Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Snake,” I whisper between sobs.
He slams a fist into the wall beside me, and I hear the sounds of his bones cracking as it connects with the brick. His fist landed only inches from my face. I hiccup and turn my head away, on the verge of crumbling completely. He yanks my shirt down and spins me around. I get a good look at him now and gasp. His shirt is soaked in blood and his skin is scarily pale.
“You need help,” I croak, terrified of the outcome.
I didn’t think this through.
If Jagger dies and I’m still here, I’ll be left with Snake.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Not fuckin’ likely.”
“You could die, Jagger.”
“If I die,” he rasps, leaning in close, “so do you. Should have thought of that.”
I swallow and stare into his pale blue eyes. “Let me help you.”
He looks like he might pass out, but his face doesn’t waver.
“You. Tried. To. Fuckin’. Kill. Me.”
“I tried to escape,” I correct him, pathetically. “If you don’t let me help you, you’ll get sick and you could die. If that happens, all this was for nothing.”
He glares at me and then jerks my body until we’re walking back inside the house. He hauls me up the stairs with a strength that is incredible for someone in his condition. He takes me into the kitchen, not releasing me as he goes to a drawer and pulls out a gun. Then, he goes and collects the first-aid kit. He then turns to me, uncuffs my hands, and points the gun right at my head.
“You try one thing, I’ll shoot you. I won’t even fuckin’ hesitate.”
Then, he nods to the sofa, and I follow him, watching as he lies down, raising his shirt. When his stomach is exposed, I wince to myself. It doesn’t look good, and the good parts of me, the parts deep down inside, has me feeling horrible about it. The wound on his stomach is seeping dark, red blood in slow, thick rivulets. I use his shirt to put some pressure on it while I clean the skin around it. He doesn’t make a sound.
“I’m sorry,” I dare to say.
He doesn’t say a word, he just points the gun at my head and watches me work. I clean around the wound with some antiseptic, and then I dig through the kit to find a needle and thread. I tie the thread and prepare the needle. So much could go wrong, he could get an infection, anything, but I know a man like him will never go to a hospital unless he’s on his death bed. I hold up the needle and glance at him. He nods and leans back, closing his eyes, but he doesn’t lower that gun.
The first pull of the needle through his skin makes my stomach turn, and I fight back the urge to vomit. He winces and tenses, and I can see his jaw clenching—it hurts but he’s never going to admit that. By the time I’m finished, I’m shaking all over and I know my skin is a deathly shade of gray. I place the needle down and then pour more antiseptic over the wound before covering it.
“You need to see someone about this; I’m sure you have a doctor you can use that works outside of a clinic. I know people like you always have someone on hand.”
He nods.
Not a single word passes between us.
I don’t know where to go from here.
“BEFORE YOU GO, LAY down on the sofa, face down.”
I’ve just finished cleaning up, and I’m no longer trying to hide how much pain I’m in. Every movement has a wince leaving my throat and I’m hobbling, just needing some kind of relief. My bed, a bullet to the brain, something along those lines.
I look up and narrow my eyes. “What. For?”
My words come out strained.
“Do you want an infection or do you want me to help you? Lay down, I’ll clean your back up, then you can go.”
Any other time I’d argue with him, but for right now, I don’t have a single ounce of fight left. I walk over to the sofa and, with trembling fingers, I lift my shirt up and over my head, tossing it on the ground before lying down. The moment my face hits the pillow, tears well up in my eyes, and I fight back the sobs. Jagger shuffles around and then a moment later nudges my shoulder with his hand.
I turn my face and see he is handing me two pills.
“Take them, they’re strong painkillers. Knock you out, but you’ll get some rest. I’m taking them too.”
I glance at him and narrow my eyes. As if I’m going to take anything this lunatic offers me. “No thanks,” I mutter.
“For God’s sake, they’ll help. Here, I’ll take yours and you can take mine if you’re so damned worried.”