Page 85 of Lone Star

A shot pinged off the linoleum just to his left.

He heard a high, feminine scream, and thought it couldn’t be Eden.

It wasn’t. Eden had the receptionist by the arm, one hand on the back of her head, forcing her low, shoving her toward the door.

“Go, go,” she chanted, and the girl was going, leading the way toward the door.

Behind them: curses, some in English, some in Spanish; the thunder of running feet, squeak of shoe soles.

Another chunk of floor exploded.

The receptionist pushed open the door, Eden shoved her through, Jinx followed–

And his leg caught fire. Down low, right in the meat of his calf. An awful, sharp, bee-sting pain that took his breath. He’d been shot before, but only grazed. This hit rattled his bones.

He staggered across the threshold and out onto the sidewalk.

Eden turned, expression tight with well-channeled nerves, and swore when she saw him. “Where are you hit?”

“Leg,” he said through his teeth. The pain was surging upward in waves. He felt the hot wetness of blood running down into his sock, already filling his boot. His vision swam, in and out, edged with black spots. Shit, he couldn’t pass out, not now, not from a fucking leg wound.

“We have to go.” She snapped a fresh mag into her gun.

“I know.” But he took only two hobbled steps before he nearly buckled.

“Jesus Christ, this can’t be happening,” Eden muttered, but she came and put herself right under his arm on his bad side, her free arm around his waist. “Lean on me.Move, man.”

The receptionist stood in front of them, clutching a satchel to her chest, lost and terrified, tears running in black mascara streaks down her face.

“Gwen, you have to run,” Eden said, starting to sound desperate. “I can’t–”

A car roared around the corner, and skidded to a halt in front of them.

Jinx’s vision was taking another swim, but Eden said, “Oh, Axe, thank God.”

He leaned harder on Eden than he wanted to, and they lurched their way up to the car. The passenger door popped open, and Michelle got out –what are you doing?!– but she had to, because the car was a fucking coupe, and they had to flop the front seat. Jesus. She had a gun in her hand, though –good girl.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” she said, her gaze on the building behind them. “Who’s this?”

The receptionist was still with them.

“Put her in the car,” Eden barked.

They reached the curb after an eternity.

“Where’s he hit?” Michelle asked, and he caught a glimpse of the worry on her face – a hard, soldier’s worry, not the panic of a civilian. A lot of the time, he didn’t think Candy deserved her, even if that was uncharitable toward his friend.

“Leg,” Eden said.

The pain spiked so sharply his vision whited out as he half-crawled, and was half-pushed into the backseat. He cursed and scrabbled to keep hold of consciousness.

“Hey, don’t drip blood on the leather,” he heard Axelle say.

“Oh my God,” the receptionist, already inside and pressed to the far door, whispered, a low, panicked chant over and over.

He heard gunshots: that was Michelle returning fire.

Eden tromped all over his leg as she climbed in, and this time, he was going to pass out. His last thought, before the darkness overtook him, was regret that he’d been so damn useless.

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