Page 382 of Primal

The girl who should’ve died a hundred times over and still fought like hell.

Payton Reed was the only one I cared about saving.

Now she gets to walk out those gates.

And I can finally rest.

Chapter Thirty-Two

We made it. Not all of us. But it fucking counts. It has to.

The thin gown covers about as much as Kristy’s fanny pack. I still reek of blood. A nurse offered me a shower. I said no. Haven’t even called anyone. My parents. Kristy’s roommate. Lana’s family. Eventually, they’ll find out. Might even make the news.

Amanda sits beside me in the waiting room, her ruined lace bodysuit swallowed by a borrowed EMT jacket. She hasn’t spoken much since we got here. Just stares at the vending machine.

A cop stands against the far wall, eyeing us warily. By now, they must’ve found all the bodies. Derek, Wesley, and Rachel at the gates. Kristy and Lana somewhere in the woods. The ones in the chapel.

We got out, and yet somehow, I’m still there—flinching at every sound, waiting to see who comes for me next.

More people showed up after Amanda. One of the hunters ripped off his Bane mask as soon as he saw Kade on the ground. He and another guy helped us lift Kade into my car.

We were in the backseat, Kade’s head in my lap. Every bump in the road made him groan—until he didn’t.

Me screaming at Amanda, white-knuckling the wheel. ‘We’re losing him. Step on it.’

The ER doors bursting open. A nurse taking one look at us—half-naked, streaked in blood. ‘GSW, possible hemothorax, move!’

Me, standing in the hallway, lost. A cop stepping toward me, notepad in hand.

‘Can it wait? Please?’

That was nearly four hours ago.

A door swings open. I jerk upright.

A surgeon in scrubs walks out, peeling off gloves. “Ms. Reed?”

I stand. “Is he alive?”

“Stable for now. The next twenty-four hours are critical. But he made it through surgery.”

I sway, fingers tightening on the armrest to steady myself.

The surgeon eyes me—the gown, the blood under my nails. “Are you family?”

“Yes.”

“His chart lists his mother as emergency contact. We called twice but—”

“He changed it.” My voice doesn’t waver. “Last week.”

The surgeon exhales. “Five minutes. And security will need to speak with you.”

He means the cops waiting downstairs. The ones who’ve been circling since we arrived.

“Wait here,” I tell Amanda.

She grabs my wrist. “What should I tell them?”