Page 3 of My Knight

Before I could respond, voices rose behind us—shouted commands and hurried steps. I turned just in time to see the paramedics emerge from the house. Three paramedics maneuvered a stretcher down the steps and across the uneven yard.

My breath caught.

Saylor lay strapped to the stretcher. Her black jeans were torn at the knee and one boot was missing. Her shirt was smeared with grime and blood, and the fabric clung to her like it had been through hell. Her face… someone had wiped the blood off, but it was still streaked. Her hands were limp by her sides, and her fingers were stained and scraped.

Something twisted in my gut—hard. I didn’t expect it. It was like anger and protectiveness hit me at the same damn time. Seeing her like that punched through the numb wall I kept up around me. I hadn’t really paid much attention to her before.She was just another person the TV show had sent to make our lives hell. But seeing her like that, broken and bleeding?

The indifference was gone. Gone and buried.

“I’m coming with her,” Mac said, already moving toward the stretcher.

“No,” I cut in sharply. “I’ll go.”

She froze. “I mean… why?”

I handed my bike keys to Dice without looking away from Saylor. “Because we’re the reason why she’s on that stretcher.”

Dice didn’t argue. Mac just blinked at me, surprised. I didn’t explain further. I didn’t need to.

I followed behind the stretcher as the paramedics wheeled her toward the waiting ambulance. The sound of her bootless foot bounced against the side of the gurney and echoed in my ears. “Think you could be a little gentler with her?” I called. “I think she’s already been through enough.”

One of the medics pulled open the back doors, and they lifted her in with practiced and gentle ease. I climbed in after her and settled onto the bench on one side as the third medic jumped in and shut the doors with a loud slam.

I reached for her hand—dirty, scraped, and smeared with dried blood. Her fingers twitched slightly when I touched her. And then her eyes fluttered open.

“Pirate?” she whispered, her voice cracked and faint. Just one word, but it was enough.

“Shh, baby. Just try to relax.” I wrapped my fingers around hers gently. I’d ridden in the back of an ambulance before—I knew this wouldn’t be smooth. Every bump would rattle her. Every second would feel longer than the last.

Her eyes drifted shut again.

The paramedic across from me started checking her vitals, his face focused and unreadable. I glanced at him. “Is she going to be okay?”

He looked at me. He was calm but not exactly reassuring. “We’re doing everything we can for her here. I’ll keep an eye on her vitals on the drive to the hospital. You can talk to the doctor once she’s examined.”

Not good enough. “But she’s going to be okay, right?”

“She’s got injuries we can see—she should be fine from those. But we don’t know what’s going on inside. She obviously has a concussion. We’re doing everything we can for her right now.”

I stared at him for a second with my jaw clenched. “Then let’s fucking go.”

The driver must’ve heard me because a second later, the engine roared, and the ambulance jerked into motion with sirens screaming.

I kept my eyes on her. On the faint rise and fall of her chest. On the blood smeared along her jawline. I didn’t know what she’d been through tonight, but I could see it was hell. And I knew it was because of us.

Because of me.

Another innocent person was dragged into the shadows we tried to keep buried.

I wasn’t going to let it end badly for Saylor.

Not for her.

I didn’t know what was changing in me, but something was. That fire in my chest, the heat that came with looking down at her bruised face—it was more than guilt. It was rage. It was purpose.

She was going to be fine. She had to be. And when she was, when I was sure of it, I was going to end this bullshit once and for all.

One way or another.

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