Page 125 of Trigger Happy Ending

The zipper is caught. It’s fucking stuck. I yank it again, and again, but my hands won’t stop shaking, and I can’t get a solid grip. And I don’t fucking shake. Ever. But I almost lost her tonight.

My chest splits open. I almost lost her.

I still might.

“Someone bring me a small bowl of warm water!” I bark to anyone who will listen.

I kneel between her knees, and rip the zipper off completely, tearing the kit open with my teeth. I peel her soaked singlet over her stomach and swear under my breath. The bruising across her ribs and abdomen is deep and purple. Her ribs are probably cracked. Lungs likely punctured. Internal bleeding is a given.

They’ve beaten her like she was nothing.

I clean the abrasions as best I can with the bandages and ointment in the first aid kit. It’s nothing compared to the care she needs, but it’s something.

I have to do something.

The same guy who tossed me the first aid kit brings in a small bowl, filled with warm water, just as I’d asked.

I dip a cloth in the warm water and start wiping blood oozing from her lip. She winces, and I pause, my thumb brushing her lips. Her eyes flicker open, hazy, unfocused. They are eyes succumbing to pain.

“Soren?”

“Yeah.” My voice is rough. I clear my throat. “I’m here.”

She tries to sit up straighter, but I stop her with a hand to her shoulder. “Don’t move. You’re hurt.”

I expect her to come back with a smart-ass quip. Something like, “You should see the other guy,” but she doesn’t. She stays silent. That’s how I know she’s really hurt.

“How did you find me?”

“I was with Carson. He got a call.”

I press the cloth gently against another open wound, this time the split above her eyebrow. But she needs urgent medical attention, not this halfway house bullshit. She’s critically injured for fuck’s sake. Cleaning superficial wounds doesn’t mean shit when she needs intensive care.

Fuck this.

“Carson!” I yell, standing. I exit the bathroom to find him standing, talking quietly to one of his guys in the main sitting room. “She needs a doctor, right fucking now. She’s bleeding out!”

Carson nods to an open door behind him, and I see a few more of his men and the man named John moving around what looks like a hospital bed. I notice an IV drip with bags of fluids and a heart rate monitor, plus another machine with a giant needle in it. Morphine probably.

“Is it ready?” Carson asks loudly, not breaking my stare.

“Yes, sir. Bring her in.”

I race back into the bathroom and gently pick Raine up in my arms. I carry her into the room and place her on the bed before stepping back and letting the people connect her to the IV and monitors. They're efficient, I'll give them that. They move with ease, obviously this isn't their first rodeo.

“We’ll get her stable,” John offers. “Doesn’t have everything a hospital does, but it’ll keep her alive. For now. We’ll leave you alone with her for a while.”

The room empties until it’s just Raine and I. My ears adjust to the silence, the only sound belonging to the intermittent beeping from the machines monitoring her vitals. I collapse into the chair next to her and watch her chest rise and fall. Her breathing is too short, too shallow.

This is a temporary fix; she can’t stay here with only half of what she needs.

Pure terror races through me again. I’ve stared down death a thousand times, but all that pales in insignificance when compared with the fear of losing her. Because if she dies?

I will tear this world down and burn it to the motherfucking ground.

I drop my head into my hands, trying to breathe, trying to think.

“Soren.”