No Ordinary Day | Book 2 | No Ordinary Getaway Tate, Harley (the reader ebook .TXT) 📖

the bleeding. They had used the Jeep to haul the food and water to Mississippi, and in the morning, Raymond and John unloaded while Emma and Gloria cleaned up from breakfast. The back was empty.

She cursed, about to slam the back shut, when a handle caught her eye. She pulled it open, lifting a portion of the floorboard to reveal a small compartment beneath the carpet. Inside sat a change of clothes, a pair of shoes, and a gun. Whether they came from the men who’d ambushed them at the cabin or John, she had no idea. At the moment, it didn’t matter. Emma wasted no time, ripping her own bloodied and ruined shirt off and swapping for the black T-shirt two sizes too big.

She hurried back to John, ripping her dress shirt into strips before tying them around his leg and pulling tight. One after the other, she layered them like she’d layer a round of test tubes in a centrifuge. When she ran out of fabric, she assessed her work.

He needed stitches—a lot of them—but hopefully the bleeding would slow enough for him to make the journey back to Raymond, Gloria, and help.

Would Raymond fix him again? Even after finding out about a new attacker? Emma hadn’t heard most of the conversation between John and Willy, too focused on finding a way to help without accidentally hurting John or getting caught in the middle.

She made no claims to be good with a firearm. Every shot she’d fired in the heat of the moment veered off target. How many chances would she have to shoot Willy? One? Two? If she missed and shot John instead, or Willy managed to reach her first…

It wasn’t until she found the crowbar that she came up with a plan. Seeing John there on the ground, about to die at the hands of that monster...

She shook her head and shut the door on John’s unconscious form. No time to relive the horror. Only time to drive.

She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine before easing back onto the road.

“Just hold on, John. I’ll get you some help. I promise.”

She meant it. After all he’d done, after he risked his life to save her over and over again, she wasn’t going to let him die. Not when his boss was still after them. Part of her wanted to save him as a thank you for saving her, but the other part knew the grim reality. If John didn’t make it....

Who would keep her safe?

Chapter Twenty-One

Willy

Something pecked at Willy’s finger, rousing him from unconsciousness, and he shook his hand. A bird cawed and feathers brushed across his skin, leaving a trail of cold air in their wake.

He blinked sticky, blood-coated lashes. The viscous liquid, half-congealed in puddles beneath his eyes, smeared as he wiped his face.

“What the ever-loving…” He let out a string of curses as a wicked throbbing took up residence in the back-half of his skull.

With gentle pressure, he palpated his scalp, sussing out the contours of a sizable gash. Reality faded in and out with the rising pain as he fought to remember. He’d been standing, about to put a bullet through John’s skull, when it all went black. That woman. He never thought the spindly research scientist had it in her.

Vertigo overwhelmed him as he sat up. His stomach heaved and the remains of an energy bar and a sports drink vomited onto the pavement. He’d like to think he’d been lucky. Survived a brutal attack, which from the looks of it, entailed the bad end of a crowbar laying five feet away. But he didn’t feel lucky.

Anger welled up inside him, hot and syrupy, coating his insides like his blood coated his skin. Anger at his mistakes, at John’s competence, at his besting by a woman. Everything. He was failing and he knew it. Struggling to his feet, Willy managed to stay conscious long enough to reach an arm out for the trailer. He held himself upright, waiting for the spinning to subside.

Get it together, man. If you can’t do the job, then Uncle Dane will find someone else who can. And then where will you be?

He took a halting step and then another. Nausea threatened once again to dump the contents of his wretched stomach on the ground. Willy clenched his hand in a fist, digging his nails into his palm, before lashing out to punch the air. I’m all right. I’m all right.

After a round of positive affirmations and a few more fist pumps, he pushed away from the trailer. He made his way, one halting step at a time, down the road toward his truck, concealed behind a clumping of rangy bushes and trees.

It had been easy to find John, the little tracker beacon blinking on and off, on and off as he zeroed in on his target, decreasing the distance until he spied the Jeep parked on the side of the road.

What fool didn’t know about the tracking chip? Had his uncle really kept that from the other men? Willy’s pride blossomed. Yet another thing he had over John.

That man thought he was the best. Thought he had it all. But he didn’t. I do. Willy thumped his hand against his heart as the truck came into view. It wasn’t a fancy sports car full of gadgets and high-tech gear, but it did the job and blended in. Key ingredients to any successful mission.

He flipped down the tailgate and reached for the backpack strapped to the side. He pulled out the first aid kit and set to work cleaning the blood from his face, hand, and hair before opening a QuikClot bandage and slapping it on his head. It stung, pain increasing as he applied more pressure. But bleeding out from a head wound wasn’t how he intended to go.

I’ll be damned if that jerk outlasts me.

With the QuikClot holding in place, Willy wrapped his head in an Ace bandage. He pinned the