Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I’m not solely lightheaded because of the lengths he will go for a stranger or the elbow he wedged between my thighs to stabilize himself. I’m on the verge of passing out from the amount of blood that pours from my ankle when the twisted steel pinning it beneath the gas pedal pops free.
Some of the metal responsible for holding my seat in place pierced through my ankle. I’m bleeding profusely and almost certain to die before first responders arrive if he doesn’t tourniquet my leg right now, but before I can instruct him on what he needs to do, the blackness charging at me from all sides wins.
I’m out cold before a single word leaves my mouth.
Chapter Three
Crunching sticks wake me for the second time this evening. They’re breaking beneath me like I’m jogging through dense woodlands without the fancy orthopedic running shoes my feet forever don when I tackle the grueling St. Thomas Street hill in Ravenshoe.
But I’m not running.
My feet aren’t even on the ground.
They’re dangling down the front of a person who smells like woodchips and pinecones, and my ass is being clutched by a hand that feels as rough as the one that pushed on my chest before I blacked out.
After taking a moment to settle my stomach’s gurgles, I take in the scenery more thoroughly. The crunch that drew me from an unconscious state are sticks incapable of withstanding the stomp of a man with extremely large feet. The stranger who freed me from the wreckage is weaving us through trees that are hundreds of years old. His speed gives no indication he’s worried about the almost starless sky. His race through the dense woodland is without worry that you’d swear he knows the terrain out here better than the back of his hand.
We dart, weave, and bob until we reach a tree that disappears into the thick clouds above our heads. A squeal rips from my mouth when he slips us inside the massive tree’s trunk before he pulls me flush with his body. Not even a second later, an explosion to rival all explosions booms into my ears. The blast is so powerful, it rattles the tree trunk as effectively as my lungs batter my ribs. It’s a terrifying boom that thrusts me back into the nightmare of my past, where I nearly lost more than my livelihood.
My inability not to help someone in need saw me undergo test after test after test to prove I could continue with my surgical internship. Deaf doctors aren’t unheard of, but there’s a massive bridge between hearing-impaired medical practitioners and their more fortunate counterparts. It took months to prove the hearing deficiency I faced in the days following a traffic incident wouldn’t affect my surgical expertise, and even then, I doubt the outcome would have been as successful if multiple favors didn’t exchange hands.
Mercifully, none of the barters were of monetary value.
If they were, I’d be up to my ears in debt.
I shake off memories of the past when the inferno engulfing my car brightens the forest surrounding us. It sends flames hurling toward the sky and gives me the quickest glimpse of a pair of murky blue eyes hidden under a mess of matted hair.
My savior’s face is barely visible through his thick beard, unkempt mane, and dirt-stained cheeks, but not even the wooziness bombarding me could have me mistaking him for a hideously ugly beast. If my head could concentrate on anything but the pain making me unbelievably nauseous, I could determine there’s a handsome man hiding under his rough and rugged exterior.
No one with a facial structure as defined as his could be classified as ugly.
When the unnamed man feels my heated gaze floating over his face, he growls a low, menacing groan, announcing his disapproval of my gawk before he tosses me back onto his shoulder and recommences his sprint.
“Hospital,” I murmur through the rapid churns of my stomach when I realize he’s moving us away from the direction my car traveled when it ping-ponged down the range. “I need to go to the hosp—”
A noose hanging off a branch of a tree steals my focus for a moment, then not long after that, I’m swamped by unconsciousness for the second time.
When I wake, the flips of my stomach are felt by both my throat and nose as I bring up the snacks I washed down with an endless supply of cherry Pepsi. I had just come off a double shift, so I needed more than an IV of caffeine to keep me awake during my drive from Ravenshoe to Cedric’s family cabin.
Mercifully, Pepsi tastes the same coming up as it does going down.
I can’t say the same thing for the corn candy I scarfed down with it. They taste meaty and have the texture of overcooked potatoes.