Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(48)

To his credit, Gavin bolts to the shadows without question. I follow closely at his heels. “We have to keep moving. The Guards will come with Enforcers soon,” I say, and push him in the direction of the Tube station, which is just a few meters away and completely empty. We’ll have to wait to use it until the Guards and Enforcers leave, but we should be safe. It’ll give me time to assess the wound and bandage it properly.

Unfortunately when I fell, I got all turned around and we ran to the wrong side of the terminal. In order to get to the train, we’ll have to cross back over to the other side.

I listen for a second and then, when I don’t hear anything, tug on Gavin’s arm and dash across the terminal. He follows without hesitation. But the turret must still be malfunctioning, because the minute it senses us, it drops from the ceiling again and starts shooting. We both drop to the ground immediately.

“What the hell is going on?” Gavin demands.

“I think it’s malfunctioning. That happens sometimes. That’s why there aren’t any in the Palace Wing except in that one alcove.”

“Malfunctioning? And you just accept it?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice,” I spit out. “What do you want me to do? Go up there and fix it? Do you have a wrench on you? Because I don’t.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he mumbles.

The turret disappears again and I make another try for the wall, but since we’re the only ones in the area, it drops down again and so do I, hitting my shoulder against the concrete. I cry out and Gavin reaches out for me.

“We’ll have to crawl to the other side,” I say, gasping for breath and trying to see past the stars swimming in front of my eyes.

He nods, but his eyes are on my shoulder. “Can you do that?”

“Of course. It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t say anything and slithers forward, pulling with his arms and pushing with his legs.

I have no idea if my arm can do anything other than lay there, but I refuse to be a hindrance to him. I will make it to the other side by myself.

My arm, though, has other plans and refuses to cooperate. The slap of footsteps echoing off the walls warns me the Guards are on their way and close. We have to hurry. Finally, with a glance at the turret, Gavin slides his arms around me, then quickly stands, pulling me with him. The turret drops again, but he’s dashing into the shadows next to the abandoned ticket booth before it can do more than hiss. With a quick glance into the booth, Gavin carries me into it and under the control desk.

It’s the perfect hiding place. The Enforcers and Guards won’t come in here because there are no bullet holes in the glass, therefore a waste of time to search for victims beyond a cursory look through the windows, and the attendants won’t return until the Guards give the all clear.

I probe the wound to see if there’s a bullet still lodged there, but it only makes me dizzy and nauseated.

Gavin pulls a first-aid kit from the bag, but I shake my head. “No,” I gasp out. “Get the one on the wall there. We don’t want to use our supplies unless we have no choice.” I whisper more from pain than necessity.

He nods, then quickly and quietly removes the one from the wall. He settles himself next to me and pulls things from it. “I-I’m not sure if I remember how to use that wand thing.”

“I’ll talk you through it, but first you need to check to see if the bullet is still there.”

He raises startled eyes to mine. “What?”

“Please. If it’s still there, we’ll need to remove it.” He swallows and he looks a little pale, even in the dark. “What’s the matter? Afraid of a little bullet? Does someone else have to clean up for you after you kill an animal?”

“That’s different,” he says, not looking at me.

“Not really,” I say with a shrug, and then hiss when the movement causes pain to scream through my shoulder.

Gavin’s eyes meet mine and there’s something undecipherable in them. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

My stomach twists. “Well, that’s too bad,” I say. “It’s going to hurt. There’s nothing either of us can do about it, so I need you to just do it.” He only sits there, watching me. Knowing what I have to do to convince him, I lift my hand to his cheek. “Please,” I say.

He sets his jaw, then presses me against the wall and uses the antiseptic wipes to clean his fingers. “I’ll apologize ahead of time.” Then his fingers are probing the wound and I grit my teeth to prevent myself from crying out.

My other hand claws at the concrete floor in an attempt to curb the dizziness from the black-and-red spots flashing in my eyes. Even my toes curl in my shoes. Anything to keep myself from making this harder on him than it is already. Several times, I have to fight the urge to beg him to stop. I asked him to do this. He needs to do it.

“Tell me about you,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Huh?”

“Please. I need to take my mind off this. Tell me about yourself.”

“Um, okay. Well, like I said, I’m the middle child, which sucks, let me tell you.”

“Sucks?” I ask.

Gavin lets out a strained chuckle. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?”