Dean found himself enmeshed in the retreating group. It didn’t take long for the shouts of alarm to begin. Dean pushed his way through the chaotic crowd, Malaya near his side.
Three big trucks were parked in the street, and masked men in black poured out from them. They weaved in and out of the houses, brandishing large guns in the faces of terrified people. The tat-tat-tat-tat sound of guns going off indiscriminately didn’t register with Dean at first, but the screaming pulled him from his daze. Chaos erupted in the crowd, and panicked people jostled him from all sides. Malaya pushed him down so he was hunched behind the crowd.
Dean scanned the horizon wildly, searching for an escape. The jungle seemed so far away. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted him.
“We have to get you out of here,” Malaya said. She took his hand and pulled him toward the clinic. Dean glanced over his shoulder as a man raised his gun in their direction. Dean pushed Malaya aside just as the shot went off.
Searing pain blasted his bicep, and he hunched over, then fell to his knees behind the crowd.
“Mr. Matthias!” Malaya inspected his gunshot wound, her lips pale and straight. “We have to keep moving.”
The men shouted at each other as the people in the village stampeded into the houses closest to the clinic. In moments, he’d be exposed. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the sandy ground when weariness struck him.
“Over there!” Malaya said in his ear. He cracked his eyes open when she attempted to drag him under the clinic. Another round of gunshots went off, slicing through the haze in Dean’s mind. His bicep shrieked with pain as he rolled under the posts of the clinic, but he clamped his lips together to avoid making any noise.
“Can you crawl?” Malaya asked.
He nodded and followed her to the back, deeper into the foliage beneath the building, gritting his teeth every time he had to put weight on his right arm. Cobwebs coated his face and arms, but he welcomed the shadows.
From above, the clinic door squeaked open, and familiar shoes appeared in the space between the steps. Riley. Malaya’s wild-eyed stare matched the panic roiling through him. They had to get Riley away. She was a clear target so far above everyone. She thought she was safe from them, but the promise of Dean’s money could dissolve loyalties in an instant.
With desperation thrumming through his body, Dean flew in Riley’s direction. Malaya grabbed his ankle, but he shook her off. He didn’t take a second to pause before he raced out from under the building. The wild shooting of guns had ceased, and many of the men were questioning people he recognized from the line outside of the clinic. Someone would mention seeing him soon. And then they’d turn to Riley for answers.
“Riley,” he said, his voice harsh with panic.
She glanced away from the scene in the village, fear written in the lines of her face. “They’re not like this. The people I take care of wouldn’t do this.” She sounded like she was in shock.
“Riley, we need you now!” Only the thought that he could put her in more danger if he ran to her kept him crouched down, hidden.
Finally she pulled her gaze away from the crowd to search for Dean, almost as if seeing him for the first time. Her vision landed on the blood staining the sleeve of his shirt. Her eyes seemed to clear. “You’re hurt!”
He didn’t care about that, only the relief that she was racing down the steps and heading toward him. She crouched down beside him and grabbed his arm for inspection, but Dean’s nerves remained on high alert. They were still too close to the edge. Easy to spot. “This can wait. We’ve got to move deeper.”
The small noise of protest died out when the shouting from outside drew closer. Her face drained of blood, and she followed him toward Malaya. Malaya took her hand, and it seemed to ground her. Riley took several deep breaths before turning to Dean. “Let me look at your arm.”
“It’s not that bad,” Dean insisted. The pain had dulled to an ache that made his head swim if he thought too much about it. He forced his focus on their escape.
“You don’t have much time,” Malaya whispered.
Dean lay on his stomach to peer into the distance, away from the chaos, formulating a plan. “I think we can sneak out behind the clinic and run for the jungle.”
“Not we,” Riley said, a stubborn glint back in her eye. “Let me bind your arm and then you can go.”
Dean leaned close and drew on every bit of vehemence he felt. “Riley, you are coming with me even if I have to drag you out of here over my shoulder.” And he absolutely meant it. Injured arm or no, he was stronger than she was, and he was not leaving her behind.
Her eyes turned hard, but before she could give him her retort, another round of shots went off. Dean flinched, and sharp pains cut through his arm at the movement. Riley and Malaya hunched over their legs, only unrolling themselves once the shots had ceased.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Riley said.
“You have to get out of here first,” Malaya said in a no-nonsense way. “Then you can help him.” Riley shook her head, but Malaya grabbed her hand in a strong grip. “He stepped in front of a bullet for me. And now he will die if you don’t help him.”
“Please,” Dean said, not above begging. Disorientation hit him as swiftly as a punch to the face. He ground his teeth together, fighting the nausea that rolled through his stomach. If he gave in to the urge to lie down and close his eyes, he’d never make it the few steps he needed to get into the jungle, much less escape to freedom.
“What about you?” Riley asked Malaya, her voice quiet.
“I need to check on my grandkids,” she said, the shaking in her voice the only indication of her fear. “You need to move quickly.”
Riley stared up at the floor of the clinic. Dean let out the tense breath he’d been holding when she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I have an idea. This way.”
“I’ll wait until you’re gone.” Malaya motioned them away.
“I’m worried you’re going to get hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s not me they want.” She squeezed Riley into a hug, and then took Dean’s hand. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment.
It wouldn’t be long before the terrorists searched the clinic, and any chance of escape was stolen. Dean followed Riley toward the end of the building, tall grasses whispering in the too-quiet air surrounding them. The sandy ground was soft beneath his hands, but crawling through it sucked at his energy. He placed a hand, and it slid down several inches into the sand. Then he repeated with the next while exhaustion’s strong grip tugged him backwards. He ignored the temptation to lie down on the soft ground and remained close enough to Riley that his shoulder pressed against her hip. He wasn’t taking any chances that she might change her mind.
They reached the edge of the building, and Riley held out a hand for him to stop. She looked right and left, and then pointed to a familiar tricycle. “We need to make it to there.”
He calculated the distance—maybe twenty feet—and then stood, cradling his bad arm close to his chest. The trees swam in the sky, smears of blue and green in his vision.
Riley gripped his elbow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go.” He gripped her hand in his.
Under her breath, Riley said, “One, two, thr—”
Dean yanked her forward, running toward the motorized tricycle with everything he had. He rushed for the driver’s seat, but Riley pushed him with surprising force toward the sidecar.
He stood his ground. “I’ll drive.”
“We don’t have time to argue.” She jumped into the seat and turned the key, the bike’s engine letting off a guttural growl. He threw himself into the sidecar, barely making it inside before she peeled into the jungle, leaving a loud buzz in their wake.
Shouts sounded behind them, followed by the whoosh of air beside their ears as bullets flew in their direction. The shots stopped suddenly, and Riley raced into the darkness
of tall banana leaves and trees in the jungle.
Dean inhaled a huge breath of relief at the coverage. It wouldn’t be difficult for the men to catch up, but he felt so much less vulnerable than when they had been in the open.
“I think they want you alive,” Riley called out over the engine.
“That’s comforting.” Dean held his good hand against the wound to stop the blood flow and stared behind him, waiting for them to come.
CHAPTER FOUR
◆◆◆
Riley’s fingers burned as she pushed harder on the gas, sending the tricycle speeding through the dense jungle. She followed the line of shallow rivets in the ground that could pass as a really rough dirt road.
“I’ll take a turn at the wheel,” Dean said from behind her. She glanced back at him, wishing she could do an actual assessment of his condition, but that was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
“Why are you so insistent on driving?” As she spoke, they hit the edge of the rivet, sending him careening into the pole of the sidecar. She winced, but didn’t let up her speed. Better a few bruises than caught. She looked at him in the side mirror. A red mark had formed on his forehead. They hit a rock this time, sending them tilting to the other side. She righted them quickly, but not before Dean grunted.
“For the love of all things good in this world, can you please watch the road?”
“I was trying to check on you,” she responded, but kept her eyes firmly ahead.
“I’m good,” he insisted, but she didn’t know how that was possible. A gunshot wound to the arm. The blood saturating his shirt. And he did seem to be mostly lucid. Adrenaline had to be keeping him on his feet—figuratively speaking, since he was actually bouncing around in a sidecar—but she knew that shock would be setting in soon.
The bleeding still hadn’t stopped, and the half-ring of blood on his arm continued to flow downward. Could he have nicked an artery? No. He’d be passed out from blood loss by now. Regardless, a body could only lose so much blood before it started to shut down. She needed to get a tourniquet on his arm before it was too late.
“We need to stop,” she said.
“Unless we’re stopping so I can take a turn driving, let’s keep going.”
“Your arm, Dean.”
“I’m keeping pressure on it,” he said.
She glanced over, and sure enough, he held his hand over the wound.
He caught her eye and frowned. “Road, please.”
She rolled her eyes, but looked back at the road, racing past trees with long leaves that reached out to smack her in the face. She’d never driven one of these, and it had taken her several miles to get used to the extra weight on the side. Had Dean ever driven a motorcycle? She could picture him sitting on a bike, helmet under his arm, smiling at whoever it was running to join him. Her stomach jumped, and she shook the fantasy image away.
The heat was definitely starting to get to her.
The miles zoomed past them, putting more and more distance between her and the people she’d grown to love. She’d abandoned them. People who’d been hurt, who would need her. She’d left them.
Aaron Paxton’s young face flashed in her memory. The intense beeping of hospital monitors. The bright light shining into his chest.
She forced the image away. She had to focus on the present. This was nothing like the hospital. It was worse.
They were out in the middle of nowhere. Dean was significantly hurt. She had no medical supplies. Even if he had dragged her away from the village she loved, never again would she lose someone. No matter what she had to do to keep it from happening.
Dean moaned. He was not fine. They had to stop.
Riley glanced anxiously at the road behind her, but they remained isolated. She eased the bike to a stop in the middle of the little road. The quiet hummed with the absence of the engine, and her hands felt numb from the lack of vibrations.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
“Let me see your arm.” She crawled into the sidecar and gently took his arm. His long-sleeved shirt covered most of the wound. “Can you take your shirt off?”
He raised an eyebrow and gave her a slow smile. “Is this really the time?”
Once the implication of what he meant hit her, she felt her face turn bright red. “Don’t flirt, Dean. This is serious.”
“You’re the one who told me to take my clothes off.”
She threw her hands up in frustration. “You are impossible.”
“I’m teasing you.” He grimaced, reminding her of his pain.
She slid closer, but gave him a stern look. “Can we do this without you turning it into an innuendo?”
“No promises,” he said, but remained quiet while she studied his shoulder seam.
“This is a really well-made shirt. We’re not going to be able to rip it off.”
“I’ve got a spare shirt in my bag.”
She unzipped it and found a soft cotton T-shirt right on top. “You didn’t happen to throw some fresh bandages in here, too?” she half joked. What had she been thinking to leave the clinic without grabbing her emergency bag?
“I wish.” He began to remove his tie, and she averted her eyes while he changed. “I’m good.”
She turned just as he pulled his shirt down, catching sight of his taut stomach muscles. She swallowed and focused her attention on his arm.
He’d been hit in the bicep. There was no exit wound, which meant the bullet was still lodged inside. All his major arteries had been missed, but it wouldn’t take long for infection to settle in. Her brain spun rapidly through her options. If she could get to the airplane, they’d be able to fly him to the hospital in Manila. All she needed to do was keep him from dying until then.
He held still while she studied it, but when she gently poked at the side of his bicep, he hissed out a breath between his teeth. Blood still flowed at a steady stream. He needed better medical care than she could give him with no supplies. And whatever she could scrounge up wasn’t going to be sterile.
But her biggest worry right then was blood loss. “Hand me your tie.” He grabbed it from where he’d stashed it at his feet, and she wound it around his arm like a tourniquet. “Not great, but it’s what we’ve got.”
“Looks good to me,” he said. His face was pale, his full lips blending into his skin and making the day’s growth of facial hair stand out in stark contrast on his face. Her eyes caught his. The jungle moved and pulsed around them, a cacophony of birdcalls, rustling leaves, and rushing water, but it all faded into the background. Her heart ker-thumped.
She tore her gaze away with effort and took a deep breath.
It was more than the heat getting to her. Adrenaline, too. The sound of motorized vehicles reached her ears. They were coming.
Before Dean could argue, she darted from the sidecar and into the driver’s seat. He didn’t say a word, though, and his quiet concerned her more than anything. She’d only known him a short time, but she’d learned he definitely liked conversation.
The sun dipped in the sky as the day grew longer. Riley didn’t know how long she’d been driving or if she was even going in the right direction anymore. She twisted and turned along the dirt road, heading deeper into the jungle with some turns and toward the sound of crashing waves and the beach with others. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Every once in a while, she thought she heard engines rumbling closer, but it could have been the sound of her own imagination.
Unlike the sputtering coming from the motor. The tricycle jerked every few feet before it puttered to a stop. She searched the dash for an answer, finding it in the empty fuel gauge.
“No!” She slammed the seat with her fists.
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked.
“Out of gas.” Her back tensed with stress.
Dean’s hand squeezed her shoulder gently. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“How?” Her patience snapped. “We’re nowhere near the
airplane, and I don’t have a single idea where we are or how to get help.” She twisted the handle of the bike, hoping it would turn on, but it was no use.
She dropped her head to the handlebars and tried to think. Darkness had descended over the jungle. They needed to find some sort of shelter and something to eat to help them get through the night. In the morning, with a clear mind, she’d be able to explore and hopefully determine their location. But for now, finding a hiding place was a top priority. She had no way to move the bike, and it would point right to them if they stayed too close.
“We’ll walk.” Her head shot up, surprised at how close Dean sounded. He’d gotten out of the sidecar and stood beside her, his backpack slung from the shoulder of his good arm. He held his bad arm close to his chest, and his breathing came in painful spurts between words. “Come on.”
She got off of the seat, feeling a rush of gratitude for the vehicle that had made their escape possible. If they survived this, she’d find a way to purchase one of those for herself.
They walked several feet in silence, Dean’s footsteps seeming heavier and heavier. He stumbled over a rock in the ground, and she grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.
“You need to rest.”
“I will soon,” he ground out, every word laced with pain. “We need to get as far away from the bike as we can.”
“We’re only going as far as a good hiding spot.” She peered deeper into the jungle, hoping for something to stand out. Dean’s feet got caught under him again, pitching him toward the ground. Riley grabbed at his waist, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder for balance. They both paused, and then Dean pressed them forward again.
“You make a good crutch,” he told her between breaths.
“That’s a compliment I’ve never had.”
“I’m good at those. Unique compliments.”
Hearts In Peril (Billionaire Romance) Page 3
