Page 31 of Wilde's End
I’m panting so quick and sharp that it’s burning my chest, and I squeeze my eyes closed against the … well, everything.
I need the pain to stop.
Once it stops, I’ll be fine.
Just fine.
And maybe some sleep.
All I know is that the bearded man will fix it. I know him, and I know I know him, but my brain is moving too slowly to pick from where. The mixture of fear and interest promises me that he’ll make this better.
Even if he kills me.
At least that will take the pain and nausea away.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
WILDE
Well, this is fucking perfect.
I stare at the very unconscious asshole lying on my property. Technically, if I nudge him over a little to the left, he’s on someone else’s property and therefore not my problem. With a sigh, I look around to check we’re alone, even though I already know the answer to that. Then I move closer, half-convinced he’s going to jump up and stab me.
I don’t trust anyone from the city.
The closer I get though, the less likely it looks as though he’s going to be doing anything but bleeding out.
For fuck’s sake. Why is this my problem?
It figures that he’d come here and force me to deal with him. He’s bleeding all over, arms cut up, front of his shirt covered in dirt and shredded in places, and even in his sleep, he’s shaking. Then my gaze finds the nasty burn on his side.
Guess he came off his dirt bike, then.
My head drops back toward the canopy as I whine at the universe for bringing him my way.
Too much of my day has already been dedicated to this fucking guy.
Completely against my will, I stalk to my truck, throw open the back, and head over to Hudson’s sprawled body. He’s lucky I refilled my tires with air while he was gone, otherwise we wouldn’t be going anywhere.
I crouch beside him, and I’m gentler than I should be as I tug the helmet off and toss it into my truck. Then I slip one arm under his knees and the other behind his back, then haul him against me and stand, cursing his name the entire fucking time. Hudson says something incoherent right before I dump him in the back, lock the tray into place, and then round the truck to climb into the cab.
This proves exactly what I’ve been saying. These guys don’t get it. They don’t respect what it’s like to live in a remote place, they don’t understand how different and dangerous it can be, and they definitely don’t take accountability for any of the bullshit they bring our way.
I slam my palm into the steering wheel as I drive, cautious not to take the corners too sharply and avoiding the bumpy tracks where I can. Not that he wouldn’t deserve a few extra injuries. It only takes a few minutes to reach the chop shop, and Booker must have heard me coming because he’s waiting on his front steps.
The second the engine is off, I climb out and slam the door a little too hard.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I don’t answer, just walk around and open the back so he can see where Hudson has been thrown in there.
Booker hums as he approaches. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Whatin me?”
“Murder. Is this mine now?”
