Chapter 31

Thirty-One

Damon

My blood ran cold at what I was hearing over the phone—her screaming and him cussing. I ended the call and called McCrae.

“Hello. What are you doing before your wedding?”

“He’s there, McCrae. I’m turning back. Call everyone and let them know. And get your butt out here. Call all of the brothers and Dad.” I hung up and focused on the road.

I got back to her place just in time to see a pickup truck heading around the corner toward the opposite side of town. On instinct, I followed that truck. It must have been Kyle’s truck.

I sped up and started praying. “Dear God, if you’ve ever been there, if I have any blessings stored up in heaven, or any of my parents’ blessings, I know they would want to use them to please save her. Protect her. Give me strength. I need a miracle. Please. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the wheel. I knew I would kill him. I knew it.

I reached into my glove compartment and pulled my gun out. It was cocked and loaded. This dude was going die before he hurt another hair on her head.

As I got closer, it seemed like he saw me, so he tried to speed up. I sped up even faster. I couldn’t see much, but I thought I saw her kick him. She must be in the back seat. Good for her.

I was closing the distance between us. Then it was as if someone turned his truck’s wheel, and the truck jerked around so fast it flipped over. I could barely breathe, and I slowed down. The truck kept spinning and then hit a ditch, sending a big rock smashing into the driver’s side.

I parked and got out, hurrying toward the truck. It had spun out, and now it lay still.

No. No. No. She can’t be dead. She can’t be dead.

The driver’s side was completely crushed. I could hear gas leaking. Would it blow up? I went to the other side and saw the windows cracked. She was knocked out. I could see Kyle halfway through the window, glass sticking through him. There was blood everywhere.

“Isla? Isla? Isla?” I called out, rushing to the other side. I could barely see her. Somehow, she was wedged in between the two front seats. I was fearing the worst, but then I heard her. She moaned.

There were sirens coming from behind me, and I heard people swooping in on the scene. “Damon! Damon!” McCrae’s voice was next to me.

“We’re here.” Canyon and Noah and my father were running toward us. My mother was there as well.

I focused on Isla. “We have to get her out. I can hear the gas. We have to get her out of this truck. Call the jaws of life!”

“I’ve got a saw!” Canyon turned and ran back to his vehicle.

“I’ve got some stuff too.” Noah took off after him.

McCrae called out, “Isla, can you hear me? Can you hear me?”

She moaned again.

I laid down on my stomach and tried to reach through the shattered glass to her. I gently touched her cheek, which was bleeding. There was blood all over her. “You’re hurt. Can you move?”

My father crouched down beside me, trying to remove some of the glass. “She has handcuffs on her hands. She can’t move.”

Suddenly, a firefighter named Darren Hanley shooed me off. “Out of the way. Let us work.”

“We need the jaws of life.” I stood, feeling frantic. I could see his men pulling out the fire hose. “We need the jaws of life!”

“You need to back up.”

“I’m not leaving.” Not when Isla was depending on me.

Darren pointed toward the other side of the vehicle. “Go to the road. You’re not authorized personnel.”

McCrae pushed back. “Dude, none of us are leaving. Back off.”

Canyon returned with the saw. He bent and started sawing at the metal in between the glass.

Darren yelled, “You’re not authorized to do that!”

I stood beside Canyon and ignored Darren. McCrae was helping him. My father and I were bracing the truck. He made two cuts and got the metal free. We did our best to keep it steady.

Noah hurried back to us. He took over for me.

I knelt and put my hand out to the cop who was there. “Give me the cuff keys,” I told him.

Reflexively, he gave me the keys.

Darren was yelling, “He’s not even on duty!”

I reached inside, the glass scraping me, and undid the cuffs. As gently as I could, I extracted her from the seats. I knew that we had to get her out.

An ambulance worker was yelling, “She’s not stabilized!”

We pulled her out, and though she was bloodied and bruised, she was breathing fine. Her eyes fluttered open. “Damon,” she moaned through swollen lips.

We worked together to place her on a gurney. The ambulance workers carried her toward the ambulance.

I kept up with them. “I’m not leaving her side.”

The truck exploded just then, and everyone ducked to avoid the flying scraps.

We got into the ambulance and drove off. They worked on putting oxygen on her, and I held her hand and prayed.