Page 42 of The Captive
“Where is everybody?”
“Outside.”That grim look on Deacon’s face intensified.“Which is when we need to start worrying.”
They moved out of the apartment with lightning speed.Deacon had a duffel over his shoulder and a gun in his right hand, which he kept trained straight ahead as they sprinted to the stairwell.It was only three flights down, but by the time they made it to the bottom landing, Lana was panting like a thirsty dog.Her heart thudded in her chest, each frantic beat bringing a jolt of fear and jubilation.
He was saving her!And risking Le Clair’s wrath in orderto do it.She couldn’t help but shoot him a look loaded with relief, but his profile was hard with concentration.
Shoving his gun in the waistband of his pants, he covered it with the hem of his sweater and said, “There’s a car parked at the end of the street.When we get outside, you keep your head down and walk beside me.If I say run, you need to run.Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.Let’s go.”
The heavy stairwell door creaked as Deacon pushed it open.They came into a bright lobby with two plush white sofas in front of the elevator bank.Empty.Lana could practically taste Deacon’s relief.It was coating her mouth, too.As she’d promised, she kept her head down, sticking close to Deacon as they walked through the glass double doors at the building’s entrance and stepped outside.
The early winter breeze snaked underneath her hair, cooling her neck.Deacon hadn’t given her time to grab a coat before appearing in the bedroom and whisking her out of the apartment.Her breath left visible white clouds in the air as they made their way onto the sidewalk.They kept to a brisk pace, almost a jog, and Lana was certain they’d made it unnoticed.
Until the No Parking sign right above her head burst apart from the force of a bullet.Metal shards went flying, one nearly clipping her ear.
“Run,”Deacon barked out, yanking on her arm.
Her heart nearly ripped out of her chest.Gunshots!The others were shooting at them!The cement of the sidewalk exploded beneath her feet, as the shooter decided to go for a leg shot to stop them.Lana’s head spun from Deacon’s random zigzag sprint.He was making sure the shooter couldn’t find a target, but the zigzagging made her dizzy.
“Delta!Don’t move!”
A voice shouted at them, and Lana couldn’t help herself—she glanced over her shoulder.An infuriated Oscar was running after them, his gun raised.Deacon tugged on her arm, forcing her to keep moving.Panic torpedoed into her when another angry voice joined Oscar’s.Echo or Tango, and now more footsteps thudding from behind.
“We’re not going to make it,” she cried.
“We’ll make it.”Deacon’s voice came out in sharp pants.
They ran.Lana’s heart slapped against her ribs.She sucked in gulps of cold air, her boots clacking a staccato rhythm against the sidewalk.A car finally came into view, a black sedan, parked at the curb.It was the only vehicle on the street.Twenty feet.Ten feet.
They were almost there.They were going to make it!
Pain exploded in Lana’s left arm.
She stumbled forward with a cry, as waves of agony pulsed through her body.Stars flashed in front of her eyes, but Deacon forced her to keep running.Five feet.Three.Two.Gravity eluded her as she was suddenly thrown into the passenger seat of the sedan, while moisture seeped into the sleeve of her pale blue sweater.
She stared down at her arm.A crimson stain had bloomed in the material of the sweater.She’d been shot.Shot.And she was bleeding heavily, her entire arm wet and sticky with blood.
“The baby,” she mumbled to herself.
A car door slammed and she blinked in terror, only to realize it was Deacon sliding into the driver’s seat.He bent under the dashboard of the car, flicked a few wires together, and the car roared to life.
“Get your head down!”Deacon shouted at her.
She ducked, burying her face in her lap just as the back windshield of the car shattered.Shards of glass flew into the front seat, lodging in Lana’s hair and nicking her ear.She sucked in oxygen.Felt her head spinning as the pain in her arm throbbed.As the blood coated the armrest between her and Deacon.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.What if she lost too much blood?What if she lost the baby?
The car lurched forward as Deacon slammed a foot down on the gas pedal.Rubber squealed, another bullet rocked the car, then another, dinging off their bumper like a ball colliding into the walls of an arcade pinball machine.
“Where are you hit?”came Deacon’s frantic voice.
And then his hand was on her arm, the contact bringing a sharp wave of nausea to her belly.Something ripped.The sleeve of her sweater, she realized.Deacon made a sound between a growl and curse as he ran his bare hand over her blood-soaked skin.
“Lana.Lana!Quit hitting me and let me examine the wound.”
