Drew screamed and lunged toward the door. But the man dove in behind her and slammed it shut. The car peeled out, tires spitting mud as it tore down the path.
Drew twisted in the seat, breath caught in her chest. Through the dust and branches, she saw him—Cross—half in the river, blood blooming around him like an ink stain.
Then he disappeared beneath the surface. And she screamed.
CHAPTER 14
Cross coughedup a mouthful of filthy river water and clawed his way up the muddy bank. Every inch of him screamed in protest. His right side throbbed like it had been set on fire, the flesh wound burning with the effort to drag himself out of the bayou. His head spun, and the copper tang of blood lingered in his mouth. The early morning air was thick with mist, cool against his fevered skin, but heavy with the smell of rotting vegetation and old death.
He collapsed on his back, gasping, blinking up at the gray haze above the canopy. Drew was gone, and it was his fault. He’d gotten sloppy after seeing the Weasel go down like that. He’d let his mind wander and lost focus. In truth, he’d been worried that the Weasel wasn’t dead and he was going to come back at any minute, so he’d been rushing. It didn’t help that Stone and Tessa needed him.
Cross breathed deeply. His body might be here, barely hanging on, but his soul—the one sliver of light he’d ever let himself have—was in that goddamn car speeding away with a bastard who held a gun to her head.
He should have stopped it. Should’ve anticipated the move. Should’ve taken the fucking shot. But he hadn’t. He didn’t want to risk her getting hurt. And now she was gone.
He turned his face to the side and vomited, and then dry heaving until his ribs ached and his eyes watered. Guilt was a goddamn poison—worse than any bullet. He rolled to his knees and spit into the mud, pressing a hand against the wound on his side. Sticky. Warm. Still oozing blood. He’d live. Probably. But right now, he didn’t deserve to.
The trees swayed overhead, almost as if they were whispering taunts at him. The swamp felt heavier now. Darker. Like it knew he’d failed and was grieving with him. Or mocking him.
Stone. Tessa. He needed to get to them. His heart stuttered. They were out there, waiting on him. Counting on him. And he was here bleeding in the goddamn mud like a rookie who hadn’t seen a fight before. He forced himself to his feet, swayed, then caught a tree for balance. The bark bit into his palm. He welcomed the pain. It meant he was still alive. Still had time.
"Move," he growled under his breath. "You don’t get to fall apart. Not yet." Drew was already too far away for him to do anything at this moment. He needed to concentrate on what he could do… Not what he couldn’t. Focus on the task ahead of him.
He limped forward, one hand clutched against his side, the other dragging through vines and low-hanging moss. The ground squelched beneath his feet, every step a test of will. His boots were soaked, squishing with brackish water, and his jeans stuck to his legs like a second skin. Every mosquito in the goddamn state of Louisiana seemed to have scented his blood and declared him the buffet of the day.
He stumbled and dropped to one knee, coming face-to-face with a cottonmouth. Shit. He tried to jump back, but he was too slow. The snake lunged at him, sinking his fangs into Cross’s leg and then just as quickly slithering off into the undergrowth.
“Motherfucker,” Cross snarled as a sharp burning pain radiated up his calf. It was like someone pressed a hot iron to his skin. He pulled up his pant leg to see the double puncture wound that was already swelling. A wave of adrenaline hit Cross. He had to keep moving. Even though he knew that moving would just spread the poison through his bloodstream faster, he was on the clock, and he didn’t have much time. Cross gritted his teeth as he started up the embankment. The pain in his calf was now a deep, brutal burn as if his muscle was tearing apart. The swelling was making his pant leg tight around his calf, adding to his pain. He reached out, grabbed a branch, and hauled himself upward as the first wave of nausea hit. He wasn’t sure if it was from the bullet wound, the venom, or the exertion, but his heart was double-timing it in his chest, and dark spots flickered around the edge of his vision.
The minutes blurred as he finally got to the top of the embankment and stumbled out to the road. His car was parked at least a mile down in the other direction from the way the guy had taken off with Drew. It killed him but he turned and started moving as quickly as he could manage.
He knew the bite on his calf had at least doubled in size and it burned like it was on fire. The throbbing was now up in his thigh. Not a good sign. He blew out a breath as sweat broke out across his back and chest, the cold clammy type that only made his nausea worse. He stumbled but forced himself to keep going. Drew was counting on him. He’d gotten her into this mess. He couldn’t afford to fail now. He’d failed Drew once when he let her go. He would not do it again.
He stumbled again and had to stop and brace his hands on his knees while he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He had to keep moving. Drew was depending on him. Cursing under his breath, he surged forward once more, fighting the growing buzz in his ears and his narrowing vision.
Time seemed to have all but stopped as he finally lifted his head and saw what he was looking for. The sight of his truck parked where he’d left it—camouflaged under an overhang of brush—was like a beacon. He staggered toward it, catching himself on the hood, leaving a smear of blood behind.
Almost there.
Fumbling for the handle, he wrenched the door open and climbed inside, collapsing into the driver’s seat with a strangled sound. His vision tunneled, black eating in from the edges. His breathing was ragged and shallow as his heart stuttered in his chest. Pain radiated through his leg along with a deep and crushing pressure. He tried to reach for the spare sat phone he kept in the glove box.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Just one more thing.” His fingers brushed it, then slipped. He lunged, half-falling out of the seat, and finally grasped it. He slumped back and made the call.
“Where are you?” Stone demanded by way of answering.
“Just got…”
Stone’s tone changed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“They got Drew. Took her…” his voice faded again.
“Are you okay?”
“Got shot. Not too bad but fell in the river and had to climb through the swamp. Got bitten by a cottonmouth.”
“Shit,” Stone growled. “Are you at your truck?”
“Yeah. You? Tessa? Okay?” It was all he could manage to get out.
