Page 6 of Revenge Saints

No…

He wants her for a reason.

“We need to move,” I murmur as I tilt her chin up with two fingers. I need to see her, all of her. Her bloodshot green eyes lock with mine, so full of pain and silent pleading. I almost forget how to breathe. She looks like she’s begging to wake up from a nightmare that just won’t end. “We can’t stay here. We need to find somewhere safe… regroup, figure this out.”

She nods, and I feel her legs start to loosen from where they were clinging around me. Max and Ryker back off, giving her space as she begins to slide down my body.

But the second her feet hit the ground; she gasps and her knees buckle. I grab her before she drops.

“Aspen?” Max is instantly at her side, crouching low, and his eyes land on her leg. “Shit.”

There’s blood. Too much of it. It’s dripping down her jeans, fast.

“Fuck,” Ryker growls, his whole body going tense beside us.

She’s hurt.

How the hell didn’t we see it?

I rip off my belt without thinking, yanking it through the loops with one sharp pull, and hand it to Max. He doesn’t waste time. He wraps it tight around her thigh, just above the wound, his hands steady but his jaw clenched.

Max doesn’t hesitate; he rips the fabric open, and Aspen flinches, her breath hitching as pain rips through her. Her hand darts out without thinking, and Ryker’s already there, grabbing it tight, steady. He leans in close. “You’re okay, Aspen. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

I see it then; the cut’s deep, ugly. Too much blood. Max looks up at me, his jaw tight, and I don’t even need him to speak.

We’re fucked.

I grit my teeth and take a slow breath, trying to ground myself, but it’s no use. My hands curl into fists at my sides, the need to do something burning through me like wildfire.

“I’ll carry her,” I grunt. “Max, you follow. Ryker, cover the rear.”

They both nod, already moving into position.

“What?” She snaps as she crosses her arms, stubborn little thing. “I can walk! It’s not that bad now that Max put the belt around it.”

And of course, she tries to prove it, taking a step forward.

No. Hell no.

I catch her arm and pull her hard into my chest. She gasps, eyes wide as I lower my face to hers.

“You’ve got two choices,” I growl. “You let me carry you… Or I tie your arms and legs and throw you over my damn shoulder. Either way, you’re not walking. Got it?”

“Knox!” She squeaks, cheeks flushed, eyes darting to Ryker like he’s going to save her.

But Ryker just shrugs, arms crossed. “Don’t look at me; he’s right, and you know it.”

“Let’s all just breathe,” Max cuts in. “Sweetheart, that cut on your thigh? It’s deep. You need stitches. If you walk on it, it’ll tear wider, and you might start bleeding out again.”

Her chin lifts, defiant even through the pain. “But it doesn’t hurt that much,” she murmurs, soft and stubborn, tugging lightly at my grip like she’s not about to fall over.

Max gives her a patient look as he brushes a lock of hair off her face. “That’s the adrenaline talking. You think you’re fine, but you’re not.”

She breathes in slowly and heavily. And then her eyes flick to mine. “Fine,” she says.

Liar.

I see it all over her: the tight set of her jaw, the flicker of something wounded behind those forest eyes. She hates this. Hates being carried, hates needing help. She’s been surviving on her own for too long, scraping by, never letting herself lean on anyone.