Page 89 of Soul of a Psycho

I torture myself by going back and forth for the next ten minutes, unable to commit to either side, until I clear the underbrush and the shack appears in front of me.

I freeze. The world suddenly becoming very small.

My eyes hone in on her delicate hand as it grasps the handle. There’s no time to yell, to scream and plead for her to stop. If that door even cracks open, the ax will come down and impale her. My pretty little Sky will bleed out before I can get her help, that’s if the ax doesn’t lodge itself in her skull.

I drop the boxes and run. My boots thump into the soil, adrenaline giving me new life. The sound alerts her and she looks up. But time slows to a crawl. She still has the doorknob in her palm, she’s still twisting. There aren’t enough seconds for her brain to catch up and pause. She’s already on the collision course. and it’s too late. It’s too late as her gaze sweeps over me, her eyes brightening. She smiles so, so sweetly, realizing it’s me. Because she loves me. Sheloves meand my stupid trap is going to kill her.

Desperation propels me, and I dive, throwing myself at her as the hook triggers. I slam into her, wrapping my arms around her tiny frame, just as the wire whistles through the anchors. The ax swings down with the sound of metal slicing through air, and I feel it. I feel its rusty edge slice my back. Not the pain, my adrenaline is too high, but I feel the sensation, the pressure, as we hit the ground.

Sky yelps as the impact knocks the breath out of her, and all I can think is thank fuck. Thankfuck. Sky is okay. She’s okay. I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t move, holding her under me for dear life. It doesn’t matter if I’m bleeding out, my body is locked up, and I can’t let her go as the reality of what could have happened courses through me. Fear, relief, anger. My veins are pumping, running, crying, boiling.

She shifts beneath me, her chin fighting to gain leverage over my shoulder, and I don’t need to look to know what she sees dangling above us.

“Did I almost just get axed?!” she screeches.

She batters me with her palms and squeezes out of my hold, scrambling on her knees to stand. But I can’t get up yet. I’m still reeling, and the most I can do is plant my ass in the soil.

“Why thehellis that there, Cade?” She swipes at her skirt, brushing away dirt and leaves. “Did you set that up?” She stomps behind me to crane her neck up and get a better look at the wires it’s attached to. “That could have killed me! It could kill—Oh, my god it hit you!”

She falls to her knees, and I remember that yes, it did hit me.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Sky

Ihold the gauze against the wound, trying not to get distracted by Cade’s shirtless form, and continue to reprimand him.

“Why the hell do you even need a booby trap?” I gape around the shack.

Save for his drawer of knives and his little bird collection, there’s nothing but old junk covered with tarps in here. Supplies of duct tape, wires, and paint. I don’t remember it being so full the last time I was here, but I was also… occupied. Does he use all this stuff or was it in here before he took over? The duct tape looks new. And so do the shiny spools of conduit. But it doesn’t matter. An ax is excessive.

“Does it need stitches?” Cade asks, ignoring my question.

I peel the gauze back and take a look. It’s a clean swipe across his shoulder blade, bleeding like a sieve, but it’s superficial. He will be fine, though he should realize it could have been much worse.

“Yeah,” I squeak, as if it’s really bad. “At least ten or twenty.” I lie.

He growls, and I smile to myself, Serves him right.

He stands and I quickly school my features, catching the gauze as it falls off his back. The blood drips down his skin, perfect red rivulets, and there’s something intoxicating about it.How can he get sexier while seeping blood? I have to resist the urge to run my tongue along his flesh, reminding myself that would be unhinged.

He opens a little drawer in the desk and pulls out a tin, tossing it to me.

“Unlike you, I would prefer it to be quick instead of right,” he says.

I have no idea what he’s talking about until I slide the lid off to find sutures and a needle, and I realize he’s referring to when I let him sow me up. I wanted it quick at first, but then settled on right, and every second of it was torture. There’s no way I’m giving him stitches.

“I’d do it myself, but I can’t reach,” he says as the color drains from my face. “It’s easy. I’ll walk you through it.”

I blink at him, having a hard time comprehending that he would let me poke at him with a needle, that he even thinks I would have the stomach to pierce through his skin.

He sighs. “I can’t go to the infirmary, Sky The nurse will want to know what happened.”

“I’m not giving you stitches!” I blurt.

“It’ll be fine. I’ve had to do it before.” He turns and points to a scar on his shoulder, clenching his jaw. “It seems I’m the only one that gets hit by that fucking thing.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not giving you stitches because you don’tneedstitches.”Thank god.“I was kidding. I just wanted—You’ve been hit with the ax before?”

---