Bastian's Storm (Surviving Raine 2)

She choked up a little, took a breath, and went on.

“You were shot in the leg. He said it wasn’t that bad, but it was infected by the time they found you. They had to give you a skin graft there.”

I closed my eyes and focused on my right thigh for a moment. It was itchy, and I figured that was due to the graft; I’d had them before. I recalled a brief flash of the pain from the bullet, and I remembered the snow and ice surrounding me as I tried to clean it up. It had been too cold to leave my flesh exposed long enough to do it properly.

Cold. Ice. Snow.

“Avalanche.”

“Right,” the woman said with a nod. “You were caught in it.”

A slight dizzying sensation overcame me as I remembered tumbling down the mountainside. The pain in my leg throbbed as I recalled the abrupt stop as I hit the rock ledge below. Visions of being trapped and unable to move traipsed along in my head together with images of a little piece of folded paper with a drawing on it.

It all came back to me like a bright and violent flash of lightning as it strikes a tree.

One final tournament in the frozen north. No one but me and a certified hit man left in the game. Certified and certifiable.

Evan Arden.

We had both been covered by the snow and had formed an unprecedented alliance to free ourselves. I had to survive. I didn’t care about the money or a fucking trophy. I had to get back to her. To them.

“Raine,” I whispered.

“I’m here,” she said.

“Oh, fuck—Raine!”

Ignoring the tug of the IV needle in my hand, I reached out and brought her to me. I’d done it. I’d lived up to my promise to her. She was here with me, safe and protected again. Somehow, I had gotten out alive and back to the one woman who mattered in my world.

With the help of my key competition.

Did Evan make it? Did he get off that island alive? There was only one way I would ever know, and that was if and when I heard that Franks had been murdered. Assuming Evan made it, how long would he wait before taking action? Days? Weeks? Longer?

Would he even bother to fulfill his promise to me?

I only thought about it for a moment before deciding that yes, he would. Evan Arden was about as fucked up as they get, but I didn’t think he was a liar. I also got the idea he was a guy of principle—he’d never back out of a hit. If he did survive, I had no doubt that he would get the job done. I’d just have to be patient.

Not my best attribute.

Raine was crying against my shoulder, and I placed my hand on the back of her head and pressed my lips to her temple.

“I’m all right, babe,” I told her. “I got you.”

“They said you might not make it,” she cried against me. “They said even after the surgery, you might not wake up.”

“I’m awake,” I said. “I’m going to be fine, Raine. I’m going to be fine.”

I had no idea if it was true or not, but I wasn’t going to contradict myself. I made it down a fucking mountain with a crushed leg. There was no way I was going to die in a fucking hospital bed.

I held her as long as I could, but my head was aching, and I nearly passed out again. Raine summoned a nurse to tell her I was awake, and the woman checked my pulse, temperature, and the output of the various machines connected to me.

Raine stood to the side, wringing her hands and biting her lip.

“Where’s Alex?” I asked.

“With John Paul,” Raine replied. “They’re in that building where we were staying.”

“He’s okay?”