Page 86 of The Bait

Nice things.

He longed to smell Asher. Sandalwood from those terrible incense sticks, or spices from his delicious cooking. Or the smell of his sweat on his skin, lazing in their bed after a summer afternoon of fucking.

But no.

All Harry had was acrid burned oxide, and bright orange sparks dancing across the floor.

Harry could barely openhis eyes. He couldn’t move. Slumped on his side against the wall.

But there was light.

And boots coming into the room.

He tasted fresh air, even though his lungs couldn’tinhale at first. His eyes unable to focus. He felt so unbearably heavy.

“We got them,” a booming voice said.

Australian.

Then a face was in front of him. Black combat gear, the static of a radio was close by. “Can you hear me? Sir, can you hear me?”

Harry could hear, kind of. He just couldn’t speak.

The man spoke into the radio at his shoulder. “We need a medic, stat. Repeat, we need a medic team in here.”

Then there was a water canteen at his lips, pouring a few drops into his mouth. “Drink this,” another voice said, accent English.

It registered then what was happening, that this was real, and Harry tried to sit up. Pain stabbed through him everywhere.

A black gloved hand pressed on his chest. “Stay there. Try and stay still.”

“Asher,” Harry bit out.

The door was open, he realised. Of course it was.

Why was his mind so foggy?

“Asher,” he said again.

The man’s eyes flinched, just as more men rushed into the room. They had medic packs. Harry realised far too late that there were two men kneeling over Lucas. One medic came to Harry, the other to Lucas.

“He needs help,” Harry said.

The medic closest to Harry assessed him, worried eyes looking him over. “Yeah, mate. He’s not the only one. Jesus Christ.” Then he shoved an oxygen mask over Harry’s mouth and nose and quickly rigged up a field IV. Saline, most likely.

Harry wouldn’t have minded if it were morphine.

“We need to look at the abdominal stab wound,” the medic murmured.

“Just cauterise it,” Harry mumbled. “It’ll be fine. I need to find Asher.”

The medic looked kinda horrified but not altogether too surprised.

“We’ll find him,” the Australian voice said, patting Harry’s leg. Harry hissed, looking down at his legs. He had patches of red and knife holes in the fabric, at his thighs, calves, and shins.

Fuck.

No wonder he hurt all over.

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