Page 74 of The Chase

Who was more angry? Who was more desperate? Who had more to lose?

It wasn’t going to be Colt. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

Colt finally got Cleaver in his grip. He had his hands pinned above him. Colt on top, pressing him down onto the ground. Both men were panting. It was almost erotic. Except it wasn’t. It was deadly.

Cleaver was exhausted. He wheezed, “Bastard… you’ve just destroyed-”

“It ends here, now, Cleaver.”

“Oh yeah?” Cleaver’s eyes mocked him. “Are you going to strangle me with your bare hands?” He laughed. “I know you’re a caveman but even for you-”

“No, you’re going to take a bullet in your head.” April’s calm, clear, soft voice came from right beside him.

Colt turned. There she was. Gun in her hands, the gun. His gun. Fuck, she must have picked it up from the drink holder. She held it steady with both hands, barrel right under Cleaver’s chin. She had determination on her face. Cold, calculated detachment. Unlike Colt, who’d been all hot fury and flying fists. She was crouched beside him, gun pressed in a deadly position. Completely still. Colt swallowed and kept his grip on Cleaver. His heart was galloping.

But Cleaver didn’t fight it. No, he raised an eyebrow and laughed. “Sweetheart, if you expect me to believe you are going to pull that trigger, then you’re dead wrong-”

Bam.

She pulled the trigger.

Hot liquid spattered onto Colt’s face. His reflexes kicked in, forcing him to shut his eyes and his mouth.

He heard a slow, steady breath, in and out, beside him.

April had pulled the trigger.

“No, you’re dead wrong,” she whispered softly to Cleaver’s lifeless body. “In fact, you’re just dead.”

Colt felt his heart stutter. She had killed. For him. They’d killed. Together. She turned and she was covered in a splatter of blood, too. Cleaver’s blood. Colt released his grip on Cleaver’s dead hands. They weren’t straining against him now.

"April," Colt managed to croak.

She stayed in business mode. “Colt, I think the car is on fire, we should move. Also, I’m bleeding.”

Colt’s throat stuttered, his gaze roving from the smoldering car, to her hands, which were indeed covered with blood.

“Let’s move April, come here-” He reached for her, and she gave him a blood covered hand. It slipped in his, he had to adjust his grip to hold her.

Sirens were creeping closer. They were loud now. The car was not just smoking. There was fire. A raging inferno. The air was poisonous. Flashing red and blue lights outside the compound walls could be made out through the black smoke.

Colt didn’t care anymore, he held April to him like she was his oxygen. His life raft. His everything. She clung onto him with the same vigor.

There was too much blood. It was all over her trousers, the bottom of her T-shirt. Something was wrong. She was going limp in his arms. Colt peeled away, holding her still to him. He peered down, examining her, concern etched into the dust and sweat on his face.

Boom. And it was at that moment that the car exploded.

Colt was knocked back. He hit the ground. April’s hand was no longer in his.

He felt heat. He heard sirens. His vision swam. And blackness took him.

Colt laid on the narrow bed and stared up at the tiled ceiling. He’d counted the tiles already. He’d counted the swirling patterns on the tiles. He’d multiplied the number of swirls by the number of tiles to get the total number of swirls in his room. His small room. He’d pace it later. Wall to wall. That was something to look forward to, he thought wryly. This felt too familiar. His soul was screaming. His body felt numb. He was trapped.

But then the door opened. He felt relief, he was not trapped, he had to remember that. Never trapped again, he vowed to himself. Not prison, instead a hospital.

“Ah, Mr. Kincade, good morning!” A doctor marched through the door with a nurse following not far behind, far too upbeat for Colt’s grumpy mood. April would tell him off for it. April. His pulse quickened.

“April?” he wheezed, trying to sit up, suddenly aware his voice was like sandpaper, his lips so dry they’d stuck together. When was the last time he drank water? That’s why he was on an IV drip. His eyes darted to the needle taped down to his forearm.

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