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A vibration goes off in my pants. I retrieve my phone, the light is dim, so it doesn’t blind me.
Him: He heard the gunshots. He’s on the verge of fleeing.
Mal makes her way over to me. “I guess the fun happens without me,” she says disappointingly.
Me: Heading up now. Five minutes.
I press on the lock button and slide my phone back into my pocket.
“Anita is leaving.” It feels like shit mixed with acid on my tongue. But I don’t want anything else happening to her, or whatever is going on in her body to worsen.
Take care of her.
It's racking my brain at how many times she's in danger, and I'm clearly the worst candidate for this promise.
Mal huffs, hooking her thumbs into the opening of her vest pocket. “Good luck. You know she isn’t going for that, right?” The incredulous mockery is obvious in her words. I look over her shoulder to see Anita making her way off the bus and then to us. She flinches the moment she puts her hands into her pockets.
My jaw tightens, the invisible knife stabbing into my chest digs deeper from the pain that I'm one hundred percent convinced she’s experiencing.
I glare back at Mal. “Doesn’t matter. She got fucked up in there because some fucker was hiding in a barrel somewhere. I’ll do the same for any of you,” I add in, hoping to make myself feel better about the situation, but it doesn’t. Mal was stabbed last night and she’s here. Does that make me a hypocrite? It’s what I have to do. Not just because of this promise to her brother, but from a leader’s standpoint, I can’t have her out here bruised, hurt, and still in battle.
Mal’s lips purse tight with her brows raised far enough to show the lines on her forehead. “Again. Good luck convincing her.”
I give her a dry look, but she’s right.
Anita finally makes her way to us by that time the trucks are ready to move out along with the bus.
“Don’t leave yet,” I speak into the earpiece looking directly at Anita.
Not wanting to be involved, Mal steps away with a gauche expression playing on her face. “I’m going to go grab Boone so we can head up.” Then, she speeds off toward where Boone sits in his truck.
Anita's brows furrow as she glances at Mal, who walks away, then back at me. I don’t have a poker face, so she can tell what I’m probably thinking from looking at me. I rub the back of my neck, the material of my gloves causing the skin to ache rather than bring some ease to the jitters in my bones and racing heart.
Her chin dips with a look through her thick lashes. “Ronan.”
My stomach clenches at the sound of my name, not in a way like when it’s being moaned.
I release an exasperated sigh. “I need you to leave with Red and his team.”
Her head cocks with disbelief. “What?”
“I don’t think you should come.” I stuff my hands into my pants pocket, my face in a steel state.
Her brows only deepen as she searches my face. “Don’t think, or don’t want me to?”
“I don’t want you to. You’re hurt.”
She scoffs, her head shaking slightly. “Barely. I’ll be fine. I can take a little bruise. I’ve had far worse injuries.”
I point at the injury. “A little? Your ribs can be broken, it’s not a little. You’re fucked up; I can see the wince when you walk.”
She stays quiet, crossing her arms slowly, the look in her dark eyes is viscous.
“Hitch the ride with them, and I’ll be there to make sure Dr. Rio checks you thoroughly.”
“He can check me after.I don’t need you to treat me like a wounded person who can’t walk. I can stand on my own two feet,” she argues, her face twisted in anger.
“Not when you stand and your back gives out before you can draw your gun. You’re leaving.” I go to raise my hand to wave for Red, but she steps closer, pushing it back down before it rises too high. I narrow in on her, and she does the same.