The thug ducks and runs down the stairs. The exit door opens and clicks shut moments later.
I push forward.
In my head, I’m running down the stairs, but in reality I’m moving at the speed of a grandmother with a bad back.
“Hoo. Hoo.” I breathe out while taking it one step at a time.
Finn pushes to his feet and jogs up the rest of the stairs, meeting me halfway. “Why didn’t you run away?”
“As you can see”—I motion to where I’m gripping the railing to keep upright—“running isn’t really an option for me.”
He smirks. “If I moved in slow motion, I’d be faster than you.”
I want to snap at him, but I catch sight of his bleeding arm. “Finn.”
“It’s fine.” He pulls his arm back. “This was from a while ago.”
“I’ll take you to the nurse. The medical room is on the third floor, isn’t it?”
He considers me thoughtfully, and then he bends down and scoops me into his arms. I squeal, suddenly airborne. He’s so tall that it feels like I’m standing on top of a massive sky scraper.
My legs dangle. “Finn, put me down.”
“I’ll bleed to death by the time you make it to the third floor,” he mumbles.
“You don’t have to wait for me. Go by yourself.”
He jogs up the stairs, jostling me with every step.
I continue to protest. “Put me down, Finn. You’re injured.”
But he doesn’t care, and he carries me all the way to the medical room.
The nurse looks startled when Finn and I burst inside. She scrambles to her feet, looking me over. “What happened?”
I point to his arm. “It’s not me. It’s him.”
Her face goes pale when she sees the blood staining his shirt. “Mr. Cross, I suggest we call the ambulance. If you’ve lost that much blood, you might need a transfusion.”
“We should call the police too,” I announce.
Those thugs were shooting at Redwood Prep last night, and today, they were lurking in empty stairwells. They’re after something. Or someone. And they won’t stop hunting until they find their target.
“No cops.” Finn glares at me as if I’m the one who punched him. “And I don’t need the hospital.”
“Mr. Cross?—”
“I need the room,” Finn says firmly. He doesn’t raise his voice at all, but the nurse jerks back like he scolded her.
“Put me down, Finn,” I whisper. “Your arm.”
He lets me down gently and I realize his blood got all over me.
The nurse’s heels click on the tiles as she walks closer. She reaches for the bloody sleeve of Finn’s shirt, intending to fold it up so she can see the wound.
Finn pulls his arm away.
“Mr. Cross, I strongly suggest that you see a doctor, but if you insist on being stubborn, then at least let me look at it.”
