Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
She lifted her top arm, turning it in the light. “It doesn’t really hurt, Ford. They aren’t deep.”
Her denial sent burning rage coursing through me, followed by the ice of fear. So close. She’d been way too close to that bullet. She could have been killed just for being close to me.
I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” I said slowly. “But I’m starting to think we may need to consider a safe house.”
“I thought you said you weren’t leaving Heartstone,” she said.
“Not for me,” I said. “For you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
FORD
My phone signaled an incoming text. Hawk.
Stay down. Active shooter.
That was it. As it should be. Hawk was doing what Hawk did best—keeping us safe. But it hammered home how much danger we were all in. How much danger I was putting everyone in.
“What did he say?” Paige asked in a whisper.
“To stay down.”
Cold air filled the room, this time from the broken window. Paige’s blood, warm and wet, smeared my arm. The feel of it had my stomach rolling, and I fought the urge to vomit. Not the time or place, I ordered myself. I couldn’t help it. Bad enough that Paige was injured and bleeding because of me. Now we were stuck here, waiting.
I turned on the flashlight on my phone and scanned it over her body again. Her back had been facing the window when it shattered. The glass had exploded like a thousand tiny projectiles. I couldn’t put together the sequence of events. At the time, I’d been focused on Paige, kissing her and then tossing her on the bed. We’d been moving when the bullet smashed through the window. Exactly the wrong place at the wrong time.
As far as I could tell, all the cuts were on Paige, and the blood on me was hers.
Echoing my thoughts, she asked, “Are you bleeding? Did you get cut?” She grabbed my phone, turning the light so she could shine it on my face, my arms, twisting as much as she could to get it on my legs.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I don’t know how, but I’m fine.”
“You have a scratch here,” she reached up and touched the side of my neck.
If I’d been cut, I didn’t feel it. “Your back was to the window when the bullet came through,” I said. “The glass got you.” I caught her hand in mine. “Hold still. Moving is just going to make it bleed more.”
She craned her neck to see what she could of her cuts. “They don’t feel deep.”
I couldn’t hear her. Not the way I needed to. All I could see was the blood. Smearing across her cheek. Staining her arms, her lower leg.
“Don’t move,” I warned. “There’s glass all over the floor, even under here.”
She went still, murmuring, “I’m okay.”
A spurt of fear-filled rage shot through me. Not at her, but at the situation. At my own dumb fucking choices. My life decisions that led us all here.
“It’s not fucking okay, Paige. We’re hiding under a bed because someone shot at me. You could have been…” I choked the words out, feeling every one like a stab to my heart. They could have hit her. I could be holding her dead body right now. It was a matter of inches, of luck and timing. We’d been lucky. Next time, we might not be. And what would we do if our luck ran out?
I wasn’t crazy about the idea of dying. If I got a say, I’d prefer to stick around for another five decades at least. But Paige? Nothing was going to happen to her. I couldn’t stand the idea of it. Twice—in the parking lot and now in my own bedroom—she could have been killed, just for being near me. No. It was too high a price to pay. I couldn’t allow it.
“We can’t do this anymore,” I said, my heart cracking in half as I put the thought into words.
“What do you mean?” Paige asked, her brow furrowed as she squinted at me in the dim light beneath the bed.
“I mean, we can’t be together. You need to stay away from me. You should leave Heartstone. Go to a safe house or…shit, I don’t know if Cole knows about you. You might be safe to just leave, but a safe house would be better.”
“Ford, stop.” Her hand came up to touch my cheek. “This is bad, okay? I agree this is not a good situation, but I’m not leaving you. I’m not running away.”
“You have to,” I said. How could she not get it? Her life was at stake.
“Ford, you’re not thinking about this clearly,” she said, her tone even, at direct odds with the scampering fear I could barely contain. “We’re all in danger, and it’s not because of you. It’s because Cole Haywood is a murderer and a psychopath.”