I narrowly avoid bashing my face on the edge of the counter, snapping a hand out to catch myself at the last moment. The cashier jerks the gun to the side a split second before I lose my head, the shot going wide and giving the son of a bitch the opportunity he was hoping for. Heavy footfalls slap against the tile as he sprints forward, grabbing his friend and hauling him off the ground. Sucking down a rattling gasp, I sink to my knees, clutching my stomach. Pivoting as I slump back against the counter to keep me upright, I watch as they bolt through the doors, leaving a trail of blood and the duffle bag behind. All of this for a couple hundred bucks and some cigarettes, and they didn’t walk away with anything, maybe not even both of their lives.
“Hold on there, lass, help is coming.” The old man hobbles over to swiftly lock the door, snagging a novelty t-shirt from the display on his way back before dropping to his knees in front of me. His handgun clatters to the floor beside my hip, eyes glassy as he forces a fake as hell, reassuring smile to his face. “Hit the silent alarm when they first showed up, so the police should be here any second now.” Wadding up the shirt, he nudges my trembling hand out of the way to press it against my stomach, holding firm pressure despite the way I automatically flinch away from his touch. “You’re going to be alright, it’s barely even a scratch. Just breathe.”
Not a single part of that is the comfort he means it to be.
He’s clearly human; not a threat. The other guy was wearing gloves and never touched me. I can still salvage this mess.
Repeating the mantra to keep the panic at bay, I mentally brace myself, taking custody of the bloody rag and pushing up on wobbly legs. “Agreed, hardly worth the fuss. I’d better go find a couple of bandaids before the cops make a big deal out of nothing.”
The blood has my leather-clad fingers slipping on the tile, and we both crash onto our sides as he attempts to catch me. Guilt slams into me like a freight train, and I blame the frustrated tears beginning to burn the back of my eyes on being sick of being sick. Overtired. Sick and tired of my life in general.
“Are you okay?” I rasp, finding each breath harder and more painful to draw in than the last.
He waves me off, trying to hide his grimace as he subtly rubs his hip and covers my gloved hand with his own, adding more pressure as the blood continues to spread faster than either of us can stop, soaking the top of my jeans and dripping down to form a small puddle beneath me. “Me? I’m not the one bleeding out here, lass.”
Vision wavering, I rest my head back against the counter, sucking down shallow breaths. “What happened to the claim that I was going to be alright?”
His glassy eyes harden with conviction. “You will be.”
A wry smile twists the corner of my lips as I slightly shake my head, a couple of damned tears rolling down my cheeks. “Not this time.”
Not if I get admitted to a hospital. Not when they start asking questions I can’t answer, or I have to spend what precious money I have on a whole new identity now that mine’s been compromised.
Not if he finds me.
Chapter 2
Stone
––––––––
Sipping my disappointingcoffee, I return to my rounds, yet walking through the doors wakes me up better than any vending machine caffeine ever could. A series of monitors are wailing, and nurses are rushing into the room at the end of the hall; the sort of chaos that makes far more sense than any stretch of quiet ever will in a hospital. Abandoning my nearly full cup in the first trashcan I pass, I take off jogging down the hall.
“What have we got?”
I barely have a foot in the room before someone is rattling off the highlights. “Female, presumed late twenties, stab wound to the abdomen, fever currently 104. Woke up hysterical when Justin was changing her bandages and swung the IV pole at his head.”
