Page 21 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

I fumbled for his pulse, my fingers pressing against his neck, searching for any sign of life, relief flooding me when I felt a faint flutter strengthening under my touch. The torch slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor, its light casting a haunting illumination over the scene.

August was down.

We were locked in a panic room.

We’d been played.

Chapter Eight

AUGUST

Pain exploded in my gut, hot and searing, and for a moment, the world spun out of control as I blinked my eyes open. Darkness closed around me, but a bobbing torch showed me glimpses of just how fucked we were. The door was shut, locking us in, the walls were blank. Nothing. Blood seeped through my clothes, fire burned in my belly, and I shoved my hands over the wound, pressing so hard I yelled out in pain. Ryder was beside me, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch without causing more pain. His gaze was fixed on the wound, his face illuminated by the small narrow beam of light, the grim reality of the situation written all over his face. Then, he was supporting me, holding me up, keeping me from collapsing.

“Talk to me, Navy. How bad is it?” His voice was tense, his gaze scanning me, assessing the situation, attempting to lift my hands.

Ryder’s focus was laser-sharp. “We need to stop this bleeding, Navy,” he instructed, tearing off his shirt and bunching it against the wound. “Push hard.”

I pressed the fabric against the wound, the pain incredible. Each touch was like a jolt of fire, but I knew it was vital to stem the flow of blood. I had to do this.

“Harder,” he snapped, his hand covered mine to ensure I applied enough pressure.

“Fuck you, Army!” I yelled.

“Fuck you back, Navy,” he yelled at me.

I bristled and snapped like a trapped dog, and god, I tried to move—anything to get his hand off me, but he wasn’t leaving me alone. He used his other hand to rummage through his camo pockets and pulled out his IFAK. The individual first aid kit might have something, but not enough to reverse this damage. He shoved something into my mouth, a nylon knife sheath. “Bite down.”

Lying there, the pain engulfing me, I could feel Ryder’s hands on me, frantic, but skilled, as he tried to stem the flow of blood. His touch was firm, packing the wound. I wanted to tell him it was no use, that a gut shot was a slow, inevitable death, and wasn’t something you just patched up, especially not in a place like this, but my voice was lost amidst the waves of pain.

“Stay with me, August.” Ryder’s voice was a distant anchor in the haze clouding my mind. I felt him ease me to the floor, his movements careful, deliberate. Heard him cursing, his weight heavy—was he injured as well?

The coldness of the floor seeped through my clothes, an icy contrast to the burning agony in my abdomen. I wanted to fight, to cling to consciousness, but it was like trying to hold onto smoke. Everything was slipping away, the edges of my world blurring and fading.

“Hemostatic dressing,” he said, as I screamed around the sheath. He covered my mouth, pushed me down, and I fought and scrabbled, and then—thank fuck—I blacked out.

When I came back, he was talking, my head cradled in his lap.

“Hey, you’re back,” Ryder repeated, his tone almost light, as if it wasn’t him that shook me awake. “You’re tough, Navy; you frogs can handle this shit in your sleep. Come on. Stay with me. Help’s on the way. We just need to keep the bleeding under control until we can get you back.”

His reassurance was a small comfort, but in that dimly lit confined space, his presence was the one thing keeping me anchored to reality. The pain was a constant companion, but so was Ryder. I tried to grip his hand, both of us slippery with blood.

“Annie,” I managed.

“She’s okay. Luca got her away.”

“He left… left you…”

“What? You mean Luca left me? Oh yeah, that was absolutely the plan; that’s how it goes. Annie was our priority. One of us was always staying behind to cover the six. That was always going to be the one who didn’t have Annie.”

Pain coursed through me with unrelenting ferocity, like acid dripping through every vein, and blood loss was making it difficult to stay focused, only there was one thing that remained clear amidst the haze of agony: Annie.

Make sure she’s safe.

With each labored breath, I fought against the encroaching darkness, the urge to succumb to the pain and let go. Ryder was there, his presence a steady force in the chaos, and I needed him to live.

“Are you shot?” I managed.

“Fucked knee, dislocated shoulder, avoided all the bullets actually leaving holes in me,” he listed.

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