Page 62 of Save Me
I blink fast, trying to clear the fog in my head. The seatbelt cuts across my chest as I press against it, struggling to get out.
“Stay down,” Dad yells.
The world outside the car tilts and wobbles as I push the door open. Gravel digs into my palms. I’m on the ground, not sure how I got here, but the cold bite of little rocks tells me it’s real.
Gunshots echo a staccato rhythm that jolts through me. My breath comes too fast, too shallow. I glance up; Adam and Dad aren’t far away, guns aimed at the van where men pour out like ants from a kicked hill. “Vipers,” Dad grits out. That one word sends a chill down my spine, ice in my veins. They’re not just any gang; they’re a nightmare made flesh—the ones who abducted me and have caused all this grief for the guys.
If anything was going to get me on my feet to fight, it was that one word.
A movement catches my eye—Dad stepping forward, his body shielding mine. “Get down!” he shouts at me, but there’s no time.
A sharp crack splits the air, and he stumbles. The world slows down. My heart doesn’t beat; it stops, waiting, suspended.
Dad falls, and there’s red on his shirt, spreading rapidly.
“No!” I scream and drop to my knees. “Adam!” He moves, a blur of motion, dragging Dad behind the cover of our wrecked SUV. I crawl closer, hands useless, shaking. Dad’s eyes find mine, fierce even now. “You’ll be okay,” I whisper, but the words are a platitude. I don’t know shit.
Adam doesn’t hesitate to keep moving, fluid like some kind of dark avenger. I watch him, part horror, part awe, as he ducks and weaves between the bullets that slice through the air. His return fire is precise, each shot finding a mark. One by one, the Vipers fall, their threats silenced mid-shout.
“This is my fault,” I murmur, pressing down on Dad’s wound, my hands sticky and warm with his blood. “This is my fault. They’re after me.”
“No,” Dad croaks.
“Shh,” I murmur automatically. Nothing he can say will change the fact that he was shot because of me.
“Vogue!” Adam yells, snapping me out of the daze. A gun skids across the ground to me. I fumble with it, my hands slick with blood. It’s heavier than I remember from the range yesterday. I aim in the general direction of the enemy, my arms trembling. I squeeze the trigger, but it’s like I’m all thumbs, the gun jerking in my hand more than it should.
Bullets kick up dirt around me. I’m not helping. Not really. But I can’t just sit here while Adam does all the work and while Dad bleeds out.
We will all die.
I try again, squinting, willing my hands to steady. The gun jerks again with the recoil, and I don’t know if I hit anything, but at least I’m trying. Adam’s doing his part; I need to do mine, even if my heart is racing and I want to throw up.
“Cover me!” Adam shouts, and I nod, gritting my teeth, knowing he is risking his life for me. I have to at least try.
He’s relentless, closing in on the last of the Vipers. There’s no mercy in his eyes, only the cold intent to protect, to serve retribution. He uses one as a human shield as he fires off shot after shot, taking them down savagely. As much as this world of violence and blood is new and terrifying to me, I realise it’s also now my reality. Dad’s legacy is mine, now. Ambushes and all.
So, I stand there, shooting and missing, because that’s all I can do right now. That’s all I have.
Then sirens cut through the chaos, a shrill alarm call that sends a spike of panic straight through me. “Adam!” I shout, my voice hoarse from the gunpowder and fear.
“Move!” Adam barks, his eyes scanning the wooded embankment for an escape route. Dad’s slumped on the ground, holding his hand over the hole in his chest, his face tight with pain. There’s so much blood. Too much.
“Vogue, help me get him in,” Adam orders, reaching down to scoop Dad up in a swift motion. His arm is around Dad’s waist; I take the other side, almost staggering under the sudden weight. Dad grunts, his face contorting, but he stays silent. Tough as nails, even now.
“I meant, clear the backseat,” Adam grits out. “I’ve got your old man, girlie.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry,” I stammer, feeling like an idiot. Adam is twice my dad’s size; of course, he’s got this.
I turn to the SUV, its black body dented and scarred from the ambush. The front bumper hangs off like a broken jaw. It’ll be a miracle if it will still drive.
I open the door as far as I can and clamber in so I can haul Dad further in as Adam stuffs him inside.
Dad passes out from the pain of being moved, and I let out a sob as I drop the gun I’m still holding and press my bloodied, aching hands over the wound again.
My stomach turns, but I can’t let that stop me.
Adam leaps into the driver’s seat and slams the door shut, but it bounces open again, too damaged to close. The engine comes to life, more of a gasp than a growl, and we’re tearing down the road, back the way we came, leaving behind a cloud of dust, a dozen dead bodies and the distant wail of sirens.
