Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
He would survive this—of that he was certain—but what about this frail boy, who’d puked the contents of his stomach before they’d managed to leave the training space?
Mike’s skin itched most where the two of them touched, but he didn’t have the time to worry about possible irritation and stalled only when his foot hovered above empty space. He stiffened, realizing he could have toppled all the way down, and taken Arden with him, had he stopped a split second later.
But the stairs were familiar, and he sped up, whispering to Arden while nausea rose in his own throat. He would make it outside. He would. He would.
The door ahead swung open and hit the wall, but just as he stiffened, torn whether he should try to reach for his gun or not, Axel’s voice brought such relief even Mike’s eyes stung a bit less.
“He’s here! Mike, put him down.”
Mike’s skull was filled with the peppery fumes, and his initial reaction was one of protest, but Axel pried Arden out of Mike’s arms and forcibly placed Mike’s hand on his shoulder. This made sense. They’d be guided to a safe area.
Arden’s cries and wheezing were like stabs to Mike’s heart. He saw him as a blurry shape in Axel’s arms, but the inability to relieve his pain was agony, and he shuddered, squeezing Axel’s shoulder.
“He needs…”
“I know, water.”
Mom spoke out, as if out of nowhere, her voice muffled. “You’re almost there, Mike!”
Fresh air hit him like a pillow, and while it was dry and desert-hot, it brought the scent of dust, not pepper spray. More people cried, shouting for help. He could hear words of comfort, but the one sound that stood out and drew him in was that of running water.
He sped up, pulling on Axel rather than the other way around until droplets splashed his burning skin, and he spun, forcing his eyes open despite tears blurring his vision in the scorching sun. “Arden?”
He pulled his boy close as soon as Axel put him down, trying to rub the chemicals out of the lovely face despite his own flesh aching as if he’d inhaled chili powder. Someone touched his back, but he didn’t bother to see who it was even when his tank top was cut open and removed from his body, leaving his torso bare.
“It hurts!” Arden wheezed, but Mike was there with him, blinking away the blurriness in his eyes.
Mike was reminded of what Arden had told him just before this attack, and couldn’t bear seeing him in pain. When someone made Arden squeal and pushed Mike away, he almost punched them—but stopped himself when it turned out to be his own mother.
“I know, I know,” she cooed to Arden as if he were a baby, snipping away with scissors. “But we have to get the clothes off you. They’re contaminated by the gas. Mike, pants off!” she added much more sternly. This wasn’t their first rodeo with tear gas, but Arden had to be terrified.
“Cut his shirt first. His,” he rasped, already blinking with more ease due to the water Axel was hosing them down with. Several people were getting the same treatment at nearby homes, but Arden was the only person who mattered to him, so he got down on his knees and pulled off the boy’s shoes and socks, exposing his painted nails, and then yanked down his shorts and lacy underwear, hissing in sympathy when he saw how red the usually-pale skin was.
At least Mom knew not to argue with him and cut Arden’s top off as he squirmed like an electrocuted puppy, whining and trembling all over. Seeing him like this filled Mike with so much rage, but also regret. None of this would have happened to Arden if he weren’t associated with Mike.
Memories of Leah passed through Mike’s mind, as vivid as they were unwanted. They were worse than the tear gas, because no amount of water could wash them away. He’d never forget her final scream. Never unsee the light dying in her eyes.
“Mike! What’s… going on?” Arden cried.
“It’s fine. Must be tear gas. Keep blinking,” Mike said and pushed Arden’s forehead back so the fresh water could wash the agent off his face. He kicked off his pants and stood naked, grabbing a bottle of liquid soap the moment Mom handed it to him. Pouring a copious amount into his hands, he went on to rub the coconut-scented liquid into Arden’s hair, into his face, neck, shoulders, his chest.
But the boy kept struggling for air as he leaned forward, unstable on his feet. “I think he needs a doctor,” Mike said as worry tightened around his neck.
“Get a sheet from the massage room!” Mom yelled to someone as she soaped up Mike’s hair in rough no-nonsense motions. “Jeff’s already called the doc to come over. This is some fucking bullshit,” she growled through clenched teeth.