Page 66

He’s wearing the same pants he wore to bed when the river came up and washed us away. He has a new t-shirt on, but it’s wrinkled and hanging off his shoulders. The shadows under his eyes lift when he sees me, and he drops to his knees. “Dakota.”
My heart seizes. “What are you doing here? You have to leave,” I plead at the same time I attempt to crawl toward him. I hiss as my body reminds me what a terrible idea that is. He scrambles across the tile and makes me lie back once more. The moment we connect, fire awakens under my skin. Hot tears press against my eyes. “He’s using you against me,” I warn, whimpering.
Stone shushes me lightly like he’s calming a child. He runs his fingers over my hair. “I’m here now. You don’t have to worry.”
Tears track down my cheeks, fracturing my view of him, and I’m instantly angry at myself for screwing up my view of our reunion no matter how mad I am that he’s here.
His father has him pegged for sure. He wants to be the white knight. Lance knew exactly what Stone would do, and I don’t want to admit it, but he did have the upper hand all along.
I hate him.
“Don’t cry,” Stone soothes.
“Wyatt and Lucas?”
“They’re fine,” he promises. “They want me to tell you they love you so damn much. Wyatt cried when we washed up on the side of the bank and you weren’t there.” A tear forms in the corner of Stone’s gray-blue eyes, and he wipes it away. “I’ve never seen him do that before. In all the time he’s lost it about his parents, I never saw him do that.”
I press my lips together. Emotions lap at me like the ocean current. They’re never-ending and overpowering. “You shouldn’t be here,” I reiterate, while at the same time clutching him like a lifeline.
He crushes chapped lips to my forehead, and even though they’re cracked, they feel like heaven. “Don’t worry about anything,” he whispers, mouth moving over my skin. He yanks back like he’s been jolted out of a dream. “Are you okay? How badly are you hurt?” I shake my head and try to pull him closer, but he glares at me and moves away. “Dakota, let me take care of you.”
He inches his fingers toward my shirt, and I let him lift the hem. I sigh. “There’s something wrong with my rib, I think. Then there are the cuts on my thigh.”
He growls. “I’m going to kill him,” he rages. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore. I promise.” His fingers shake over the dark bruising on my stomach. Then, he reaches down, and I help him lower my bottoms so he can see the thigh bandages. Fresh blood seeps through the one where Mr. Blade Happy stabbed me. Stone immediately gets to his feet and bangs on the door. “I need a medical kit.”
“Fuck off,” the guard snaps.
“Father!”
I jump at Stone’s furious roar. I can’t hear exactly what Lance replies with, but the guard curses and retreats down the hall.
“We need to get out of here,” I blurt before the guy returns and overhears. “We have to leave. Lance is going to hurt you and Wyatt and Lucas. I know it.”
Stone comes back over and nuzzles my cheek, carefully avoiding touching any part of my body. “We have to play his game, baby. Please don’t worry.”
“Don’t fucking say that to me again,” I grind out.
He takes my hand and squeezes, devastation morphing his features. “Relax, please. We need to get you better and then we’ll work on what to do next.”
I groan, hating the worry on his face. I stifle a yelp as I reach out to touch his cheek. “You better have a fucking plan that doesn’t involve sacrificing yourself.”
He glances away, and the truth hits me. He doesn’t. He impulsively came here to save me, but that’s as far as his planning went. I’d be willing to bet on it.
The ex-military guy barges in, throws a medical kit at Stone’s feet, and slams the door closed again. Inside, the contents are all strewn about. Alcohol wipes, antiseptic, and bandages all mix together. There’s even a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and another vile the color of burnt amber.
“I don’t know what happened to your stomach,” he grimaces. “It’s scabbed over already.”
“Something stabbed me when we were in the river. A branch or something. But that’s not the part that hurts. It’s my rib, I think.”
Stone dumps alcohol on it anyway, and I gag as the potent smell hits my nostrils.
“Sorry,” he breathes, staring down at me like I’m a broken china doll.
“It’s fine,” I assure him, my stomach roiling.
He helps me get my pants all the way off, then carefully peels away the bandages on my thigh. Fresh blood spills out, especially from the stab wound. He grimaces. “This is going to hurt.”
He moves before I can stop him. I press my lips together and scream with my mouth closed as he dumps alcohol all over the cuts, both big and small. My fingers curl into the mattress as fire rips through me.