23. Brynne

Chapter 23

Brynne

T he shot rang through the night air, and not even a second later, the deadly grip on my arm disappeared. I stood frozen, my gaze focused on the gravel faintly illuminated by the full moon. My ears rang, my mind spun, and every part of me screamed to run.

Boots crunched over gravel at a sprint, and then strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me away from the body that I knew surely lay behind me.

"Brynne," Booker's voice echoed, piercing my foggy mind.

He dropped his arms, placing his rough-yet-comforting hands on my cheeks. I couldn't see, but my eyes were open.

Lance was going to kill me.

"Brynne," Booker repeated, and then someone was behind me, grabbing my hand.

I shrieked, my heart instantly threatening to beat itself into oblivion as I wanted to dart away. To be free from the fear that enveloped every one of my senses in this moment.

"Brynne, it's okay." Booker's hands were on my shoulders, giving me no choice but to look at him as my vision finally let him in. "Austin is just going to cut the rope, okay? He's not going to hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

I nodded, swallowing the panic that still strangled my sore throat.

Booker's hands slid up my neck to my cheeks again as his eyes roamed over me. I fought my instinct to run, instead standing as still as my trembling body would let me while Austin went back to working at the rope that burned my wrists. Once he cut through it, my hands fell to my sides. My shoulders ached as I looked down at the raw skin just below my hands.

With a delicate finger, Booker hooked my hair behind my ear to better survey my face. "Brynne, baby, what did they do to you?" His voice was merely a whisper, and it didn't beg for an answer. One look at me and he could see the damage inflicted. They all could.

I sucked in a breath when he prodded the wound on my head, and a crease formed between his brows. Our eyes met, and I saw all the pain glistening bright as day in his. He'd been…worried. And I felt like shit for thinking he wouldn't come. I'd been desperate, scared, and I didn't want to put my bets on something that might not happen. But he'd come for me. Killed for me. And not for the first time.

I didn't hear as Henley approached, but saw the outstretched bottle of water. I raised a shaking hand to take it from him. "Thank you." The two words were hoarse, and almost hurt to get out.

He dipped his chin in a nod, and I got the feeling he thought this was all his fault. But I didn't blame him for any of this. My being here, abducted and injured, was no one's doing but Lance's, and thankfully, he was now bleeding out mere feet behind us.

I didn't uncap the water. Instead, my focus stayed on my wrists where the skin was broken, bruised, and bloody. Had I really struggled that hard? Given Lance the satisfaction that I was at his mercy?

Booker forced my attention back to him. "Hey. Look at me."

I did, and then all I wanted to do was melt into him.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Booker asked.

The question itself was loaded, as I wasn't sure where on my body I didn't ache or burn.

With my hand not holding the bottle, I slowly brought it to my side where Lance had kicked me, but I didn't look down as Booker did. His jaw pulsed before he grabbed my hand, wrapping his warm palm around mine. Then, with his other, he lifted the hem of the sweatshirt.

I knew it was bad when he hissed in a breath.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" he asked.

To make sure, I inhaled deeply, but only a little pinch of pain followed. I shook my head. My gaze found Austin's where he stood off to the side. Sympathy was written all over him. They felt guilty, like this was somehow their fault.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Booker said, letting the sweatshirt fall to cover my stomach again.

My body instantly began to shake with the thought of him not being by my side. What would I tell the nurses if they asked how I got these injuries? They'd assume Booker did it, and I couldn't bear them pinning this on him.

"N-no," I stammered. My bare legs were feeling the chill from the fall air now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off.

"Brynne, you're hurt. I'm taking you," Booker said adamantly.

"They're going to t-take me from you."

He shook his head, pulling me to his chest. I leaned all my weight on him as I breathed him in. "I won't let them do that. I'll be by your side the entire time."

My fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. "Do you p-promise?"

I felt his chin brush the top of my head, his stubble getting caught in my hair as he nodded. "I promise."

"Only six stitches. Not as bad as I thought," Dr. Manson said, setting the tools he'd used to sew up the side of my head on the metal tray beside him. "Keep the wound dry for about forty-eight hours, and then you can gently clean the area."

"And the bruising on her neck?" Booker asked. He'd stayed by my side the whole time, just like he'd promised. His hand never left mine.

Dr. Manson turned to him on his swivel stool. "She should try to keep talking to a minimum, and sleep with her head elevated to reduce any swelling. Ice will help, too."

Booker nodded in response. He'd done most of the talking since we arrived, but it'd been difficult trying to make the nurse understand I didn't want to be away from him when she wanted to question what happened. We'd gone with a story that I was mugged and the guy got away. Though the nurse didn't look convinced, she hadn't prodded. For obvious reasons, we wouldn't be filing a report.

Austin and Henley had stayed behind to take care of the mess. Booker had received a few updates from them after they left the abandoned park with the bodies in the van, but other than that, he'd left them to deal with all of it. I should've encouraged him to go help, but I was selfish and wanted him here with me. Booker wasn't complaining about it, either.

Dr. Manson set a reassuring hand on the bar next to my arm. "Rest, pain meds, and water. Keep on that routine for a few weeks, and you'll be good as new in no time."

He'd advised to stay in bed as much as possible to heal my cracked rib from when Lance kicked me, and I wanted nothing more than to do just that. So long as Booker was by my side.

"Thank you," I said, my voice still gravelly.

Dr. Manson nodded in our direction, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

Booker's thumb brushed over the back of my hand. "I really hate to ask this, Darlin'…"

I cocked my head in question.

His eyes looked pained. "Do you want the nurse to do a rape kit?"

I swallowed wrong the second he said it and erupted in a fit of coughs. He thought they'd…

"No," I answered after I got the cough under control. "Plus, I was only mugged, remember?"

I tried to smile at that, but Booker didn't find it amusing at all.

"I wanted his death to be slower," he admitted, quieting his voice so only I could hear him.

"I know." I wanted the same.

"But you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, Brynne. Not revenge, not my rage. You."

I pressed my lips together to keep the tears at bay. "I know."

He shook his head as he moved his gaze to our hands locked together. "You don't know."

"Then tell me," I whispered. I wanted all of him. His thoughts, secrets, confessions. Every bit of him, I craved.

"I don't want to share you anymore." His eyes met mine again, likely to gauge my reaction. "Fuck, I don't know why I did in the first place. We were just toying with each other, and I fucking liked the way you looked all exposed to them… But now, it makes me want to throw up."

I leaned forward slightly, ignoring the pinch of pain in my torso. I set a palm against his cheek. "I don't want you to share me anymore, either."

His brows pulled together. "You don't?"

I shook my head. "It was fun, but I only have eyes for you, Booker. No one else."

Something shifted inside him, and then he was on his feet and leaning into my space, crashing his lips to mine as he let go of my hand.

We didn't kiss much, but when we did, it was explosive. Our tongues were like live rounds of TNT, and the second they sparked together, we ignited.

He was careful as our lips meshed together, keeping his hands off me. But even now, I wanted nothing more than for him to touch me.

Booker pulled back, immediately sliding his hand back into mine. "Let's go home."

The corners of my mouth tilted up at the idea of it being our home.

Sharing the place we lived with Austin and Henley didn't bother me. My eyes were only on Booker.

They always were.