“Get a gun. Call the police. Just do something. Please,” I tell the clerk before I dart back outside just in time to see the man hop in the Lamborghini and speed off.
Reid is on the ground, leaning against the brick wall of the building. I nearly trip over my own legs trying to get to him. He is dripping with sweat and breathing hard, but I don’t see any blood. Thank God.
Other than the hand clenching his stomach, he seems to be okay. Just tired. But who could blame him after the way he shot out of the gate and wailed on that guy?
“The clerk is calling the police. We’ll get the car back. Don’t worry,” I tell him, and he nods. His breathing begins to slow, and his face starts to pale. “Reid? What’s wrong?”
He can’t be going into shock, not from a simple fist fight. I remember all the blows he took to the abdomen and worry there may be internal bleeding. My eyes move from his face over his body to investigate.
Harsh, stinging fear erupts within me as I pry his hand from his groin. That’s when I see it. Blood. So much blood. It’s pooling underneath him and seeping from between his fingers as he tries to hold it in.
The man wasn’t punching Reid in the stomach. He was stabbing him.
“Oh my God. Reid. Baby. Look at me,” I tell him as calmly as I can, even though my heart could run a marathon right now.
I take hold of his face and force him to look me in the eye. His skin is clammy, and he can hardly focus. My hands are shaking, and I’m having a hard time keeping it together. I try to focus on what I know and help him.
Focus Makenna. He’s been stabbed. Find an artery. Apply pressure. I’ve got this.
Shit. I can’t. Not looking at him like this and seeing nothing behind his beautiful green eyes. Eyes that can see into my very soul. Dread claws at my insides as I move his hand, even though he makes an attempt to resist, and lift his shirt. There’s blood, but I don’t see a laceration.
I have to stop the bleeding.
The bleeding has to stop.
There’s too much.
I can’t do this.
You have to do this.
I pull off my own shirt and press it against his groin, and he winces.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“I need to pull your pants down, okay?”
He smiles a weak smile as he struggles to breathe. “Kind of an odd time for that, you think?” His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Ssshhhh. Don’t talk. Just look at me,” I say, trying to be strong even though my words are cracking through the tears.
I lie him down, placing his head in my lap, then I unbutton his jeans and slide them off his hips, realizing my worst nightmare has come to life when I see the source of all the blood. I have one hand on his face and the other applying pressure on the punctured artery in his groin.
Where are the fucking cops?
My shirt is soaked through, and he’s still bleeding. God.
I need more hands. I don’t have enough hands!
His eyes fall to the ground, and my heart stops.
“Reid?” My heart lurches to my throat. “Reid, I need you to look at me baby. Keep looking at me, okay?”
He gives me a weak nod and his eyes, distant and unfocused, find mine again.
“Help will be here soon. I promise,” I tell him, not sure if anyone is even coming.
Where the FUCK are the cops?