Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
And then she's gone.
In a blink, the time it takes to reopen my eyes after closing them, she's running, disappearing into the darkness. I force myself up, clenching my jaw from the pain, struggling to get my breathing under control. I'm steady on my feet for the moment, but I'm losing blood.
I can feel it.
I can't stay here.
The police are never far off, and there were way too many gunshots for nobody to report it. I hear people rush out the door of the club, yelling, but I don't stop to see who it is. Climbing in my car, I open the glove box, fishing out the spare key. It's hard, using only my right arm, my left hand clutching the wound, but I manage to get the car started before anyone reaches me.
Everything's a blur as I speed away.
My vision is skewed, my head fucking throbbing.
I'm not sure how the hell I get home.
But by the time I pull up in my driveway and throw the car in park, I feel like I'm already hanging by a thread. I don't bother cutting the engine, forcing myself toward the house, needing to get inside. I should go to the hospital, I know, but I can't.
They ask questions.
I don't have any answers.
The door's unlocked when I make it there. I usually get mad when Karissa leaves it I latched, but I'm thanking God for it at the moment. I push against it as I shove it open, the blood coating my hand as I struggle. I slam the door closed behind me and lean back against it, wincing.
I hear footsteps coming down from upstairs as I push away and stagger through the foyer.
Karissa.
"Naz?" she says, her voice borderline panicked as she appears in front me, eyes wide with terror. Yanking her earbuds out, she rushes at me, grasping at my shirt. "Oh God, you're bleeding, Naz! You're fucking bleeding!"
I stare at her, mesmerized by the fright in her voice—not because of me, but for me. She scared for me?
"What happened to you?" she asks. "Jesus, there's blood everywhere!"
"Shot," I grind out. "Just once, I think."
"Shot? Somebody shot you?"
Her hands frantically paw at me, and I grimace, gritting my teeth to not cry out but a curse slips from my lips.
"Oh God, I'm sorry!" She pulls away quickly. Blood stains her palms, her hands shaking as she scrambles for her phone. She drops the damn thing once… twice… before she's steadied enough to even press a button on the cracked screen.
Her and that fucking phone…
"Just… hold on," she says. "Hold on, okay? I'll get you some help."
She starts dialing 9-1-1, but I stop her before she can press the last number, shaking my head as I reach for her phone. "No! No police."
"What?" She looks at me with shock. "Naz, you're hurt! Like really bad hurt! You need a fucking ambulance! You need to go to the hospital!"
"Carter," I mutter. "Call Carter."
"Who's Carter?"
"He's a doctor," I say. "His number is, uh… it's three four seven, uh… eight five three… uh… one…"
"One what?" she asks when I hesitate. "What's next?"
I shake my head. Fuck. Everything's hazy. I'm swaying. "My phone… it's in my phone. Look for Carter."
She drops her phone and digs into my pants pockets, grabbing mine. She calls the number as I stagger past her, ignoring her protests. The wound is bleeding badly, but I don't think it hit anything major.
Had it hit an artery, I would be dead by now.
I can hear Karissa, her voice sounding underwater. She speaks frantically into the phone before she calls out to me. "Naz, wait… he says not to move, to stay where you are!"
Before I can even respond, she's grabbing a hold of me, trying her best to help me as I head into the den. I collapse on the couch right inside, trying to keep my eyes open. I need to get this bleeding stopped.
"Tell him to hurry," I mutter.
"He's on his way," she says, throwing my phone down before the words are completely from her lips. "What can I do? What do you need?"
"Put pressure on the wound," I say. I'm getting too weak to do it, the pain too much for me to inflict any more on myself. Self-preservation is a bitch.
"How?"
"Just… get a towel or something. Use anything."
She looks around for something to use before, in a snap decision, pulling off her shirt. It happens in a blink, one second she's just sitting there, the next she's practically on top of me in nothing but her bra, her white tank top balled up in her fist.
She couldn't just go get a towel?
Shoving my hand out of the way, she presses the fabric to my side hard. I grimace, groaning as the burning rips through my gut.
"Fuck, Karissa," I mutter. "I'm already wounded, and you start taking your clothes off. Are you trying to kill me?"
"Not funny," she says, a slight tremble in her voice, her tone dead serious. She doesn't find it funny at all. Forcing my eyes open, I peer at her, my vision blurry but clear enough to see tears silently streaming down her cheeks.
That sobers me up quickly.
"Hey," I say, my voice gritty as I reach for her, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand, ignoring the fact that I smear a streak blood on her face. "Don't cry. It's going to be okay."
She doesn't meet my eyes, keeping her gaze trained on my side as she presses against it with everything in her, the tears still falling. I'm not sure what to say. I don't know if it's the bloodshed or the realization that I'm hurting her again that makes me feel like throwing up, the nausea so intense it burns my throat, everything fuzzy, my chest feeling like it wants to cave in.
My heart might really give out at this rate.
The dizziness is coming on hard, my vision fading as sweat forms along my brow, running down the side of my face as I try to focus on staying conscious. Every second gets harder, every breath more of a struggle.