It was quite dark down here, but as I felt around to push myself up, I knew that it was a body beside me. My stomach roiled as I wondered how any of them had died by the stairs… I mean, Dylan hadn’t made it that far yet.
I pushed myself up and sharp pain shot across my right knee, left elbow, and left ass cheek. Then my hand brushed across long hair. The horror of who I’d tripped over hit me at the same moment someone hit a light above, clearly wanting to see where I was before they attacked.
Ruth’s lifeless eyes stared up at me as I screamed in horror, the pain and guilt of what I’d done almost sending my brain into a place I couldn’t get it back from. Tears poured down my face while I continued to scream, and it was only when someone slammed a boot into my ribs that I was able to snap out of my state and roll into a ball, trying to protect myself.
Ruth was dead. The woman had risked her life to help me, and in the end, it’d cost her everything. I’d have time to unpack the absolute devastation of that later, but for now, I had to save myself.
And my baby.
As I rolled to the side, someone booted me back to the floor, and I knew it was all over. "You fucking cunt,” he rasped. “You almost broke my knee."
Oh, great. It was ten-pack-a-day dude.
Curling back into a ball, I protected my stomach as best as I could while he nailed me with his boot again. And just when I was sure that I was about to die, the front door burst open. Snow and ice blew in with the new arrivals, and I heard a blast of radio and a clear command of “Delta attack.” Then the asshole's boot landed on my temple, and I was knocked out cold.
21
Consciousness came back in flashes of pain as I let out a sobbing moan. Strong arms cradled me and tightened as I cried.
"Shh, baby, I've got you." Dylan's deep rumble met my ears, soothing despite my pain. "We're getting you to the hospital; it'll be okay."
But... would it? The fall down the stairs... the kicks from that motherfucker before the Delta guys turned up… Ruth…
My sobs grew harder, until I was choking on my fear and guilt. Dylan was helplessly trying to figure out what was wrong. Did he even know about Ruth? Did he know we might have lost our baby?
He couldn't know, and yet he sounded as frantic as me. "Brooke, baby, you're bleeding." Panic underscored those words. "Where are you hurt? Your legs are covered." His grip on me shifted, and I cracked my eyes open to find myself in the passenger seat of an SUV with Dylan looming in the open door. "Were you shot?" His hands roamed over my body, searching for my injury.
But he wouldn't find it. Not like that.
I knew, though. Deep down, I’d known it from the second I'd tumbled down those stairs, hitting every step on the way down. Turned out I didn't need to take another test, after all.
"I'm fine," I lied in a weak voice, gritting my teeth as his hands skimmed my aching ribs. "Dylan, I wasn't shot." My voice hitched as my chest tightened, overwhelming sadness washing through me.
His thumb brushed over my cheek, swiping away the tears streaming down my face. "Brooke, you're scaring me. What's going on? What's this blood from? You must have been shot or stabbed and you're in shock."
I shook my head, then winced at the sharp pain in my skull. "Just... can we just get to a hospital? Please?" My voice cracked again, then dissolved into sobs that shook my whole chest.
Dylan didn't need any more persuading. He buckled my seat belt, then rushed around the hood of the car while barking commands at some of the armed guys spilling out of Ruth's house.Ruth’s house.Fuck, one emotional drama at a time. First, we had to get to the hospital so I could confirm the reason for the pain and fear spiking in my chest.
Then I could mourn them all.
A moment later Dylan was behind the wheel, his vehicle speeding down the snow-covered streets like a demon was on our ass. All the while I cried and hugged my arms around myself, like that could slow the bleeding somehow.
"Brooke, you need to talk to me," Dylan implored as he drove with his fingers all but strangling the steering wheel. It wouldn't take long to get to the local hospital; I'd seen it when we were leaving Walmart. So I just clamped my lips shut and shook my head again, despite how badly my head pounded.
What use would it be to tell Dylan now? Tell him that I was probably pregnant withhisbaby, and now...
"Brooke!" he shouted, making me jump in fright. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Sorry. Shit, I didn't mean to frighten you, but you're really scaring me."
I swallowed heavily, parting my lips to reply, but no sound came out. I had literally no words to give him in this situation. Thankfully, though, the lights of town were coming closer with every passing second, so I just stayed silent and sent weak, hopeless prayers that some miracle might happen—that I wasn't miscarrying my unexpected pregnancy before I could even decide how I felt about it.
Dylan stopped our vehicle directly in front of the tiny hospital, ignoring all the "no stopping" signs, and left the engine running. He threw open his door and was jerking mine open before I could even unbuckle my seat belt.
He scooped me up in his arms, but his grip on me was surprisingly gentle for all the tension vibrating through his body.
"I've got you, Brooke. It's okay, you're going to be okay. I'm so sorry; fuck, this is all my fault. Help! We need a doctor!" he shouted to the nearest staff member as the sliding doors admitted us and the fluorescent lights made my headache spike.
I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the light, trusting Dylan as a nurse guided him over to a gurney and instructed him to put me down. A doctor soon joined her, and the questions came thick and fast. Dylan answered most, giving short, sharp responses about my injuries, but then the one question came that he couldn't handle.
