Page 74 of Diesel
I stop outside the room Mace and Maylie are sharing and turn the knob. It’s slightly bigger than the room we have, but it feels smaller because of the bassinet against the side of the double bed. There is stuff everywhere and it takes me a little while to find the nappy bag.
I sling it over my shoulder, and quickly leave, closing the door behind me. And then I hear it. A whimper. For a moment I think it might be Ivy’s daughter, but when I pass her room there’s no sound on the other side of the door.
I keep walking, straining my ears to figure out where it’s coming from and eventually, I stop outside the last room in the hallway. The silence feels loaded. Wrong. I hold my breath even as my pulse flutters frantically in my neck.
The whimper sounds again, broken and wretched.
Sliding the bag off my shoulder, I drop it onto the floor and knock on the door. “You okay in there?”
I don’t hear anything, so I lean closer to the door, turning my head so I can press my ear against the wood.
My heart is racing now, pounding so hard it’s difficult to hear over my own laboured breaths.
“H…help.”
It’s quiet, ragged, but unmistakable.
Adrenaline floods my veins as I twist the door handle and push inside the room. At first my brain doesn’t register what I’m seeing. The red doesn’t look real. It’s too bright, like spilt paint on the sheets. There’s a humming in my ears as my thoughts catch up and my breath turns to glass in my throat.
Oh my…
Fuck.
Everything slows to a crawl, like I’m seeing the world through someone else’s vision, but my pulse is racing.
I can smell the blood, even though I don’t think that’s possible. It feels like it’s caught in the back of my nose and throat.
I want to scream, but no sound comes out, like it’s stuck in my chest.
She’s crumpled in the middle of the bed like a rag doll, limbs slack, dark hair tangled around her face. She’s too pale, too still.
My body moves before my brain fully catches up. I drop onto the floor at the side of the bed and wrap my hand around her wrist. Her blood pools hot against my palm, then seeps between my fingers, warm even though her skin is cold.
“Chloe?” Tears sting my eyes as I reach for her other wrist and clamp my hand around it. “Look at me, please.” She doesn’t. Her eyes are heavy beneath the swelling. The bruises she already wore look worse against the backdrop of her grey pallor. “Fuck, babe. Stay with me.” The words slice out of me, sharp but laced with fear I can’t hide.
She’s not here. She’s floating between life and death, and I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to existence. My stomach lurches. The blood just keeps coming. It’s already thick on my hands, and it’s saturated the sheets around her, wet and sticky. Too bright, too final.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell her, even though I don’t believe it.
She’s barely conscious. Her skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent, and there is a blue tinge to her lips. They’removing, like she’s trying to say something, but she’s not making a sound.
“Chloe?”
I stare at her face, at the patchwork of bruises she hasn’t even healed from and my throat burns. A sob barks out of me, and I don’t stop it. She’s so young. So… broken. Why did she do this? Why didn’t she tell someone? Did she plan this? She seemed okay yesterday…
“I’ve got you.” I glance around for something—anything—to stem the bleeding. There’s nothing.
Her head lolls, and my chest seizes. “Chloe?” Not a twitch, not a breath. The silence punches the air from my lungs. “Chloe, open your eyes for me.”
She doesn’t. I watch her chest, waiting for a rise that never comes.
Then I scream her name until my throat tears. I don’t know if anyone hears me, but even if they come, I already know it’s too late to save her.
TWENTY-FOUR
DIESEL
The further thevan takes me from Makenna, the louder the buzzing in my ears gets, like something is shorting out. I keep my back pressed to the side panel and try not to bounce my leg. I’m not the only one feeling the tension. Mace is humming under his breath and Riot’s gaze is boring into me like a fucking drill from across the other side of the van. He still doesn’t trust me. Maybe he never will.
