Page 74 of Bidding War

Fuck. He’s going to let me die. I saved his life, and he’s going to let me die because I left evidence back there. My blood. One of the first things he told me after our first ride-along was to never leave evidence of our presence. He’d even told me it would be a wise idea to shave my head like him so I would be less likely to leave hair behind.

And now, because I saved his life, I’m going to die.

I swallow, my throat parched. I’m not above begging for my own life. With some of the precious air in my lungs, I rasp, “Please, Moss. I don’t want to die.”

“You will not die.”

Four simple words that might mean so much. But I don’t know that I can believe them. “Why not?”

“Because I take you where people go to live.”

My voice shakes because my breaths are uneven. “Hospital?”

“I am taking you to get help, Anderson. Rest now.”

Resting sounds like dying, but I don’t have the energy to argue. Looking over the black tarp on my body, some morbid part of me wants to peek underneath and see my ruined flesh. Something cold sticks between me and the tarp, and something else cold has coated my back. I know what it is. The slow trickle of blood around my sides tells me everything. The details of a gunshot wound play back in my mind, but I don’t want them to. I want to think about anything other than that. Yet I still want to look.

I curl up the edge just a little. The foul stench of blood and other things hits hard and fast, and I drop the edge. I am overwhelmed by the need to not see. Denial is my friend.

I close my eyes and take as deep of a breath as I’m willing to under the circumstances, then try to think about anything else. Still don’t know if Moss is taking me for help or not. He could be, or he could be driving around and waiting for me to die. He likes me well enough, but I’m a liability now. I come at a cost. He is not a fan of those things. His line of work does not allow for them.

Will he feel guilty when I die? I did it to save him. He should at least feel guilty about this.

Hell, if I’m honest with myself, I’m not even sure I did it to save him. When I replay what happened in my mind, it’s almost as if I didn’t do it at all. Instinct took over. He was the man at my side. I owed him for what he did for me and June with Green Sweater. Of course, I’d fucking jump in front of a bullet for the man who helped to save her. It’s not even a question. It was instinctual to save Moss.

Even if it kills me.

But I don’t want to die for him or anyone. Not if I can help it. The rear space of the SUV is missing the internal handle to make kidnapping easier. So I can’t open the doors easily. I could try to kick out the windows, but even just the thought of lifting my leg causes pain in my abdomen. Maybe if I had my full faculties, I could subtly remove the panel cover on the door and trigger the handle mechanism to open somehow, but I am far beyond those capabilities at the moment. Sitting up sounds like climbing Mount Everest.

Which just leaves me with my thoughts, because for some reason, right now I can’t sleep. Probably because falling asleep is a little too close to death for comfort, and I have just enough fight left in me to hold out.

A spike of pain hits when we roll over what was probably a pothole. I grit my teeth and shout, “Fuck you, Boston!”

Moss laughs heartily. “Good to know you keep the sense of humor. Sleep now.”

I huff and glare at the ceiling. It’s gray to match the interior and has a fray at the corner nearest me. I wonder if some kidnap victim picked at it out of boredom or if it’s there just because it happens like Boston’s potholes.

Glaring isn’t much of a hobby when you’re dying, and it takes too much effort. So, I lean back against the floor and close my eyes. I don’t quite recall how Moss got me in here when he had to bend my knees for me so I’d fit. Seems like I would have remembered the shock of pain that must have caused, but I don’t. Blood loss makes my head fuzzy.

The black comes at the edges of my mind again. If it’s my time, then I want to go out with better thoughts than my own blood. Instantly, June’s pretty face comes to mind.

Her sweet smile. Her scent. The tender way she strokes my chest absentmindedly when we’re in bed. Her taste. I have experienced every inch of that woman’s skin with my tongue, and I long to do that again and again for every day of my life. I should have savored her more. Should have cherished her more.

I did what I could with the time we had, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Though, to be fair to mortality, I’m not sure it could ever be enough. June and I could have been alive from the formation of the Earth until the planet is wiped out by the death of the sun, and that still would not be enough time with her. I love her with everything I am. She breathed new life into me when we met. Everything I have become, I owe to her.

I don’t know if she knows that—how much she changed me, I mean. When we met, I was a spoiled, arrogant brat, hellbent on doing anything to earn my father’s love. But I met June, and I didn’t know what to do. She set off alarm bells in me. I wanted to hold her hand and, show her the school and introduce her to my friends and bring her to my room. No clue what I would have done once we were there—we were barely teens at the time. I might have shown her some trophy I’d won or hoped she’d let me steal a kiss. But I didn’t have the language for any of that at the time. I had Dad’s language, and the only way he showed affection was through cruelty …

I had a lifetime of regrets, and all the profound ones revolved around June.

I sigh into the darkness, feeling it wash over me again. But as I drifted away, I prayed she knew how I felt about her. Not just our love, but how much I wished I could take back all the mean things I’d said to her when we were young. How much I wished to make all of that up to her.

Once Dad was dealt with, I had planned to do so.

How I would make love to her over and over. How I’d worship her with my tongue. I would have made her scream with pleasure until her throat went hoarse. Even now, the thought makes my cock want to stand up, but alas, I don’t think I have enough blood in my body for a proper erection.

The thought gets a grim chuckle out of me before I black out again.

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