Page 51 of Be My Sinner

I jump up beside him on the table and start CPR, knowing full well that I am probably not doing it the correct way Sammy taught me. Panic is rising within me and filling my body with adrenaline, as I pump Abe’s chest to the counts in my head, before dipping my mouth to his and breathing into his lips.Please fucking breathe, please.

I keep going, chest compression, then breathing into his mouth over and over again, all the noise around me fading into silence, and only the counts in my head loud. Someone tries to pull me off of Abe, but I lash out with my arm, elbowing them in the face before I return to my compressions.

“Dinah, stop! He’s breathing but barely. We have to stop the fucking bleeding!” Sammy’s voice rages in my ears.

He’s breathing. He’s fucking breathing!

Sammy forcefully moves me out of the way, causing me to stumble back and almost fall on my ass when my legs refuse to hold me up. I watch as Sammy raises both of Abe’s arms higher on the table, immediately hooking him up to one of our emergency blood bags. “Come here, Nightstar, hold this!”

Zeke and Sammy work together to cut the hasty tourniquet I had created from Abe’s shirt. Blood continues to trickle out of the wound, but not as rapidly as Sammy examines it. “Fuck, I think the bullet is still inside. I don’t think his lungs have been hit, but I’m not sure about another organ. We have to get it out, but doing so might kill him.” He rolls Abe onto his side and checks his back, and under his arm, for an exit wound. Finding none, he lays him back down.

He grabs a bottle of antiseptic and pours it over the wound, then grabs a locking forceps in one hand, placing it into the damage. “Come here, asshole. Hold this steady like I’m doing,” he demands, and Zeke immediately obeys. He grabs a small headlamp and slips it over his forehead, turning it on and flooding Abe’s body with bright light.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Zeke questions with fear evident on his pale face.

“Let’s fucking hope so for his sake. Otherwise, he’s going to meet his ancestors before lunch,” Sammy grunts as he grabs a pair of long-nosed scissors and starts digging into the wound. Abe’s body momentarily spasms on the table, and a harsh wheezing moan leaves his lips.

“Come on, come on, you big bastard. I’ve almost got it.” He pushes against Abe’s chest as more blood slips out and coats the table. “Got it, fuck!” He yanks the forceps back, with a bullet stuck at the end of it. He throws it down on the table, pours more antiseptic, starts packing the wound, and uses the vent chest seal we have in our kit to seal it.

“We need to get him on an antibiotic and something to manage the pain. I think now that the bullet is out, his body will start clotting, and we can close up the wound.” Sammy places Abe in the recovery position on his side, one arm stretched out, the other cushioning his head, and one leg bent.

“How the fuck did you know how to do all that?” Zeke questions while running his hand down Abe’s back in a gentle caress. The fear he’s feeling is still evident on his face, as is the distrust for Sammy, despite him more than likely having just saved Abe’s life.

“I was on the front lines of your little war for years, fucker. A soldier of your Brotherhood. We are dispensable to you, just another body to throw in the way of the rebel’s bullets. Most of us learn how to treat our own wounds if we want to survive.”

Sammy pushes away from the table and approaches me, his bloodied hand rising to cradle the side of my face with a tenderness that I currently yearn for. I don’t even flinch from the moist sensation of Abe’s blood clinging to his hands as they make contact with my skin. “It’s alright, Nightstar. Breathe with me, baby.”

For a moment, I want to believe him. I want to believe that this has all been nothing but a nightmare. One that any moment I will wake from and find myself lying in my bed right next to Sammy’s warm body, instead.

That I didn’t just almost murder one of the boys I used to love, who was once my family. The boy who used to call me his pretty blue flower, and would stroke my hair until I fell asleep next to him.

“What the fuck happened to you, Dinah?”

Chapter 25

The Forsaker

Zeke

Thewordsleavemylips before I can stop them, not that I am even sure I want to. Rage is still stirring in the pit of my stomach, at the knowledge this crazy bitch shot Abe. My eyes roam over his prone form, and I release the stunted breath trapped in my body on a heavy exhale. His chest rises and falls as he lies pale on the table, vulnerable, and the image haunting. He’s alive. At least for now, and if that were to change, I know two people who will be joining him in the bowels of hell immediately.

All the adrenaline rushing through my system is now depleting, and all the aches and pains are making themselves known.Fuck, he got in a few good hits.Not that I would ever admit that to him.Fuck him.Adding to the painful ones Snow had already graced me with, my body feels like a walking punching bag.

I watch, my heart pounding, as her entire body tenses, and from the corner of my eye, I see Sammy looming closer to her. His frame expands, towering over her, and he glares at me with a menacing intensity. My lip curls as a primal urge surges within me, compelling me to unleash a feral growl, baring my teeth at him in a dramatic display of dominance.Come fucking try me, bitch; we can go another round.

Despite the dire situation happening all around us and the unhinged psycho aiding in the attempt to save Abe’s life, one indisputable truth remains: she is mine, unequivocally and undeniably. She belongs to me, not to him. Even though it appears he has a significant influence over her. I couldn’t help but notice how he managed to soothe her out in the woods, when the gravity of her deranged actions finally descended upon her, and she was having some kind of attack of conscience.

My eyes trace the contours of her body, meticulously registering every inch from her mud-splattered, black booted feet up her black tights with a strapped blade sheath, and over the sleeveless top that still holds the gun harness. Her arms are adorned with intricate black ink tattoos, a gallery of images that include flowers, birds, and even a haunting depiction of an angel with its wings cruelly destroyed by a malevolent demon.What the fuck? Who had the privilege of marking her like that, and using my Snow as their canvas?

The words barely escape my mind when I notice that Sammy has several tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his torn shirt. Jealousy and hostility surge through me at the sight.Him.He’s the one who inked those on her. He dared to paint my Snow’s skin without my damn permission.Skin that belongs to me.The struggle to control the urge to murder him, while I force her to watch, fills me.Pretty sure that’s not all he’s touched; my mind snickers.

I have to clench my fists until my nails dig deep into my palms, to restrain myself from lashing out at him and beating him within an inch of his life. She takes a step away from Abe, and I observe as she squares her shoulders, the previous signs of weakness vanishing as if they were a trick of the light and never truly there.

A malicious chuckle escapes her lips, “What happened to me? What a fucked up question to ask, Ezekiel. You know full well what happened to me. This fucking life happened to me! The Brotherhood happened to me!”

She turns her full glare in my direction, her blue-gray eyes shining with unleashed anger and violent intent. Does she want to strike me right now? Would shedding my blood make her feel better?

“Are you his whore now, Snow? Is that what you have become?” My eyes never leave her face, even though I can hear and feel him moving closer, probably ready to knock my damn teeth out. Even I know that was a shitty thing to say. I want to hurt her, just like watching her with him is hurting me. I will have to examine why that is the case more closely later.

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