Page 76 of Freeing Denver
White blurs my vision, and I drop to a knee.
No.
They can’t take her.
They can’t?—
They
Chapter 21
Alistair
I’ve walked too many hospital hallways in my life, but especially these last few months. My hands are coated in blood, Colt’s blood, after finding him half dead in the street, his thigh muscles torn open, his face gray. He was mumbling Denver’s name, and the moment we got him into the ambulance, he started thrashing, shouting, screaming at me to find her.
He’s been in surgery for hours, and I’ve spent every second using every resource to find my friend’s wife.
But I can’t.
My hands tremble, dried blood in the creases of my palm crumbling away as I close them into fists.
Quickened footsteps have me lifting my gaze to the hall. Lucas approaches, face set into hardened lines. He looks so much older than he is, just a kid really, but after Taf, JJ, and Charlie, I trust him the most. Charlie is currently getting two bullets removed from his shoulder, and Taf is with JJ, trying to find out how this happened.
“Anything?” I ask.
Lucas shakes his head. “Alexei’s men haven’t seen anything. Dante is out there looking himself, but so far …”
Nothing. No sign of her.
“What the fuck do we do?” Lucas whispers, searching my eyes.
“We keep looking.” My voice is hoarse.
He stares at me. “And then?”
The answer is horrific. It sits on my tongue like a bitter, slow-dissolving pill, and I’m unable to swallow it. Unable to accept it, barely able to think it.
“There’s nothing else we can do.”
Chapter 22
Denver
Lights pulse beyond my closed eyelids, but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t open them. My body feels simultaneously too light and too heavy, my muscles a dead weight, my mind lighter than air. I’m not unconscious but I’m close, fighting the urge to slip into the darkness just to hide from the aching in my head.
Hushed voices. Distant laughter. A car stopping.
We’re inside …
It isn’t Colt carrying me. There’s no care with how I’m tossed onto a bed, the mattress plastic and cold.
My head drops back. Something pinches in my arm.
And then I’m asleep.
Fingers in my hair.A soothing, kind caress.
“Colt?” My mouth is so dry I choke on his name. My chest aches as I splutter, the tickle in my throat not relenting until he holds a straw to my mouth and I drink. Cool water washes over my tongue, and I finish most of the glass.
