Riders (Riders, #1)(98)

He falls silent, and there’s only the sound of Texas’s labored breathing.

“Give it to me, Gideon,” Samrael says.

I look at Malaphar. “It won’t come off me. I’ve told you that.”

“Daryn is the keeper,” Samrael says. “Isn’t she? The only one who can wield its power. It’s another seal of protection. Isn’t it?”

I shake my head. I don’t know. I don’t know and if I don’t get out of this chair Texas is going to die and so will I.

“She is full of surprises.” Samrael’s gaze falls to the cuff again. He adjusts his grip on the knife. “Well, no matter. There are other ways of removing it.”

He steps in, and hammers down with the blade.

The instant fragments.

I watch the pale blade come down. I watch it slice through my wrist and bite deep into the wood of the chair.

I hear the wood split and I see my hand fall.

I hear it thump as it drops to the floor.

Time moves again, and reality returns.

No. It doesn’t.

What I see makes no sense. Where my hand should be there is nothing. I’ve been partially erased. And I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding like a leaky fuel pump.

Spots explode before my eyes.

Stay here, Blake. Stay, stay, stay.

Samrael grabs my forearm, keeping it in place with one hand.

With the other, he tugs on the cuff.

I feel warmth, wetness, slipping, and the cuff comes off.

The cuff, which is the key, which has been on me this whole time. On me and the guys—not around Daryn’s neck.

Very clever.

Samrael straightens. “Thank you, Gideon,” he says, giving the cuff a toss like it’s a baseball. “I’m glad we could finally work this out.”

He turns to Malaphar and they speak, but I can’t hear what they say. The pain comes with a sound like metal bending in my ears. It expands, a universe inside me. I stare at the knots in the pine paneling and still see my handless arm. I blink and blink and I can’t make it to go away. It’s like a scratch on a lens.

The metallic groan recedes and I hear Samrael again.

“Fine,” he says to Malaphar. “But you’ll have to answer to Ra’om for it.” He throws me a frustrated glance and leaves.

Malaphar smiles at me with his pinched features and beetle black eyes and I realize what just happened. An argument over who gets to kill me. Malaphar must’ve fought hard.

“It’s just you and me again, Gideon. It’s a shame you won’t get to meet the real Cordero. She’s here. Real nice lady. Smart. I think you’d have liked her. I think she would have liked you.”

I don’t want to die in this chair.

Malaphar disengages the safety and sets his aim on me.

I look right into the barrel.

This is the real deal, right here. Right now.

The gun goes off.

White noise—

Eclipses—

All.





CHAPTER 55

I’m here.

I’m still here.

But I’m deaf and my heart isn’t beating.

I count to five. Ten. Twenty.

The ringing in my ears starts at twenty-one, my heart at thirty.

Texas leans against the wall, holding his side. Blood pours through his fingers. He holds his knife in his other hand.

His knife. He used his bowie knife.

Malaphar is facedown on the floor. I can’t see his neck, the front part, but deep black blood is forming a pool beneath him. It’s touching the redder blood that belongs to me and Texas.

There’s a bullet hole and splintered paneling to my right.

It looks bad in here. And I’m still making it worse.

Texas pushes himself off the wall and comes over. The ringing hasn’t left my ears, but I can hear the big sucking sounds coming from him. He’s dragging in air like he’s going to dive deep underwater and the veins are bulging in his neck.

I’m not doing great, either. It’s hard to think past the pain. It begins at my hand and has no end.

Oh, shit.

My hand.

“Hand? Where’s my hand?”

Texas glances at the floor. He tries to tell me something but it comes out as a burbling noise, then wet coughing, then he bends over and spits.

We’re making such a bloody mess. I hope I don’t have to clean this up later.

He straightens and tries to talk again, but it’s no better than last time and I can’t stop asking him where my hand is.

Where is it, where is it, where is it.

Worthless question but I can’t stop asking.

It still feels like it’s part of me, only that I can’t see it.

Between my question loop and Texas’s wheezing, I hear something else. There’s gunfire now. Outside this room. All over the cabin. Rounds are flying fast and furious.

Wood-paneled walls are shattering and windows are shattering. Tremors vibrate into the soles of my boots—the seismic ripple of the activity right outside this room. The jig is up. Everybody’s in the fight now.

Texas runs a sleeve over his chin, like, Okay. Enough of all this chatter. Time to get down to work. He kneels by the chair and pulls a flex tie from his pocket. He wraps it above my missing hand and ties it off, making a tourniquet.

“Southpaw?” Texas rasps.