I don’t care. She’s fragile, and I don’t fucking care.
I scan her quickly. Blood from her ear, but nothing that'll kill her. No broken bones. Just shock, making her useless.
Typical.
“You need to get out of here,” I tell her. “Can you stand, or am I fucking dragging you?”
She stares at me, then blinks slowly, like she’s trying to process the words.
“Erin.” I give her shoulders a shake, not gentle. “Can. You. Fucking. Stand?”
She stares at me like I've spoken a foreign language. Fuck, she's useless in a crisis.
She nods. “I think.”
I slide one arm around her waist and haul her to her feet. She’s light—toolight. Breakable.
“Christ.” I tighten my grip, pulling her against my side. “Hold on to me.”
I need to check on my family.
“I don’t—” Her voice cracks. “I don’t need?—”
“Shut up and hold on.”
She does. Her fingers curl into my coat, gripping tight like I’m the only solid thing in the world.
And maybe I am. Right now, in this moment, with the graveyard on fire and people screaming and blood in the air—maybe I am.
I can feel every inch of her pressed against me. The soft give of her tits against my ribs. The tremble in her thighs. Her pulse hammering where my thumb digs into her side. She smells like roses and smoke and fear. My cock stirs. Sick bastard. There’s a bomb site twenty yards away, and I’m getting hard.
Good. Iwantto be this fucked up. I want to be the kind of man who gets hard carrying a half-dead woman away from a bombing. At least then I’ll know exactly what I am.
Damn this woman for distracting me.
I need to check on my family.
I half carry, half drag her away from the blast site, toward the low stone wall at the edge of the graveyard. Behind us, voices shout orders. Someone’s crying. Smoke billows black against the gray sky.
When we reach the wall, I set her down as gently as I can. She immediately curls into herself, arms wrapped around her middle, head down.
Counting. She’s counting under her breath. I can see her lips moving.
One, two, three, four. Over and over.
I remember that from school, the way she’d do it when she was overwhelmed. She’d tap her fingers, count things, anything to anchorherself.
Now I want to count with her or make her stop. Make her look at me instead.
“Stay here,” I tell her. “Don’t move. I’ll come back for you.”
Her head snaps up.
“Don’t leave me here.” There’s panic in her voice now, raw and real. “Please. Don’t?—”
“I have to check on my family.” I crouch down so we’re eye level. “But I’ll come back. I swear it.”
She stares at me, those sharp eyes searching my face for a lie.
