.
“Rose.” He turned around more fully, scrutinizing me with a watchful eye.
I nodded once. He frowned and turned back, adding a few more things to the top, then wheeled the whole thing down by my feet.
“I found some local anesthetic that should help with some of the pain,” he told me and reached for the cloth tied around my leg.
“Does your leg feel hot?” he asked.
I stared at him.
“Do you feel sick?”
When I continued to not answer, he glanced up.
“You know where everything is,” I said, hollow.
Derek’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He seemed a little shocked, but he didn’t say it out loud.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I couldn’t.
Sorry was saved for when you weren’t in a fight for your life.
Slowly Derek raised both hands. They were already smeared with my blood. He put them palms out, like he was surrendering, and took a step away from me.
“Look at me, Rose,” he commanded, low.
I did. My eyes never left his.
“I have nothing to do with this. Nothing. I think I might know what’s going on…” He swallowed, and his face actually took on an ashen hue for a few long seconds. “I would never hurt you.”
They all say that.
“I know where everything is because this room is set up just like an OR. An operating room,” he clarified.
“I know what an OR is,” I said.
He nodded, still holding up his hands.
“Natural instinct kicked in. I’m in an OR. A creepy-as-fuck OR, and you’re hurt. You need help. This is what I do.”
Taxi (Take It Off #11) Page 11