Christina shakes her head over and over. “She pushed me out, and then she got swept in it. I couldn’t find her…” She sobs into her hand and then points at the center of the riot, where so many men are brawling.
I don’t think twice. I just go back in, another elbow ramming my back. A head knocking into my jaw. I shove and push and dig my f**king way through the people.
And then I see her.
She shakily stands. Blood trickles down her forehead, the source by her hairline, like someone ripped the strands, like they could’ve been caught in something. She teeters, disoriented. I try to reach her, but a couple guys shove me back and punch me in the face. I’m too f**king concentrated on her to feel the pain.
I tear through them, hitting them back with as much force.
Daisy touches her forehead, blinking a couple times to clear her vision. And then she meets my gaze, and relief floods her eyes.
“Ryke,” I barely hear her say over the noise, but I see her lips form my name. Sirens blare in the distance, but no cop or ambulance will make it here anytime soon, not with this f**king traffic. Not with this madness.
She stands on the curb. And out of nowhere, some guy comes up from behind her. I watch in slow f**king motion, and I scream as loud as I can. “DAISY!!” I shove against so many f**king people, but it’s like a current draws me back, pulling me under. “DAISY!!!”
He holds a two-by-four, part of the construction waste on the sidewalk and street, bracing the piece of wood like a bat.
I can’t see his face. It’s shadowed by the blur of bodies. But I do see him swing. Just as she turns her head to the side, the board smacks hard into her cheek.
Her body thuds to the cement with the force—limp and motionless.
I f**king lose it.
I barrel through whatever’s keeping me from her, shouting more expletives than necessary. I worry about people trampling her body. And then I finally f**king reach her, the fastest and slowest moments of my life.
I instantly lift her unconscious body in my arms. I have to get her out of here. That’s my only thought. I edge through the masses, glancing down at her once. Her face is turned into my chest, but I feel a wetness seep through.
It’s not tears.
It’s blood.
So much f**king blood, beginning to turn my white shirt into something red.
My heart is in my throat. I can barely breathe. I make it into an area where people frantically try to find their friends, calling out to them in French, German, English, Russian, pressing their phones to their ears.
I can’t even look for my brother. I just think hospital. She needs a f**king hospital.
I take a trained breath, cradling her in my arms. Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I spin around on him, about to go on the offensive, but I realize he’s older, grayed hair with glasses.
He has a phone to his ear, his features grave. He points to Daisy and then to the street. “L’ambulance est coincée dans les embouteillages.” The ambulance is stuck in traffic.
“À quelle distance se trouve l’hôpital le plus proche?” I ask. How far is the nearest hospital?
He points in the direction. “Hôpital de l’Hotel-Dieu, environ 5 kilomètres.” About 5 kilometers.
3 miles.
With Daisy in my arms, I can f**king run that in fifteen minutes or less. I mumble thank you, and I just f**king take off.
Her head bounces against my chest only a couple of times before I adjust her.
I have carried this girl so many times in my life.
But this time—this is the absolute worst.
I run.
One hundred and fifty miles per hour.
I don’t f**king stop.
Not for anything.
I just keep going. It’s what your good at Ryke. It may be the only thing.
25
RYKE MEADOWS
The moment I step through the emergency room doors, a gurney is brought out, and doctors and nurses pry her from my arms, setting her on the white sheets. The fluorescent lights burn my eyes, and sweat drips down my forehead. I try to follow the gurney back through these double blue doors, but a couple nurses block me, holding up their hands.
“I can’t leave her,” I say. I can’t f**king leave her.
It takes me a moment to realize the nurses’ lips are moving—that they’ve been talking in French. They switch to English, thinking I can’t understand them. My mind is all over the f**king place.
“Sir, you need to sit down. We’ll get you cleaned up and looked at.”
“Come here,” the other says.
She leads me to a chair in the hallway, out of the waiting room and next to a large white scale and counter.
“I can’t leave her,” I say again. “I have to go back there.”
“She’s being admitted,” the forty-something nurse tells me. Her tawny hair chopped at her shoulders. She wears pink scrubs, and I glance at her nametag. Janet. “They’re taking care of her right now. She’s in good hands.”
The other nurse, in teal scrubs, is a little younger and brunette. She dabs a piece of wet gauze on my eyebrow. I didn’t even realize it was f**king bleeding.
I stare at the floor, holding back a scream that so badly wants to rip through my body. Why? I want to know why her. Why did this have to f**king happen? This is a nightmare. I’m going to wake up. Any f**king second now.
But I don’t wake up. I’m here, in a foreign city, at a hospital, covered in blood. “Arms up,” Janet orders. I mechanically do as she says, and she pulls off my shirt. I glance down at my hands once, finally registering how red they are, my palms stained with Daisy’s blood. My stomach overturns.
“Margery, a bucket,” Janet says quickly.
The brunette nurse puts a cream tub underneath my chin, and I vomit.
“What’s your name, honey?” Janet asks, rubbing my back.
I wipe my mouth with my forearm. “Ryke.”
She shares a look with Margery, as though recognizing me now, from television and the news. Thankfully they don’t make a big scene. My hands shake as I take out my phone and dial a number. I press it to my ear, and the line doesn’t even f**king ring. My brother’s cell just shuts off.
Not him too. I can’t lose these two people today. I can handle a lot of f**king shit, but not this. I don’t know how to handle this. I shoot up from the chair, and I dial the number again, my hand on my head. Both nurses watch me with even more concern.
“I have to find my brother,” I say aloud, my heart pounding.
“Let me show you to the bathroom,” Margery says. “You can wash your hands—”
“I have to find my little brother,” I say with the shake of my head. I dial again. Nothing.
“You’re in shock,” Janet says slowly so I understand. “Please, you need to calm down.”
I think I’m being pretty f**king calm right now considering. Hot tears well in my eyes, and I ignore their requests. I call Connor next.
He answers on the second ring. “Where are you?” he asks, his voice spiking with fear. Fear—from a guy who’s composed at every f**king moment.
“The hospital. Where’s Lo?”
“He’s fine. He’s with me.”
I try to breathe normally. I try to accept this, but it barely lifts the weight off my chest. “Why wasn’t he f**king answering?”
“Someone stepped on his phone. It’s trashed. We’re coming to you. Is Daisy with you at the hospital?”