Page 51 of Ravens
I’m hurried across the back lawn by August and out to the ring road, cutting through a sparsely treed boulevard until we come upon the black town car again. August lets me go to hop in the driver’s seat as the three of us clamber into the back.
“Get out of here quickly, or we won’t get Carter before the roads are blocked,” William says, peering out the window.
“Don’t fucking tell me shit,” August snaps. “You’re the one that went off-script and screwed the timings.”
“I can’t believe you fucking shot her,” York growls as he takes my arm carefully.
“Don’t.” I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “Leave it, please.”
August takes us on the exterior ring, swinging down a narrow road where we stop, and the passenger door opens and closes before we continue. We drive around the long way to avoid the roads being systematically closed as authorities set up a perimeter around the monument. Taking the highway bridge across the river this time, it takes longer to get back to Arlington, but the traffic isn’t bad, and we avoid coming across any of the barricades.
By the time we reach the cemetery, I’m pressed heavily against York, shivering.
“Ditch this car,” York tells them as he opens the door and grabs onto me. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”
I get myself out slowly with his help, and he slings his jacket around my shoulders before helping me into his car. Shortly after, we’re speeding down back roads in the middle of the night while I consider if my time with him is officially up.
Twenty-Six
Things are dark and quiet when we pull up to the warehouse, and he parks outside on the gravel lot.
“Stay. I’ll be right back.”
He disappears into the darkness of the warehouse, and a moment later there is a soft glow from behind the dirty windows above. My arm throbs as I hold it, too scared to release the pressure or examine the damage. My dress is painted with blood, and my shoes are long gone, so dirty feet poke out from beneath the wet hem.
I shiver again, feeling parched and tired as I rest my head against the window.
My eyes pop open to the sound of the trunk closing, and flames dance behind the windows above the warehouse in front of me. I lean forward to get a better look as a window breaks, but York climbs back into the driver’s seat and fires up the car. Inthe side view mirror, I watch the warehouse behind us become engulfed in orange light as we speed away again.
“Here.” He opens a bottle of water and passes it to me. “Try to rest. I’ll get you patched up at the next stop.”
It’s still dark when we arrive at our destination. At some point, I dozed so I missed the signage and have no idea what town this is, but it isn’t very large. We pull into an alley just wide enough to get our doors half open. Steadying me, we stop at a caged door halfway down the alley next to a dumpster where York keys in a code. The door buzzes, and he pushes it open, guiding me through.
A freight elevator takes us up to the topmost floor and opens into a compact living space. I’m ushered through a small kitchen to sit on a couch. The living room sits sunken below the bedroom, which is just a few stairs up onto an open platform separated by an open railing. A small hallway runs down the side of it, leading, I’m sure, to a washroom.
York pads around the space, collecting items, and disappears into the bathroom before leaving the suite altogether. He reappears with his large black bag over his shoulder and drops it and begins going through it.
I watch numbly as he extracts clothing and a first aid kit, and then carefully removes his tuxedo jacket from my shoulders and lays me down on the couch.
“This is going to pinch,” he warns as a needle goes into my arm. Discarding it on the table, he picks up a bottle and a towel. “And this is going to sting.”
I bite my lip and stifle a scream as the cold alcohol splashes my arm. The pressure from the towel makes my head spin until I feel queasy.
“I might be sick,” I whisper as I take a deep breath.
“Throw up after the bleeding stops.”
There is more pressure and wiping, and I squeeze my eyes shut again when my arms stings sharply.
“It went right through . . . I don’t think it hit the bone, but it was close.”
I nod, looking up at the ceiling as the sharp stinging returns, and I whimper, tears slipping from the corner of my eyes and soaking into my hair. After a few more minutes, he’s unrolling a bandage and wrapping it around my arm.
“Let’s get cleaned up.” He sighs and scoops me up.
Thankfully the dress is easy and quick to remove, and he helps me shower off the blood, keeping the bandage out of the water. Once we’re both clean, I’m put to bed, and he disappears down into the room below.
There is the rustle of plastic and crumpling paper, and eventually the sounds and smell of something cooking. Low music begins, and I close my eyes, but blood splashes across my chest and bodies litter the floor before me, so I open my eyes and sit up, opting to stare off into the distance instead.
