Page 245 of Things We Hide from the Light

“I think it’s an indoor riding ring,” Nolan said. “There’s gotta be a switch around here some—”

There was a noise in the dark. A strangled kind of yelp, followed by a thump and a grunt. I didn’t care that I couldn’t see. I knew she was in there and I would find her.

“You fucking stabbed me with a pitchfork!” howled a disembodied man’s voice.

“You were asking for it, you stupid fucking moron,” Lina shot back scathingly.

She was okay. At least okay enough to talk shit.

“Angelina!” My voice cut through the blackness like a dart.

“Nash! Get out of here! Ouch! You son of a bitch—”

I was getting closer. I could tell by the sounds of the scuffle growing louder. I dodged my way around a large, shadowy object. A vehicle or farm implement under a tarp, I realized. There were more of them lined up between me and her, creating an obstacle course.

I was almost on them. I could feel her near me. And my stomach churned at the sound of a fist hitting flesh. But the ensuing howl wasn’t hers.

The lights came on, illuminating the ring. I was six feet from her. Hugo was on his knees in front of her, blood pouring from his leg, more from his nose.

“You fucking bitch,” he screeched and raised the hand that held the gun.

I didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Didn’t calculate. I acted.

“Nash!” Lina’s scream echoed in my head as I went airborne.

Hugo’s head turned toward me in slow motion, followed by his arm. But it was too late for him. I hit him with the force of a freight train, leading with the shotgun I carried. His handgun went off and we rolled into the sawdust. I rolled him, pinned him, and smashed my fist into his face. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Okay, hotshot.” Lina’s voice was soft and calm at my side. “I think you got him.”

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing short of ending him would be. I pulled my arm back again to let my fist fly, but her hands were on me.

“Morgan!” Nolan’s warning shout had both of us looking up in time to see Tate Dilton leveling his gun at us from ten yards away.

Dilton turned toward the running Nolan, and both men fired almost simultaneously.

I was aware of Nolan dropping to his knees, of Lina’s horrified scream as I grabbed her under the arms and dragged her behind a big blue tractor.

I pushed her down behind the tire and fired two shots over it to draw Dilton’s attention. Lina clawed at me and dragged me back down. Her touch brought me back into my body.

My breath was coming in vicious pants. Sweat was running down my back. My fist throbbed. My heart thundered in my chest.

“Nash,” she said, pressing herself against me. “Can you see Nolan?”

I scanned the arena and shook my head. “He must have found cover.” I glanced down, checking her for injuries. “You’re bleeding, baby.”

She held up her left arm where a piece of her sleeve was missing. The surrounding material was soaked with red. “I hit Hugo with the pressure washer in the face and pulled a Nash Morgan when he fired.”

I tore the sleeve off my shirt and tied it over her bicep. “What’s a Nash Morgan?”

She grinned at me and I’d never loved anyone more than I did in that moment. “I did just what you did when you walked up to that car. Saw the gun and turned sideways. The bullet barely grazed me. I don’t think it even qualifies as a flesh wound, but it stings like hell.”

“Jesus, Angel.”

“It’s a scratch,” she assured me.

“When did you stab him with a pitchfork?”

“After he shot at me.”