Page 54 of These Reckless Hearts

Another body slams into me from behind with the force of a cement wall, and I fall to the ground in a heap. Pain explodes against my skull. “Now, shut the fuck up,” a voice seethes, and I realize it’s my original captor. He seems like their leader.

He hauls me to my feet. I’m dizzy now and, if I’m not mistaken, blood oozes down the back of my head. He must’ve hit me with the butt of his gun, the son of a bitch.

He throws me toward the guy who’s rubbing his elbow. “Do you think you can handle her now?”

He glares at me. “I wasn’t expecting her to fight back. Especially not with a fucking armlock.”

“Well, start expecting it,” I threaten, but I’m fairly certain I don’t get all the words out. If I do, they’re slurred. The world around me spins. Several times, it feels like the desert floor is moving up to slam into my face, but a quick tug on my arm brings me back to reality and saves me from faceplanting. We walk for hours. I try to get my brain working to figure out where I am but it’s impossible. I’m in and out of consciousness, my eyes drooping in sync with the heaviness in my heart, and it’s all I can do to stay on my feet. Attempting escape again is futile.

I’m being marched out of the Superstitions like a POW. Lance must have ordered them to get me.Justme.

By the time we reach the trailhead, the man guarding me is practically dragging my feet along the ground. I lift my head to read the sign and immediately close my eyes again. We’re on the other side of the damn mountain.

A soft glow lightens the horizon, a line of yellow peeking through as the rest of the world comes alive. A metallic Range Rover pulls up next to us, and my brute of an escort opens the back door and shoves me inside. My cheek presses against leather, and it’s all I can do to pick my feet up before he slams the door on me.

The vehicle starts moving right away, the rumble of the engine lulling. My eyes droop even more, sleep calling to me after the hell I’ve been through this morning.

Before I know it, I’m passed out—my soaked clothes clinging to me, my curls flattened to my forehead, and my body aching more than it ever has before. In all this, sleep is a welcome peace until my dreams come and all I hear are Wyatt, Stone, and Lucas calling for me as much as I was calling for them, except I can’t answer, and I don’t know if I ever will again.

24

The calls in my sleep are ghosts as I blink awake. I’m lying on top of a twin-sized mattress that sits on the floor in a small, square room. Blinds shield the windows, but they’re broken in some areas, allowing rays of sunlight to pierce through and splatter the walls in hazy illumination.

I groan as everything that happened hits me like a ten-ton truck along with the pain searing my limbs. The most pressing issue is the pulsing ache in my side. When I glance down, I spot blood on the mattress. I breathe in and out as I gingerly lift Stone’s sweatshirt. I’m caked in dried dirt, turning my pale skin a muddy brown everywhere I look.

Jesus Christ.

Surrounded by grime-stained skin, I spot the coagulated blood spanning a three-inch gash above my left hip. There’s no fresh blood, just hardened crimson the color of the Black Licorice’s cranberry moonshine.

Breathing through my nose as if that will somehow block the pain, I pull myself up as white-hot agony lances my midsection. I slouch against the wall for support and wait for the trauma to die down before I attempt sitting again.

The blocky room is nondescript. The white floor tile is kind of fancy even though the trim on the doorway is simple and muted tan walls stare back at me. There are no furnishings in the room. It’s completely bare. Wherever Lance’s people brought me, it doesn’t appear to be lived in currently. I most definitely don’t think I’m at his building in Phoenix—the room is too cozy to be in a high-rise office building.

My water-logged head pounds. My throat still burns, and my chapped lips take great effort to force apart. I don’t remember anything about the ride here. I must’ve been really out of it but thankfully, it looks as if they literally just tossed me on the mattress and left me here, soaking wet clothes and all.

“Hello?” I call out, only it comes out as a whisper. I clear my throat and try again, managing a choked sort of sound.

The door is thrown open, and a man in the same tan fatigues sticks his head in. He’s gruff with weathered skin. He’s quite possibly the same age as Lance or maybe a little younger but aged in a way Lance never will while he’s sitting on top of his ivory tower. “Oh good, you’re awake.” He slams the door closed, and I groan at the noise.

“Hello?” I cry out again, my voice firmer this time. I bring myself to a sitting position and hiss. “I need medical attention. Hello!” He doesn’t return, and I doubt they care if I need help. They said their only objective was to get me and most likely bring me here. Wherever here is. I doubt Lance is far since this is all his doing.

I search the room again, looking for anything that might help. There’s an old phone hookup in the corner, but no phone—the line just lies on the floor, intersecting the joining of two tiles. There’s another door in the room, and I drag myself to my feet while my body screams at me to stay still. I push past the pain and hobble to the opposite wall. I tug the door open only to find a closet with empty hangers. “Fuck.”

I place one hand on the doorjamb to steady myself, and my opposite hand curls into my side where the worst of the pain is. Actually, that’s not true. The worst of the pain is emanating from my chest because I don’t know what happened to Wyatt, Stone, and Lucas. Stone’s unbreathing form flashes in front of my eyes, and I hold back a sob with shaking fingers.

“I need to get out of here,” I whisper. “I need to find out what happened.”

I limp to the window, the tiny cuts on the underside of my bare feet protesting every step. I have open sores that need to be cleaned out on my legs, too, but I can’t think around the giant mess in my head. Where are they? Facts keep hitting me hard and fast. We were separated. Our gear, the map—I don’t know where any of that is. Ninja and Pete, too. Did those men do something to them before the flood happened? Or did they get swept up in it, too?

I still hold onto the hope that Ninja got a hold of Cole; that Stone, Wyatt, and Lucas were able to make it down the mountain, back to the SUV to go for help.

I yank on the string that raises the blinds only to have the whole thing crash to the floor. The incoming rays of sun shower me in heat, reminding me that the world is still turning out there. The door bursts open again, bouncing against the opposite wall, and I jump at the sudden intrusion. Turning, I find a figure in the doorway squinting from the incoming fresh light.

The guy drops a bucket of water to the ground, some of it sloshing over the sides. “I thought you could use something to clean yourself with.” He takes a t-shirt and camo bottoms from his shoulder and drops them next to the bucket, right into the puddle of water forming.

“Where’s Lance?” I croak.

“He won’t be by until later. You’ll have to sit tight. Don’t even think about leaving this room. We have the area surrounded. You won’t make it three steps before a bullet rips through your skull.”

---