Page 64 of Ruthless Reign

I found the exit wound and adjusted Kaleb so that it was pressed directly against Ma’s thigh, giving pressure from both sides.

“There’s an exit wound?” Dad asked from the front seat, jostling the car as he drove it from the dirt onto the road.

“It didn’t hit his heart. You hear that, baby?” Her grip on Kaleb tightened. “It didn’t hit your heart. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

As if in direct contradiction to her words, Kaleb coughed and crimson splattered over his lips.

His eyes went unfocused.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snarled, taking over keeping pressure on the wound for Ma, pushing harder, rousing him. “Wake the fuck up, Brother. You aren’t finished y-y-yet.”

He was back only for a few seconds before he dropped. I felt the exact moment he let go, the weight of him sagging on my legs as his eyes shuttered.

Ma tried to push on his chest, cursing, but I stopped her. She was only going to make his wounds bleed more and if he bled any more…

I wasn’t sure how he lost so much blood and was still alive in the first place.

I felt for his pulse under his jaw, finding it there, weak.

I slapped him.

Ma slapped him.

Nothing.

“Hardin,” she pleaded, as if from sheer force of will I could save him. As if I should know what the fuck to do.

But Kaleb was the one. He was the one who stayed calm in shitty situations. He was the one who would know what to do. Not me.

His pulse fluttered against my fingers so lightly I wasn’t sure if what I was feeling was the ghost of it.

What would Kaleb do?

Be smart.

Be smart.

CPR could make him bleed out. But if his pulse stopped then we’d have no choice but to risk it.

“Ma, shut the fuck up.”

I couldn’t focus on his pulse through her endless cursing and shouting.

The cabin went quiet. The only sounds that accompanied the rest of the ride to the hospital were my own heartbeats in my ears and the blaring of car horns as we sped through every red light in Santa Clarita.

I closed my eyes, feeling every slow, weak, jagged beat of his heart.

Flashing lights painted the backs of my eyelids.

The car stopped.

…and his pulse.

Where did it go?

I lost it. I lost it.

Hands. There were hands grabbing him, pulling him.

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