for me to realize that the fifty-foot drop was probably going to be the end of me.
I couldn’t even process the vision of Six jumping toward me at the same time he aimed at the asshole who hit me. It wasn’t until I jerked to a halt, body swinging in the air, that I noticed the fingers wrapped around my wrist.
Six was laid out on the catwalk, arm over the edge. The bracelet on my wrist was the only thing keeping me from slipping through his grasp.
He caught me.
Six saved me.
His jaw was clenched tight, eyes fluttering closed.
Pain. He was in pain.
Everything flooded back to me: sound, time, gravity which was causing strain on my arm, and most of all, pulsating, adrenaline laced fear that I hadn’t experienced since he burst into the lab and took me.
“Grab on,” he yelled.
I glanced down, which was a bad idea, then back up. My vision spun, my heart hammering so hard, breath so ragged it felt like I was going to pass out. His grip released the tiniest bit, but the drop on my end felt like feet. It was enough of a jolt to clear my head, and I reached up to grab his hand.
It didn’t work, the dropping of my arm shaking us. Pain radiated through my stretched muscles.
“Lacey, grab my fucking hand,” he said through gritted teeth.
I blew out a breath and twisted up as I swung my arm.
Contact.
Calm began to settle in from my triumph as I held on to him with both hands, securing our grip.
“I can’t pull you up like this.”
I blinked up at him, panic settling back. “What?”
“My shoulder is dislocated. Keep a firm grip. I’m going to turn and get you high enough so you can grab on to the ledge. Then I’ll be able to stand and pull you up with my other arm.” He began without confirmation of my understanding, grunting as he rolled onto his side. “Grab the ledge.”
A deep breath and I let one of my hands go, reaching for the curled metal edge. Once I had a secure grip, I quickly let go and connected my other hand.
Left hanging as he stood, my grip was the only thing between me and a drop of doom. I wasn’t strong enough to lift myself, not hanging like that.
He stood, his left arm hugging his side. I stared up at him as he walked to the ledge and looked down at me. If he hadn’t just hurt himself trying to save me, I would worry he was about to stomp on my fingers and send me falling.
But he did save me.
He kneeled down and held out his hand, and I latched on without pause. With a slow, strong pull he stood, dragging me back onto the catwalk. The second I could, I hitched one leg up, then the other.
Once standing, I threw my arms around him. He couldn’t hug me back, but his good hand did wrap around my waist.
The moment I pulled back, my jaw was in his grip, moving my face as he surveyed the damage.
His gaze met mine, and I was almost dumbstruck by the intensity. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “It hurts. My leg was shot and my arm is sore, but I think I’m fine.”
He nodded. “We need to get going.”
“What about your arm?” I asked, noticing the way the left shoulder of his jacket didn’t look right, his arm hugged tight against his torso.
“It’ll have to wait,” he said, looking down and then up to the window.
“Don’t you need it?”
He shrugged with his right shoulder. “Maybe.”
“I lost your gun,” I said as we headed toward the far window, realizing my hand was empty.
He bent over and picked up one of the men in black’s and handed it to me. It was larger, heavier, but I felt better with it in my hand than without.
Maybe that was how Six felt all the times he had to be without his when we traveled.
The halls were quiet, but we continued with our cautious steps, avoiding bodies as we went. At every corner we waited for the sound of more footsteps.
The stairwell was empty, as far as we could tell, and we descended each floor as quietly as we were able. It was difficult, the searing pain in my leg flaring with each step.
When we made it to the bottom, he opened the door an inch. Confident that it was safe, we crept out.
There wasn’t the sound of another soul in the