Page 88 of The Black Trilogy

“Tea? What tea?”

“Kill the tea.”

“Tia? Do you mean Tia?”

“Kill Tia.”

Great. Tell me something I didn’t know.

Before I could help Luke to his feet, he doubled over and puked, reminding me of my first night at his house. Seemed like somebody had a touch of concussion. I gave him a few more minutes on the ground then pulled him to a sitting position. He couldn’t stay in the woods all night. Blood was running from his head, and he needed it stitched. I took my jumper off and pressed it against the wound to try and stem the flow.

“Can you try getting up again?”

“I think so.”

Between us, we got him to his feet, where he swayed and clutched at a nearby sapling.

“We need to get to the car.”

He gritted his teeth. “Okay.”

With me half carrying him as well as the bag and pausing on the way to pick up my rucksack, we made our way to the BMW. Slowly. Painfully slowly. The woods closed up behind us, hiding their secrets in the inky blackness. Those trees had seen more than most humans ever would.

When we reached the car, I propped Luke up in the passenger seat and retrieved the first aid kit from the boot—company rules, everybody carried one. Luke’s gash was nasty, most likely inflicted by the sight on his assailant’s pistol, and I wound a temporary bandage around the cut until I could clean it up properly. He’d be sporting a scar in years to come if he didn’t get professional help. And that wasn’t his only injury—the back of his head had a cracking lump on it. No wonder he’d ended up unconscious.

Ready to go, I did up his seatbelt. Safety first, right? He was still groggy, his head lolling to one side, but his faculties were returning.

“What are you doing here?” he slurred.

“Currently? Making sure you still have a head on your shoulders.”

Although whether he had a fully functioning brain in it was debatable. What had he been thinking, skipping through the woods at night carrying quarter of a mil?

“Where’s Tia?”

“Still missing. I’ll find her, but I need help to do it. We’re doing this my way now.”

“No! He said he’d kill her. You can’t call the police.”

“I’m not intending to, but you’re not doing this alone. I’m going to call some friends.”

He groaned and slumped back into the seat but didn’t argue any further.

Good. It would have been a waste of his breath.

As he was talking and making a certain amount of sense, I decided to steer clear of the hospital and the inevitable questions that would come from a visit there. We both wanted to avoid the police, which would likely be the end result. I’d had enough medical training to believe he wasn’t in serious danger. I’d had worse damage myself and still run a half marathon the next day.

The guy who tried to kill Luke was a different story, though. For him, the danger was very real. Boy, I itched to get my hands on him.

I hopped in the driver’s seat and started the engine. Before setting off, I shoved the battery back in my red phone and turned it on for the first time in three months. One bar of power. I plugged it into the charger and connected it to the car’s Bluetooth system. Seconds later, I was on my way back to Belgravia for the second time that week.

The night was deathly quiet as I sped down country lanes towards the motorway. With the adrenaline of the chase no longer flowing through my bloodstream, the journey back seemed to take twice as long. Or perhaps it was the sense of dread building in my veins that made time slow? What was I going to tell my friends? And Luke? How would I explain my life to him?

I had no words.

At one point, he turned to me and mumbled, “I thought you couldn’t drive?”

“Technically, I said I didn’t drive, not that I couldn’t.”

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