Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
A rough hand was yanking on his shirt, trying to turn him around. He grabbed at it, pulling Judge off of him. “I’m okay.”
“Are you hit? Michaels!” Judge was not helping. Michaels was trying not to panic himself. He had no clue whether his eyeball would fall out into his lap if he moved his hand. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No! I’m good.” Michaels pulled down the visor with his other hand, looking at his reflection. He was able to use his left eye just fine, there didn’t appear to be any damage there. He slowly pulled his blood-soaked hand away from his face.
Judge was watching him closely, every now and then turning his attention back to the road. Michaels wanted to reassure Judge that he was okay, because the man looked like he’d just had triple bypass surgery performed. Without anesthesia. By a ghost. His hands shook fiercely as he tried to navigate the large vehicle up the interstate on-ramp.
Michaels right eye was still sealed shut, there was no way he could open it with all the blood seeping down his face.
“Fuck!” Judge gripped the steering wheel and barely missed running them directly into the guardrail.
Michaels took a calming breath. If he didn’t settle Judge down, he was going to kill them himself. “Judge. I’m not shot. It was glass. I’m cut on my forehead.” Michaels took off his over-shirt and dabbed at the blood on his face. There was a few nicks on his neck too, but the culprit causing all the gore was the gash above his eyebrow. He tried not to make a sound as he wiped at it a couple more times, the blood coming faster than he could wipe. He saw the cut was at least two and half inches long and split pretty deep. He didn’t believe the glass was inside it, but he’d probably need stitches. Some closure adhesive should take care of it until he got home. He inched his eye open, the thick blood weighing down his lashes, but at least the eyeball was still in its socket. He could see fine and it didn’t look like his eye was cut. Taking a sigh of relief, he balled up his shirt and pressed it hard against the cut, grimacing at the sharp pain.
“You need stitches,” Judge said, through clenched teeth.
“You have a first aid kit, right?” Michaels didn’t wait for Judge to answer. He knew he did. “I’ll take care of it in Jacksonville.”
“Fuck that.” Judge pulled out his cell. His hands still visibly shaking. Michaels heard him telling God to change their reservations, that they weren’t gonna make it there and needed something just outside the city. “Yeah. They fired several rounds but no one was hit. Michaels’ forehead is cut from glass that flew when they hit the side mirror, so we need to get to a place where it can be cleaned. And he needs to rest.”
Michaels wanted to bitch about Judge making him do something and telling him what he needed, but it was true. He didn’t have the energy and now that the adrenaline had dissipated, he was feeling wrung out. Michaels kept the pressure on his cut but couldn’t stop himself from slouching down into the leather cushioning. He turned his head to rest on the good side, so he was facing Judge, and closed his eyes. Bookem’s head finally popped up from behind him. He looked at Michaels as if trying to assess what was wrong and pressed his cold nose into his shoulder. When Bookem released a sad, pathetic whine, Michaels gently patted him on his head, not having the energy to do more.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Judge pulled into a Homewood Suites in North Miami, stopping at the office to pick up their keys before continuing around to the back of the building. Michaels was practically asleep in the front seat, so he let Bookem out on his side. He grabbed his first aid kit, then went to the end of the truck to drop the gate down and fussed at Switch to get out. Book put his front paws up on the bed, growling and barking at him. Judge knew his dog. He was sad about Michaels and pissed at Switch, blaming him for it all. “I’ll send him in there to get you if I have to.”
Switch scooted to the back and dropped his legs to the ground. “You fuckers are crazy.”
“Shut up. They were after you, not us. So I blame you for almost getting us killed and getting my truck shot up.” Judge yanked Switch towards the room, his hands still cuffed in front of him. When he opened the door, he shoved him down on the sofa and Bookem took up post right in front of him. If he even breathed too hard, Bookem was going to try to rip his face off.