City of the Lost (Rockton 1)

As soon as the ATV stops, Dalton races over and lays me in the back seat.

"Holy shit," Anders says. "What--?"

"Gotta get her back. Now."

"She's bleeding, Eric."

"I know!" Dalton snaps, and tries to shove Anders into the passenger seat, but the deputy pushes back, saying, "I mean that we need to staunch the bleeding first," and from the look on Dalton's face, you'd think I'd already bled out and it was all his fault. Curses and more apologies as he helps Anders get me out onto the ground.

"I've got this," Anders says.

"No, I--"

Anders holds him back, saying, "I've got it. You want to help? Give me your belt, your shirt..."

Dalton strips them off as Anders's gaze runs over me, assessing.

"Left thigh, right arm, upper right chest," I say.

"You're still with us," he says.

I nod. "Conserving energy. Chest worst. Didn't go in deep. Just..." I hiss in pain as I inhale.

"Relax and let me look."

I lie back. Dalton's tearing his shirt into strips as Anders pushes mine up over my ribs.

"There's water in the back," he says. "Eric--"

"Got it."

"Can I ask what the hell happened?"

Dalton hesitates. "It's my fault. I--"

"We got separated," I say. "I was attacked by a hostile."

"Shit. This close to town? We need to do something about them," Anders says grimly. "And we might need to reconsider the possibility our killer isn't from Rockton after all."

Dalton falters, the guilt and fear so strong it seems to paralyze him, as if he's back in that moment, facing his brother.

Facing his brother.

I haven't had time to make sense of that. I still don't. I only know that something is wrong with Jacob. Whatever Jacob says, Dalton's sin against him cannot warrant this level of vengeance. It just can't.

"Eric?" I say, and he snaps out of it, mumbling more apologies as he hurries over with the water.

Anders cleans and binds my wounds as best he ca

n. With every light-headed dip toward darkness, I shake myself back, and I manage to stay conscious until they load me into the ATV. Then I lose the battle.

FIFTY-FIVE

I wake in bed. My bed. Beth is checking one of my dressings. Dalton's sitting on a chair he's carried up from downstairs. He's lost in thought, startled when I croak, "How bad is it?"

"Could have been worse," Beth says.

I chuckle, which sends pain stabbing through me. "Damage report?"