Page 42 of Rogue Voice

Bea nodded quickly. “But Rogue?—”

Slate’s eyes were cold blocks of ice. “I will take care of Rogue. At the count of three, you get up and run. You run fast and don’t look back. Understood?”

18

Bea

Bea’s toes caught on an exposed root, sending her flying forward.

She caught herself at the last instant and regained her footing, clamping her teeth together to stop herself from crying out loud.

“You okay?” Slate asked gruffly from behind her.No, not gruffly.He’s just tired.

When he’d said he’d take care of Rogue, what he meant was, he’d carry Rogue on his shoulders. So that’s what he’d been doing. Bea didn’t know how long they’d been running and was too afraid to ask. But it felt like hours. And the entire time Rogue had lain there, unconscious, draped against his friend’s back. He hadn’t stirred, which scared Bea more than she wanted to admit.

What if he dies.What if?—

She stifled a sob.

“You okay?”

Bea wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands clumsily before turning back to look at Slate.

They’d stopped only once, for a few minutes—not nearly long enough for her to catch her breath but long enough for him to take off his priest’s cassock, which he’d rolled up and stuffed in a slim black backpack he’d been wearing on his back.

Now, he was dressed all in black. A black T-shirt, straining around his thick pecs and shoulders, pants that hugged his muscled legs. A black belt around his hips held two guns.

In any other situation, Bea would have been scared of the man. But Rogue trusted him. And right now, she was just grateful he was strong enough to carry Rogue.

He seemed to be waiting for an answer from her.

AmIokay?

Her feet were killing her. She eyed his boots enviously. Her shoes were not designed for traipsing around a jungle that was becoming thicker with every step they took.Thickeranddarker.

She didn’t want to admit how much the dark scared her. This was the second time in a matter of days that she found herself in the jungle. But the last time had been less scary. She’d been walking with Rogue. She’d felt safe … protected.

This time, Rogue was hurt. Because of her. If her uncle and Aguilar caught up with them, they wouldn’t take them back to the house. They’d shoot them and leave their bodies here for animals to feast on. She stumbled again. This time, she wasn’t able to stifle her cry of pain.

“We’ve gone far enough for now,” Slate said, sighing. “Let’s stop here.”

“I can keep going,” she said. She wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but she didn’t want to be the reason Rogue died.

“You need to rest. I can’t carry both of you out of here. Besides, I need to look at Rogue’s wounds. Out here, infection can set in fast.”

Infection.

Slate set Rogue down gently on the ground and proceeded to poke, prod and disinfect each of Rogue’s wounds. Through it all, Rogue didn’t stir.

“Shouldn’t he be?—”

“It’s okay,” Slate said. “His body needs rest. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

Bea bit her lower lip. “I want to help,” she said. “How can I help?”

Slate’s cold blue gaze looked her up and down. “Spread this antibiotic salve on the worst burns. I’ll set up the tent in the meantime.”

Tent.The word sent a chill through her.

---