Page 61 of The Vigilant

“Sutton.”

She snapped her mouth shut and rushed by me, snatching clothes out of her duffel bag on the floor and tugging them on.

I found my phone, biting back a curse and fighting the darkness encroaching on my vision to try and slide it open. My finger was too slippery with blood to open it. The only thing I could do was tap on Rob’s name.

“What the hell, Tynan? When I call twice, it’s not just to gossip?—”

“Robyn,” I hissed, and the way she stopped, she knew something was wrong.

“They found you.”

Later, I’d ask how she knew and who exactly they were, but for right now, I had a singular mission. Getting Sutton back to Sherwood.

“They’re dead.”

“And you?”

I looked at Sutton, tilting my head in a motion to follow me as I hobbled through the door, into the hall, and then toward the garage.

“Call Rorik,” I told her, starting down the steps.

“How bad?”

“Tell him to bring blood,” I said between grunts of pain and then ended the call.

“Tynan, we need a car. You can’t fucking ride a motorcycle—” She stopped when I let out another beastly roar of pain as I swung my leg over the seat.

“No time,” I breathed out. “Get…on.”

She gave me a glare, coming up to my side and resting her hand on my shoulder. Maybe it was the slow process of bleeding to death, but damn, if just the feel of her hand didn’t abate some of the pain I felt and seemed to weave a kind of invisible strength.

“Please,” I rasped. “Let me…take care of you.”

Her eyes narrowed into slashes and then fluttered, and then a single tear streaked down her cheek.

“Fuck that.” She pushed my good shoulder back. “You just got stabbed. I’m driving.”

I groaned, but any chance of protest was swallowed under waves of pain as she forced off my jacket.

“What…” Words evaporated on a roar when she yanked the knife from my side.

“Not taking the chance you fall off this thing and impale yourself worse.” Her distant voice floated around me, above me, like some kind of chiding goddess. Then there was a tightness around my middle. She’d tied something to curtail the bleeding and then slid into the seat in front of me.

“Do you know how to drive?” I breathed through a fresh round of pain, feeling blood ooze much faster now, seeping like a fountain under my fingers.

“Don’t ask dumb questions and hang on.” She revved the engine as I slung one arm around her middle.

I bet we looked a sight as she sped along the highway back to the garage. My big ass clinging to her petite form as she handled my Harley like a pro.

I didn’t know why I kept thinking of Sutton as some small, helpless child. Maybe because if I admitted she didn’t really need me, then there’d be no chance at easing the guilt I carried for Jon’s death and everything that happened to her since.

It was a sobering thought to have—but not sobering enough to stop the blackness from creeping in from the edges of my vision and eating away the remains of my consciousness.

Chapter Thirteen

Sutton

Men were idiots.

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