Page 44 of Stolen

Chapter 21

Gritting her teeth, Ariana struggled on, taking the weight of the wounded man. Bullets whistled past them, and the ground shook with another explosion. She couldn’t look—she didn’t want to see people she cared about cut down. So she focused on one step at a time.

They came finally to a high stone wall, surrounding someone’s backyard. She could smell a garden inside—flowers and herbs—even through the dust and heat and gunpowder. She knew she couldn’t get the laboring man over the wall, not in his weakened state. Please, let there be a gate…

They rounded a corner, and she saw it further up the wall. “Just up there.” She pointed. “We’ll get you inside, out of danger, and treat that wound.”

The man nodded, but his face was deathly pale. Don’t die, she silently begged him, trying to will her own strength into him. “Just a few more steps,” she panted.

The gate wasn’t locked—didn’t even have a lock—but after they made it through, she found a piece of wood to jam it shut.

The garden, green and untouched in the sunlight, seemed like an oasis. Even the battle sounds seemed muted.

But the man she was helping was in bad shape. She laid him in the grass near the wall, knowing that any stray bullets or shells would pass over them.

Then she focused on his injuries.

The main wound was in his thigh, and still bleeding badly. He was lucky it had missed the artery, or he would already have bled out. But he was still in danger.

Ariana was carrying military field dressings in a pocket of her combat vest—as a runner, she’d stuffed every pocket with bandages or ammunition. Everyone who could shoot had been needed for that. Anyone who couldn’t, like her, needed to keep the fighters going as long as possible.

She used her combat knife to rip away part of the man’s pants, and get better access to the wound. The bullet was still lodged in there, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Instead she sprinkled disinfectant and clotting agents into the bloody mess, and then said, “Hold on. This gonna hurt.”

He gave her one brief nod, and she pressed the dressing down hard to stop the bleeding. He gave one strangled sound, clutching a clump of daffodils so hard his knuckles turned white.

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

Better for him, she supposed, and easier for her, but it made her nervous. If enemy soldiers found them here, he’d be helpless.

Ariana secured the bandage and stood up. After checking the man’s pulse, she took his rifle and upended a large flowerpot near the wall so she could stand on it. Rifle in hand, she peered cautiously over the wall at the battle.

The Outlaw Ridge wolves and the townspeople had nearly surrounded the main cartel force, pushing them back. There were still pockets of gunfire at the fringes, and hand-to-hand or wolf-to-wolf skirmishes going on.

There were soldiers down on both sides—dead or wounded, it was hard to tell in the smoke and the dust. And she didn’t see Hawk.

He was still alive—she could feel their newly forged bond humming between them. She would know if he were dead, or seriously wounded, just as he would know if she was.

But where was he?

She wanted desperately to go look for him, but she knew she couldn’t leave a wounded man here, helpless and alone. Some of Rico’s men might have slipped away from the fight, and they would take pleasure in killing him where he lay. She was about to step down when she heard, from the other side of the yard, the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

Ariana froze. Her brother’s voice cut through the sounds of battle, soft and silky. “Drop the rifle, little sister.” Stomach clenched, she did as he said.

“Now, step down and turn around.”

Again, she obeyed him, her mind working frantically, trying to figure out how she could get out of here without getting either herself or the wounded man killed.

When she turned, she saw Rico wasn’t alone. He wasn’t even the one holding the gun on her. Three of his men were with him—three of the most brutal—and one of them had his huge pistol locked on her.

She would get no sympathy there.

Slowly, she walked forward, getting as far away from the wounded man as possible. “I hope that’s not Hawk,” her brother said.

“No.” She didn’t even glance back at the man. “Some townsperson crawled in here. He’s dead.”

“Good.” Rico gave a parody of a grin. “Because I’m going to kill Hawk. Slowly. And you’re going to watch.”

The images he’d shoved into her head last night flashed through her memory, and she pushed them away. But her brother laughed. “See, you already know what’s in store for your lover. Anticipation makes it sweeter, no?”