These are not institute guys.
I feel 34 stiffen.
“Stop! On the ground! Both of you!”
He crouches behind a car and sets me carefully on the pavement. “34!”
Again he touches my hair, my cheek. I feel strangely like a doll he’s decided to care for. And then I see he’s bleeding from the shoulder.
I gasp.
In flash he’s gone.
“There he is!”
A shot goes off. There are more shots. I crouch, terrified. I hear a smack, a groan, a sickening crunch.
I hug my knees to my chest as the sounds spin on, then I crawl to the side of the car. What I should really do is pull out my phone and get some footage. I was getting footage when they first attacked. When they first sat us in the hall. The guys almost caught me, but I made up that thing about my stethoscope.
Now I just want to survive.
I inch out in time to see Patient 34 shaking a man by the neck a few times before he whips the man’s face into the side of the shiny black SUV. The man crumples to the ground next to two other bodies.
And 34 stands over them, hands dripping with blood. I suck in a breath.
He killed the armed men with his bare hands.
And then he turns to me. Our gazes lock. A bolt of fear goes through me.
He’s a force of nature. Pure aliveness. Pure power. He’s the most ferociously hot thing I’ve ever seen. The most dangerous thing I’ve ever seen.
Barely human.
Savage Adonis.
Is he even seeing me? Or is he seeing prey? Heat goes into his eyes as he stalks toward me. There’s a strange inevitability to everything now, as if he’s been coming for me forever.
I’m trembling deeply. All the death. I can’t handle any more death, any more horror. Strong arms lift me. The earth tilts.
“I’ll protect you, Nurse Ann.” He carries me back to where the bodies are.
“Y-you killed them.”
He settles me gently into the front seat of the SUV. Says nothing.
“What are you doing?”
He pulls out the seatbelt and puts the buckle in my hand, like he wants me to finish buckling it.
“You’re wounded. You need medical attention,” I say.
He grabs my face. “Seatbelt.” He slams my door and starts around the front of the car, sticking out a hand to support himself on the hood as he rounds the front. He gets in and starts the thing up. Did he take the keys off the guys he killed or were they in here?
“You can drive?”
“I’ve driven.” He studies the dashboard, fits his hand uncertainly over the shifter. Then he shifts to drive and pulls out with a lurch.
“Jesus!” I scream.