“Nope,” Wells answers. “You’re creating a flutter valve, so air can exit but not enter.”
“Done,” I announce with a muffled sob because Maddox is sallow.
“Good. Now get him to La Lune Noire as quickly as you can,” Axel orders. “You aren’t far.”
I shut the door, dash to the other side, and slip behind the steering wheel. “He’s drifting out of consciousness. I’m losing him. What if—”
“Just drive.” Axel’s commanding tenor unveils the cracks in his generally controlled veneer. He’s terrified and desperate. “The guys are too far away for you to wait.”
“We’ll stay on the line,” Wells adds. “Looks like you’ve got about nine minutes.”
“Okay.” I step on the gas and speed toward home, though I don’t know these back roads very well, so I have to pull up the directions on the phone, which reminds me of another detail. “I’m in someone else’s truck. There were at least a dozen bodies back there. A car on fire. Our SUV. What if they track us or if—”
“We’re on it, Tess,” Axel practically coos—a gentle command to stay focused.
Since I feel so helpless, driving Maddox instead of holding him, I do the only thing I can think of to help the man who’s become my whole world while we race toward home.
“We need theme music, don’t we, Mad?” Tears stream down my cheeks, and my heart is lodged in my throat, but I force strength into my tone. “Siri, play ‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police.”
Axel barks out a laugh. “Fucking perfect.”
And as the first notes blare from my phone, lying on the seat, even though it’s clear Maddox is barely hanging on, I swear his lips twitch.
Hold on, baby. Please don’t leave me. I love you.
Axel clears his throat, likely as choked up as I am. “You’re doing everything you need to do.”
I peer between Maddox and the road.What if it isn’t enough?
TESSA
The drive doesn’t even register, not outside of the songs or pleas for Maddox to stay with me or the annihilating ache in my chest. I blast into the safe-harbor entrance, and dozens of guards and medical staff rush for us, pulling the doors open before the car is even turned off. They move Maddox to a stretcher and place me in a wheelchair, despite my protests. I try to fight them, to jump to my feet, but dizziness and nausea blanket me like a straitjacket.
“I’m going with him. Don’t even fucking try to stop me,” I grit out as one of them dabs at the crusty blood on my head and wheels me beside Maddox.
“Fine.” Kane squeezes my shoulder. “Keep her with him while you treat her.” He peers down at my tear-soaked face, empathy shading his features. “Don’t grip that knife so tight when you’re shouting orders at the staff, darling.”
It’s then that I realize I’m clutching my bloody Karambit. I don’t even remember pulling it out. Maddox would praise me for that even though it’s clear I’m losing my mind. A sob racks through my chest, but I fight it. Until I see the doctors andnurses tending to his limp body. It jolts from something they’re doing, and a shriek of agony escapes me. It’s like I’m outside of myself.
And the world and life and everything that matters swirl around me, buzzing with energy I can’t quite process. It’s the damn fluorescent lights and the incessant beeping. The conversations and noises from the medical equipment all fade into a fictitious playlist that my brain seems to be conjuring in lieu of what Maddox would choose. A new type of list.
He should have music. He needs music.
A doctor pokes and prods at me, saying things likedeep gashandconcussionandsurgery.
“Surgery?” I parrot.
“Maddox,” she explains. “They prepped him. You did good. The seal and getting him here so fast is why he’s alive, but it progressed to pneumothorax, and they need to get the internal bleeding under control. They’re taking him now.”
I’m not sure what pneumothorax means, but it doesn’t sound good.
“I need to go—”
“After I sew you up, I’ll see what we can do,” she lies.
Smacking her away, I push out of my chair and demand to have a moment with him. They don’t pause their trek, but they allow me to slip closer and dash toward the operating room with them. He’s got an oxygen mask on, a tube in his ribs, and an IV in his arm. I squeeze his hand, my fear and agony splashing onto his tattooed skin. He’s pallid and listless. A shadow of the man who dances through life. Vomit fills my mouth, but I choke it down.
It all pisses me off.
