Page 131 of Juniper Unraveling

In the pause between us, I look up to him standing over me. “Rhys?”

Above the skull mask bunched at his neck, his brows furrow, sending a sharp stab to my gut. “I don’t know. He stayed back with Tripp.”

“What happened?” Panic strangles my voice.

“There were too many this time. They had … alphas with them.” His face pinches, and he shakes his head. “One of the guards shot Crank.”

“Rhys was alive … when you saw him last. He was alive, right?”

“He was alive.”

Okay, okay, okay.

The tightness winds in my gut, and with trembling hands, I nod, pressing the rags into Crank’s leg wound. On a breath, I dare to pour the water over the wound, to get a look at it, but more blood gathers as fast as it’s washed away.

I already know he’s going to die. He’s lost too much blood, and judging by the continuous flow seeping into the rags, something major was hit. Trying to remove the bullet would probably uncork a vein, and he’d die for the effort.

Papa once had a man brought to our doorstep, who’d been shot in the leg. I didn’t think someone could die from being shot there, but Papa said he’d been hit in the femoral artery and couldn’t be saved. He didn’t even try, which bothered me.

Red kneels beside me, her lips trembling with the sob she holds back.

“Pressure to his wounds,” I say, tossing her one of the rags. It won’t do any good, but at least we’ll have tried.

She holds the rag to a hole at his chest, and her eyes meet mine. “Have you seen them yet?”

I shake my head, rapidly blinking away the watery shield. “They were together. They stayed back.”

“Oh, Crank.” She finally breaks down and slides her hand into the biker’s thick palm. “Hang in there.”

It takes another three minutes before the trembling fades, his mouth gapes, and his eyes turn vacant.

Lifeless.

Hands still pressing against his wounds, I lower my head, and the cavern goes still. Only the crackling bonfire can be heard over the sniffles behind me.

“He’s gone,” I say, moving my hands away from him.

Shouts reverberate off the walls, and I shoot to my feet, standing amongst the small crowd that parts down the center. From the shadows of the cave’s entrance, dark silhouettes move toward us, and the moment they hit the dim light of the sconces, I scan their faces.

A man dressed in the signature black of Legion’s uniforms stumbles along, his hands bound behind his back, face bloodied, but recognizable.

Damian.

Behind him, Tripp gives one harsh slam to the soldier’s back, and Damian tumbles to the ground.

The next to breach the dark tunnel turns my blood cold.

Ivan Ericsson.

I’ve not seen him since the night I escaped from Calico, but he looks no different. The same as he appears in my nightmares.

Numbness spreads across my chest, and my lungs lock. My instinct is to hide. Run and hide. Every muscle trembles a warning, the familiar breath of fear skating down my spine, as it did when I was locked in Calico, forced to meet him in some dark and obscure corner of S block.

Like Damian, his face is bloodied and bruised, his eye swollen shut. Even with his arms bound behind him, though, the mere sight of him paralyzes my muscles.

Rhys strides in behind him, covered in blood, and one swift knock to Ivan’s back sends him flying to the ground beside Damian.

“Where’s Crank?” Tripp asks, pushing through the crowd toward the biker’s lifeless body.