Page 106 of Property of Bones

“Be… fine,” I grit out, barely able to speak.

“You won’t, Sunny,” he says, voice tight with frustration. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. You’re hurt. Worse than you’re letting on.”

I don’t deny it. I can’t.

“Besides,” he adds, scanning the area, “we’ve got to cross the border, and you don’t have any ID.”

I close my eyes, trying to focus onanythingbut the stabbing heat in my ribs. “How did they…get me here?”

“They bought off the people working it,” he growls. “Paid them to look the other way.”

I try not to flinch at that. I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am.

Max shifts his grip like he’s getting ready to move again. “I need to call Spike. But first I have to get you out of here. I fucking hate it, but we’re taking the bike.”

Max moves fast. Before I can fully register what’s happening, we’re at his bike…sleek, dark, and completely unforgiving for someone with shattered ribs.

“I need you not to scream, Sunny,” he says, voice low but firm. “I’m going to set you on your feet, and the movement’s going to hurt.Don’t. Scream.”

Sure. No problem.

I’m just a woman being held together by pure adrenaline.

Slowly, he lowers himself into a crouch, guiding me down until my bare feet touch the ground.

Then he helps me straighten.

Blinding pain explodes behind my eyes. The world tilts. My knees buckle.

But I bite my tongue and swallow the scream clawing its way up my throat.

Not here. Not now.

Max adjusts the bike’s position, bracing it steady as he steps around to help me.

“This is going to suck,” he mutters. “Sorry in advance.”

He crouches slightly and threads one arm behind my back, the other under my knees. I brace myself, but I’m already trembling. Gently, he lifts me onto the bike’s rear seat. It’s narrow, hard, and impossible to get comfortable on with broken ribs.

“Alright,” he says softly, carefully easing in front of me. “Almost done.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as the weight shifts beneath me.

“Lean with me,” he instructs. “When I lean, you lean. Don’t try to sit stiff…it’ll just make it worse. And wrap your arms around me. Tight as you can.”

I hesitate, but I do as he says, linking my arms around his waist. Every breath is a battle, but I bury my face against his back and nod.

He doesn’t wait. The bike rumbles to life beneath us, and we take off.

The rumble of the bike vibrates every bone in my body. Every. Broken. Rib.

Ten brutal minutes later, we’re pulling into a gravel lot tucked behind a crumbling building covered in rusted signageand graffiti. It’s abandoned but not forgotten. The kind of place people only use when they don’t want to be found.

Max kills the engine but doesn’t move. His body stays still, controlled, but his hand trembles slightly as he pulls out his phone.

“Calling Spike,” he mutters.

He puts the phone on speaker.

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