Page 55 of Out of My Flocking Mind

I sent up some prayer, one I didn’t expect to be answered, then twisted out from behind the tree, aiming based on my hearing. The branch sailed through the air, and a sickening thud came when it made contact. I’d swung it so hard, even my shoulder hurt, the vibration from the hit running up the wood and into my arm. Not that I gave a fuck about that—I wish I could have hit him harder.

Harrison looked back at me, his eyes wide, as though he couldn’t figure out what I’d done or why. Blood streamed down his face, appearing black in the darkness. I’d struck him on the temple, aiming high because if I was going to hurt someone, I’d do as much damage as possible. Half-assing was for diets and workouts—not battles for survival.

The thing that took me by surprise, however, was the shock on his face, as if he couldn’t figure out what had just happened. The blood streamed from a gash at his temple down his face, over his throat, dripping onto the collar of his white coat.

A coat?

Something struck me as strange about that, but I couldn’t figure it out as I backed away, stumbling and catching myself against another tree. “Stay back,” I warned him, holding the branch up in threat.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked, lifting his hand to hold it against the wound. “Why did you disappear?”

“Why? How about because you’ve been behind this all!” I couldn’t believe how hysterical I sounded, but fuck if that wasn’t exactly how I felt. “You tricked me. Why? Did you just find it hilarious to see me struggling so bad, to hurt me then pretend to help me? Was this some fucking game for you? I heard that you were fucked up, that you were twisted, but I never would have thought you could do something like this.”

Harrison frowned, deep lines in his forehead, as though I were speaking a language he no longer understood. Did I really hit him that hard?

Bushes to my left moved, the leaves rustling just as someone burst through the area. Was someone drawn by my yelling? I didn’t want to think about what Harrison could do to an innocent bystander, but I couldn’t deny a thrill at the idea of not facing this entirely alone. I turned, but what I saw made no more sense than anything else in my life.

Harrison, in jeans and a T-shirt.

I did a double take, back and forth between the one in a coat with a bloody gash on his face and the one to my left, a sneer on his lips.

There are two of them?

Suddenly I was a hell of a lot less sure than I’d been before. They looked identical at first glance, but all those little things that had bothered me came back.

The way casual way the one in jeans had spoken to me, totally unlike the way Harrison normally spoke. His clothing, his smile, none of them were what I’d come to expect from Harrison. It could mean only one thing—somehow, Harrison had a doppelganger of some sort.

Oh, right, and I’d also just hit Harrison in the head with a stick…

I really hope he doesn’t hold grudges.

I twisted, pointing the stick at the fake Harrison. I wasn’t sure I could trust Harrison, but I knew for sure I couldn’t trust this asshole.

He turned his gaze from me to Harrison, and a rage unlike anything I’d ever seen flashed across his expression. “You,” he all but growled out. “Why am I not shocked that I’d find you here, ruining everything again?”

“Ryder,” the real Harrison said, his voice saturated in pain.

At least I have a name for the asshole now…

“Don’t you use my name,” Ryder snapped back. “And don’t you think this is anywhere close to over. You took everything from me—I won’t let you get her, too.” Ryder spared one more at me, one that seemed more like a promise than anything else, before he took off at a run.

I took a step to follow, hating the idea of him getting away. Leaves crunched behind me, along with a pained groan. I turned to find Harrison had collapsed to his knees, his hand on the tree beside him to keep him somewhat upright.

It meant I either had to give chase or help Harrison. I’m really not up to the weight class of Ryder, clearly.

I kicked the leaves on the ground before dropping my stick and going to Harrison’s side. I’d done the damage—that made it my job to take care of it, right? It was like after a bar fight. If you knock a fucker out, you gotta wait in the hospital until they wake up.

“I’m okay,” Harrison argued, but the slur of his words told me that wasn’t true.

I took his weight as I helped him back toward the car, listening carefully for signs of Ryder. I didn’t expect anything, because he hadn’t seemed interested in tangling with Harrison, even when he wasn’t up to snuff. “Yeah, you look real okay. Just shut up—we need to get your head looked at.” I helped him into the passenger side of his car, then went around it to the driver’s.

“No,” he muttered like a petulant kid before his eyes slid shut.

That was probably not a great sign.

And it meant I needed to get him looked at. I could have tried to contact someone I knew, but that didn’t sit right. I didn’t trust that Kelvin, Ruben or Galen might not take advantage of the situation for their own benefits, and I didn’t know who among the Minds I could trust.

However, I did know one doctor who would do as I asked no matter how much he bitched, and I sure as fuck trusted him not to screw me over.

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