Page 112 of Mariposa
“At leastyoucan walk,” I joke, my eyes still shut as the darkness pulls at me, pulling me back into dark shadows. I’m fighting it as much as possible, but it’s useless. My brows pinch together as I try to open them again but fail.
I hate failing.
“Don’t talk, just stay awake for me!” he orders. I feel his hand on my ankle, and I whimper, but I can’t open my eyes anymore. My adrenaline has deteriorated.
“I think we’re one of the lucky ones…we’re not dead,” I tell him with hope laced in my dry tone. Despite our horrific situation, being alive has to mean something. Everything will be okay.
“Kade, is that you?”
Booker’s strangled voice seeps into the air over the crackle of fire.
“Did we really fucking crash? Am I alive, or am I talking to a ghost?” His footsteps grow louder, yet I can’t look at him. I’m increasingly getting more and more nauseated with each dreadful second.
Fuck, why can’t the spinning stop? I need to get up and help! But I can’t. No matter how much I try to open my eyes, it worsens.
“Give me a few seconds, and I promise I’ll get up,” I mutter.
“The fuck you are. Stay down,” Kade growls.
The sound of his heavy footsteps stops next to my head.
“Is she…?” Booker’s heavy gulp is audible.
“She’s alive, but she hit her head too hard; she may have a concussion. Her ankle’s fucked.”
“Shit…” he rasps before coughing hoarsely. “And you? How badly are you hurt?”
The sound of him patting his body makes my eyes flutter open.
“I’m pretty sure my left wrist is broken, which, as long as it’s not my carving hand, I don’t give a fuck, but my damn shoulder. It’s dislocated. I need you to pop it back in.”
I slit my eyes. The arm with the skulls and snakes dangles like he has no control over it. His uniform is ripped in several places all over his stomach, arms, and legs, revealing a precise, deep, third-degree burn on his tricep. Dried blood trails down his nose, leaving drops of bright red all over his chest. Booker looks the most put-together out of all of us. It’s a miracle we’re all still alive.
Booker rounds over my body as both men stand up. He grabs hold of his back and arm just as Kade stares me down so seriously—a vein pulsing in his neck as he mentally prepares for the agony—his feet planted on the ground and his thick thighs tensed underneath his pants.
“Are you ready? I forgot how fucking huge you are, asshole.” Booker huffs as he strengthens his grip around Kade’s massive muscles.
“Fucking do it already,” he snarls.
With one fast yank, a loud pop follows suit. Without missing a beat, the quick maneuver forces Kade to let out a heavy breath. He clenches his jaw as he grunts low and deep.
“All good now. I can move my arm again.” Kade clears his throat, rotating his arm up and down in repeated circular motions. If he’s in pain, Kade masks it with his ice-cold, stony expression. He kneels by me, our proximity making my heart leap. God, I love him. I fucking love this man, and yet he ended things. That type of pain will have to wait.
He cups my face with both of his hands.
He’s worried about me, but I need him to believe that I’m okay even when my condition is uncertain. The mission is still on. He can’t be here and knows it.
“I’ll be right back. We have to?—”
“Just go. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay right here. This tree and I are going to be best friends.” Patting the bark, his lips curl. I force humor out of my mouth, trying to lighten the mood. I love it when he smiles. “Plus, I don’t want to throw up on you. I’m pretty sure it’ll happen in the next few minutes or so. You already look like someone threw up on you, Master Sergeant. Both of you go and see if any of the others are alive. I’m solid. I’m fucking good. Leave!” I point to the wreckage weakly.
“Always ready to bark out orders instead of taking them,” Kade scoffs, and Booker lets out a humorless chuckle.
“You got that right,” Booker says with a tilt of his trembling chin. He takes off limping, and we watch him disappear into the crash site behind the thick brush. Kade turns back to me and pauses, his beautiful eyes lingering on the massive cut by my temples, then leans in.
“I’m okay. Really. It’s just a scratch.”
He shakes his head and smiles. His tongue sweeps the bottom of his sharp canines.
