Page 47 of His to Burn
And still moving.
His fingers clawed at the ground, seeking traction he’d never find, grasping helplessly to reach us. He had the same milk-white dead eyes that Jorge had.
When I saw Jorge, I felt grief.
What I felt now was rage.
Pity.
So many emotions, I couldn’t name them all.
The stew morphed into a pulse of energy that propelled me forward, intent on ending that thing.
I didn’t make it step before a hand clamped around my arm and yanked me back.
I tried to shake it off to no avail.
Dug deeper and tried to move.
Still didn’t make it a step.
I looked down at Jack’s hand manacled around my arm.
His grip didn’t even look that tight, but I knew I wouldn’t move until he allowed me to.
Teeth clenched, I practically snarled, “Let me go.”
It was the voice I used on convicted murderers.
Jack didn’t blink.
“Keep it together, Counselor,” he said.
His voice had the faintest edge, and so did his expression, but in the next second, it was gone.
“Leave it. We gotta keep moving,” he said, softer this time.
Even though he was talking to me, Jack looked at the officer.
There was something in his voice. I wasn’t sure what it was, and honestly, I didn’t have the strength to try to figure it out.
When I looked at Jack again, he was stoic and serious.
He was also right.
We kept walking.
I didn’t look back.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered, catching his gaze a few minutes later.
I hoped he saw I meant it.
He nodded curtly. “What happened?”
I shrugged, trying to find words to describe what I felt.
Being at a loss for words was rare for me, but given the circumstances, I cut myself some slack. “I don’t know. Guess I just wanted to put it out of its misery. Plus, it could have gotten out and hurt someone.”
