“Let her go,” Dave ordered. “We don’t have time.”
Something in his voice made Chad obey, made him unclasp his fingers, letting go of Pain’s hand.
Dave straightened up and took a few steps back. Chad, Jane, Marco, and Ryan all watched, eyes wide, as he tightened his grip on Pain, pulling her as close into his body as he could. He tried to ignore the terrifying amount of blood that seeped through his fingers. And to that place deep inside him where his strange power slumbered, rejected and confused, he sent his apology—and welcome.
Then he blasted up into the sky.
Chapter 25
Everything was a blur.
Sounds, colors, and shapes bled together, and Pain bled in his arms, life leaving her with every second.
Dave flew on pure instinct, his subconscious picking out familiar landmarks, while his brain was focused on skirting skyscrapers and helicopters.
God, even a bird would be lethal at this speed.
He didn’t remember his first flight, had blacked out for all of it, but he did still remember his flight with the girls back in July. And it was nothing compared to this.
This power—raw, bottomless—spread through his veins like fire, propelling him forward at the speed of light. And even though he’d ordered it to take him home as fast as possible, even though this speed was more than he could take, he wondered somewhere in the back of his head if he could go still faster, should he want it.
But then he saw familiar surroundings and dropped speed and altitude, worried that he’d shoot right past headquarters.
An open window on the second floor told him that someone had called Doc. Dave didn’t know how much time had passed, but somehow it felt like less than a minute. Doc jumped out of the way when Dave shot through the window, skidding to a stop inside the infirmary.
“This way,” Doc instructed, pointing at a gurney, with all the machines already set up next to it. “What happened?”
“The Commandos, they shot her,” he panted. “Can you help her?”
Dave’s eyes watered from the bright light and the flight. He stumbled to the gurney and eased Pain down on it.
“Hold her like this, on her side,” Doc said, spotting the hole in her gear. He peered at it, bending low. “The exit wound has healed.” Then he saw her back. “Shit. Shit!”
Shears gleamed, cutting open the blood-soaked leather. Tiffany was right behind Doc, hooking Pain up to the heart rate monitor, hanging blood bags next to the gurney.
“Tiffany, chest tube!” Doc yelled. “Two bullets are still inside. Dave, close the damn window!”
Dave walked away on wobbly legs. He locked the grid that protected the infirmary, and closed the window. When he turned around, Pain was lying on her stomach, her back a battlefield, her ravaged jacket hanging from her sides. One of Doc’s gloved hands pressed on the hole in Pain’s upper back while he peered at another wound lower down.
Tiffany finished whatever she’d been doing at Pain’s side and switched to her head, which was somehow also bleeding.
Steel flashed, and Doc straightened up with a satisfied grunt. “One out,” he said, flicking a bullet into a tray. The clang echoed in Dave’s head.
Pain’s feet jerked. The machine’s beeping picked up speed.
“She’s going into shock.”
“She’s still losing too much blood,” Doc spoke at the same time as Tiffany. He grabbed her arm, smearing blood on her white coat. “Go. Both of you.”
Tiffany stared at him, her bloodied hands frozen at her sides. Dave barely breathed, watching the exchange.
“Take Dave and go. Don’t let anyone in. I need quiet.”
Something flickered in her gaze then, some understanding. She turned on her heel and grabbed Dave by the arm, pulling him to the exit.
“But—” Dave started.
“Move,” she cut him off, practically shoving him through the door. Behind them, the beeping turned frantic, until the sound was cut off by the closed door.
She kept walking, leaving the waiting room behind them, and two sets of doors between them and the infirmary.
Dave collapsed into one of the two old armchairs in the hall and looked up at the nurse, who stood guard by the doors. “Why did he send you away?”
“He doesn’t need me right now,” she said, staring at the wall.
“How?”
She turned to look at him, her eyes so icy, Dave shrank back.
“If I were you, I’d shut up and think about how I was going to explain this to Peter, because you’ve got about two and a half minutes before he hears about this.”
Dave swallowed back a groan, slumping in his chair. She was right, of course. He should be thinking about what he was going to say when Peter showed up, demanding answers.
And he tried. Minutes ticked by as he tried to organize the thoughts in his head, but all he could think about was Pain back in the infirmary, and what the hell Doc was doing there alone.
* * *
Doc heard the distant sound of the doors shutting, his focus on Pain’s bloodied back.
He had one shot at this, one chance against the dozens of failures that preceded it.
His gloved hands trembled when he laid them on Pain’s skin, each hand over a blood-filled entrance wound. One bullet had gone through her chest, one was still buried in her stomach, and the third one he’d dug out of her side, just a shallow flesh wound. Two more had grazed her head and hip, but they would have to wait.
Doc took a deep breath. His tattoos stared back at him, a silent reminder. He had to get it right this time. He had to.
Closing his eyes, he withdrew into himself, the beep-beep-beep of the machine staying somewhere on the surface. Memories of his previous
