Luscious - Lexi Blake Page 0,17
like he’d slipped and hit his head.
The world suddenly went eerily quiet.
Even as she hit her knees, she knew things hadn’t gotten better. They’d gotten infinitely more dangerous. Quiet was bad. Quiet meant the monster had found her.
“Macon? Please get up. We have to go. It’s almost here.” Panic threatened. She reached for his hand. It was warm in hers and when she tried to find his pulse, it was strong under her fingertip. His heart was beating.
The street kid inside her told her to run, to hide, to protect herself. She’d spent those first years of her life in survival mode. She’d not known anything else until she’d been taken in by her mom and Ronnie. It would be easy to slip back into it. Hell, she’d been in it since her mother died. The child she’d been had taken over and she looked out for herself. That child urged her to take the radio and the flashlight and hide. No one would blame her.
But she wasn’t a child any longer. She’d indulged that piece of herself for too long. She couldn’t leave him. She stood up and grasped his hands in hers. Maybe she could make it to the storage closet. It was reinforced. It might be their best bet. She took a deep breath and started to pull him.
Tried to pull him and didn’t get far.
“You had to be all muscular, didn’t you?” She tried again, but he wouldn’t move.
There was a terrible sound that filled her whole world. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought a train was coming her way. It wasn’t a train. Tears filled her eyes and panic made her want to flee, but she dropped back down and did the only thing she could.
She covered his body with hers and prayed they survived.
CHAPTER THREE
“And they’re sure his hands are going to work? It’s just his brain that was bashed in? Wait, he needs his brain to cook, right? I know you don’t but what he does is so much more important.” A deep voice disturbed Macon’s sleep.
“Have I ever told you what an asshole you are?” Another voice. This one was very familiar, but Macon kind of wanted all of the voices to go away.
They seemed intent on tormenting him. “Maybe a couple of times, but this is serious, Sean. He’s an artist. If he dies, the world loses. Why couldn’t I have met him when I was in the Army instead of his brother? Adam is utterly useless unless you need someone to make sarcastic comments at inopportune times.”
“Yeah, and we all know that’s your job.”
His head ached. What the hell had happened? He didn’t remember dipping into the whiskey. He hadn’t done that for a while. He had work so he couldn’t drink all night and moan the loss of his leg. Not when there were pies to prep. Why had he started in again?
“Fuck you, Big Tag. And the next time you piss off some fifth grade hacker and your e-mail gets inundated with ads for erectile dysfunction and tractors, you’re on your own.” His brother was here? Why was his brother present at his hangover?
“That was Chelsea. She gets pissy from time to time.”
“Oh, and my sarcasm is so much smarter than your sarcasm,” his brother announced.
“Could your sarcasm be a little quieter?” He managed to get his eyes to open up. He closed them immediately. The world was way too bright. He started to stretch and found himself tethered to an IV. Shit. He was in the hospital. How many damn times was he going to wake up in a hospital?
He reached down and touched his good leg.
Adam leaned over. “It’s still there. You’re good. You’re at Parkland Hospital in Dallas.”
It was stupid but he was deeply grateful to his brother in that moment. Adam didn’t make fun of him for worrying. He simply explained.
“I’ll get Daley,” a deep voice said. He was fairly certain he was dealing with both Taggarts, plus Adam. And he’d gotten a glimpse of something pink. Had Ian Taggart been wearing a pink shirt?
“Hey, brother. Way to survive a tornado.” Adam’s hand clasped his forearm. “I’ve been here for years and never actually seen one of the fuckers. You’re here for a few months and get caught in one. You are one unlucky son of a bitch.”
Yep. That was him. He groaned as he tried to open his eyes again. The last year had been one gut punch after another.