Page 183 of Split You Open

“About fucking time, asshole,” he growls out.

I stare down at my friend in horror. “What in the holy fuck, Anchor?”

I shuffle closer before I drop to my knees beside him. I don’t even know where to look first or what to do to help him. There’s just so much fucking damage. “We need to get you to a hospital, Anchor. You’re really beat the fuck up this time.”

Anchor scoffs. “I don’t need a hospital. I need you to jerk my shoulder and ankle back into place, stitch me up, and to help me get my fucking daughter back.”

He might as well have shot me point blank in the chest given the pain and panic that erupts right in the middle of it. The world drops away from beneath and if I wasn’t already on my knees, I’d have fallen to them. As it is, I have to reach a hand down to press into the soil to steady myself.

I look away from Anchor, my eyes searching the woods.

“Ledger! Did you not fucking hear me? I need you to⁠—”

“Blair’s… she’s not with you?” I ask breathlessly, needing to be absolutely sure I heard him correctly.

Anchor doesn’t respond.

When I force myself to look back into his face, he can’t meet my eyes. The lack of an answer is enough for me. Slowly, I rise from my crouch and take a step back from my friend.

Never, not in a million years, would I have thought that there would be a time that Anchor would leave his daughter behind. She is his everything. Yes, he may have tried to kill her over the years, but I know it was never malicious despite my taunts in the woods a few nights ago. He only wanted to protect her from his enemies.

From this very scenario.

The grim expression on Anchor’s face glitches. For a second, he looks terrified. The expression morphs back into grim determination too swiftly for me to be sure though.

“Dixie has her,” Anchor admits, his voice strained. “He took her from me, Ledger.”

I open my mouth to ask how but the roar of an ATV sounds and a moment later, Wes pulls his all-terrain vehicle around to where the two of us are. He takes one look at Anchor and he’s climbing off the ATV and hurrying over to us.

“Shit, let’s get you on this thing and back to the cabin,” he says, already in fix-it mode. “Where’s Blair? Did she help you get this far⁠—”

“She’s not fucking here!” I roar, unable to control the panic and anger.

Wes tenses, looking from me to Anchor.

“This is none of your concern,” Anchor hisses at him.

I gape at my best friend’s audacity. Wes slowly crouches down in front of Anchor so that they’re eye level. His hands shoot out and he grabs the front of Anchor’s shirt and jerks him forward so that they’re nose-to-nose. Anchor hisses in pain, his bad arm jostled hard.

“Blair is my only concern, got it?” Wes snaps. “Given the mess we saw at Santi’s house, I have a feeling you’re going to need all the help you can get. Especially in your current state.”

“I can⁠—”

The roar that erupts past my lips causes birds to take flight overhead. Stepping up, I glare down at Anchor.

“Fuck your pride, Anchor! Wes is right, we’ll need him and the others.”

Wes lets go of Anchor to stand up.

Stomping up to Anchor’s side, I crouch down, hook my arm around my best friend’s waist and throw his good arm around my shoulder to lift him. As I force Anchor to his feet, I add, “You will tell us what fucking happened when we get back to the cabin. From there, we’ll get my fucking godchild back.”

“They came at us hard and fast. I don’t know how they found us,” Anchor explains through gritted teeth as I stitch his side up. “There were about fifteen men that left the house from what I could see from the bushes.”

“Stop moving,” I snap as he flinches.

Anchor glares at me but goes still as he sits on the edge of the island.

The bullet wound, a deep graze across his abdomen, is the last to be patched up. His ankle is wrapped tight and his shoulder has been popped back into its socket. Despite being tended to, he’s not breathing any easier.