Moving.They were moving.
She was being taken.
Her eyes cracked open, barely slits, just long enough to catch the blur of trees sliding by in streaks of dark and green.Her head lolled, vision doubling.The buzz in her ears got louder.Christian’s face filled her mind.The sound of the shot.The heat of his blood.His body dropping onto hers like he was trying to shield her even in death.
No.No, he couldn’t be dead.
She had to fight.Had to stay awake.Get help.She tried to move.Her muscles didn’t listen.Her right hand twitched, fingers curling weakly around air.
The vehicle stopped.
A door yanked open.Rough hands gripped her shoulders.She moaned, barely audible.Then her body was dragged again, this time across gravel.Pebbles jabbed at her ribs.Her knee hit something sharp, and she winced.
Another car door opened.She was lifted, shoved inside.This time the air smelled different.Greasy.Like fast food and gasoline.Her temple bumped the window.Stars exploded behind her eyes.
She thought she might throw up.
Someone swore.Something metal clicked.
The car rocked as someone climbed into the driver’s seat.The engine revved, and the vehicle accelerated fast, throwing her against the seat.Her head rolled.The pressure behind her eyes pushed outward.
Christian.
She tried to focus.The pain in her head increased like a shriek.Then everything zipped out again, swallowed by a wave of black.
Christian cameto flat on his stomach, one cheek pressed into the cold floor.The copper tang of blood filled his mouth.He pushed up to hands and knees, gritting his teeth.The sharp pain in his shoulder lit his vision white, but he didn’t stop.
His hand came away wet.The blood was his.
He looked toward the door.It stood wide open, wind curling inside.Amka was gone.He swore.Loud and raw.His vision wavered when he shoved himself to his feet.He stumbled to the kitchen counter and grabbed a towel, pressed it hard to the hole just under his collarbone.The bullet had passed through muscle.He was lucky.If it had gone half an inch lower, his lung would be done.
But luck didn’t matter now.
He yanked his phone free and called Brock.
“Hey—” Brock started.
“Got shot, and somebody took Amka from her house.I’m fine.They’re in your truck.Call Damian and Ace, get everyone looking, and I’m going tracking.”He clicked off and grabbed gauze and duct tape from the nearest drawer.Slapped them over the worst of it.The world tilted again.He gripped the counter to steady himself before heading outside.
Outside, the morning had turned quiet again, the kind of quiet that didn’t sit right.
He had to find her.God.How had he let himself get fucking shot?Was he that turned around about her that he’d forgot his own damn focus?He followed the prints down the porch steps.Blood smeared the edge of the wood.Not his.Amka’s.A streak where someone had dragged her across the dirt.
The scuff marks led to where Brock’s truck had been parked.Fresh tire tracks bit deep into the gravel, kicking up from the sudden acceleration.
He followed on foot, moving fast despite the fire in his shoulder.
The truck had gone north, toward the old fire road.A shortcut toward the valley.A good two miles of winding dirt before it met worn asphalt.He ran the distance.His chest burned, and he tasted blood again, but he didn’t stop.Couldn't stop.
The tracks finally veered off.Just before the switchback, they curved behind a stand of alders and stopped.Brock’s truck was there.Christian quickly searched it and found nothing but a bit of blood on the passenger seat.Amka’s.Had to be.
A second set of tires showed.Narrower, more aggressive pattern.SUV, maybe.Possibly a light pickup with off-road grip.The angle said she’d been moved fast.No blood on the ground now.Probably moved her to the second vehicle unconscious.
Christian pressed a hand to the earth where the tread turned.Still damp.Still fresh.They’d moved fast.He stood, chest burning.His shirt clung to him, soaked through on one side, the duct-taped gauze useless now.The pain in his torso flared again, sharp and biting.He ignored it.
He turned in a slow circle, scanning the tree line.
Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a sharp, rising whistle.
