Page 10 of The Plunge

She cries out in pain when I hook my arm under her healthy shoulder, pulling her with me as I rise to my feet. Lucky for me, she's quite the lightweight, so holding her up with one arm while getting her into the harness with the other is manageable, despite the lack of support from her side. She hangs limply in my arms, barely able to stay on her feet even with my support. To my surprise, she lifts her arms and legs as needed, thus speeding the process of getting her safely into the harness.

I keep checking the hatch behind my back, knowing it's only a matter of time until the police dash through that hatch in pursuit of us. There were enough witnesses at that party to point them in the right direction.

We need to get away from here.

I make sure the harness fits tight and secure on the girl's limp body before I swoop her up in my arms again to rush over to the glider. Setting her back on her feet, I hurry to slip into my harness and check the lines of the wing. Brad did a great job in getting everything ready for us. He must have been up here long before me, which makes sense considering I had to chase that Abbott asshole down the hallway when everyone else was already done with their job.

The girl moans weakly when I pull her close to my chest, trying to connect her harness to mine.

"No," she protests weakly, only now realizing what's about to happen. "No, no, let me go."

She tries to fend me off, almost losing her balance, but lacks success in her endeavor.

"Shut up," I hiss at her. "You're coming with me."

"No, I'm not."

Her words are slurred as if she was highly intoxicated. She keeps writhing in my arms, making it impossible for me to close the harness clips, despite her bad constitution.

I don't have time for this shit.

A shocked gasp flees her lips when I pull out my gun and place the barrel on the side of her head.

"Comply—or die."

She stiffens, not moving an inch while I push the gun at her temple. I have no intention of shooting her—I really don't—but if she's the reason I don't make it out of here in time, I may have to reconsider.

I don't ask for another confirmation, but after I remove the gun from her head, holstering it securely at my side, she no longer struggles. She stands still, only slightly hunched because of the pain in her shoulder and hip, but obediently moving along as I take a few steps forward.

"I'll count down, and then we run," I say, placing my lips close to her ears. "You run with me as well as you can, and when I tell you to, you lift your legs. Understood?"

She's quivering, tears streaming down her face as she shakes her head. "I can't—"

"Yes, and you will," I insist. "Because if you don't, you're dead."

She bites her lips, almost choking on her urge to wail violently. Part of me feels sorry for her. Here she is, after what I'm sure must have been the most traumatizing thing ever to happen in her young life, with blood running down her fancy dress, fiery pain pinching through her shoulder, and she's about to jump off the roof strapped to a man who shot at her.

Her desperation is evident.

And it makes her even more beautiful.

I look ahead, facing the same imaginary runway I just saw Brad and Tom run along as they made their way down. Tightening my grip on the straps, I start counting.

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