Page 26 of Mad Max

Punk Rocker’s eyes spring to mine, and he just glares as Jock answers. “Probably. It’s too soon to tell. Might have to just leave him.”

My eyes go wide till I look at Mad Max, who’s rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Fuck you, too, Kooper.”

Ah, so Jock has a name, and Punk Rocker doesn’t find him funny.

“All right, let’s go,” Captain says quietly, but we all seem to listen.

I shake out my legs, but I swear they’re being stabbed with pins. I speak up, only to give myself a minute before I try to walk and fall flat on my face. “And where are we going, fearless Captain?”

“We won’t make it around to our bikes without drawing attention to ourselves. Don’t want any of them to know the Hounds are here. Flint’s cleared us a path. Follow me and keep your heads down.”

I shouldn’t have worried about my legs working. They do, but it doesn’t seem to stop Mad Max from dragging me with him. It doesn’t hurt how he holds my arm and guides me through this place and out the door. It’s a welcome relief to have someone else do the deciding on if we go left or right.

That’s till we hit the fields out back.

“Wait.” I pull from his grasp, and the rest of them stop as well.

“What the fuck for?” Kooper hammers at me before he takes a considerable breath and bends at the knees. Since we got into the cornfields, we’ve been in almost a full-on run for what’s felt like twenty minutes. I might be in shape, but I’m not that in shape when faced with pushing through cornstalks or whatever this shit around us is.

Especially not in heels.

I take them off and hold them to my chest. Might not want to wear them and have the heels stick in the ground anymore, but I’m not about to throw $800 shoes away.

“Just needed a minute for a fashion change. We can go now.”

“You can’t run without shoes,” Kooper says with a glare, and Mad Max snorts. I think I might love him for that.

“Yeah I can. Might even be faster. Not sure if you noticed the heels on these things. Trust me, it’s better to run barefoot and worry about what I step on later than fall and twist an ankle and you lot have to carry me.”

“Well, I ain’t carrying you.” And I really don’t want him to. If someone has to carry me, I only have one request.

“Think you can carry me instead?” Punk Rocker groans a second before he stumbles but doesn’t fall. Mad Max and Kooper catch him in time.

“Shit. Check his leg,” Captain barks.

Kooper bends down, forcing Mad Max to take all the weight, and turns on his cell phone’s flashlight. Even from standing over here, I know it’s bad.

“He’s losing a hell of a lot of blood. Think the bullet nicked an artery or something. We need to get him some help and quick, or he could bleed out, I think.”

“Fuck. Flint, did you get that?”

While Captain tries to figure shit out, Kooper takes off his belt and wraps it around Punk Rocker’s leg. Not sure if it’ll help, but I understand the concept of trying to cut off the blood circulation to the area.

“Tell me you got good news. Shit, how far out are they? Damn, doubt they’ll find us in this maze by then. Anything close by? Yeah, okay.” Captain looks to us, or I guess more to Mad Max. “Carry him.”

With one command, my beast picks up Punk Rocker and drapes him over his shoulder like a freaking throw cover. The guy doesn’t seem to be bothered by the extra weight at all.

That sight alone has my girl bits dancing. Images of all the things he could do to me with that much strength play across my brain, and I miss whatever is said. But thankfully my body is still on board enough to know to follow them as they all turn and start sprinting left. I have no idea where the fuck we’re going, but I hope one of them does.

While I might not have the best sense of direction, I sort of feel like we’re headed back to where Punk Rocker got the bullet. Not sure my opinion would be welcome here or not, but they’ve got to know this is bad. Like really bad.

Running away from bullets is good. Running back to them? Not good. Not good at all.

Chapter 12 – Mad Max

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