Ricochet (Renegades #3)(78)
Author: Skye Jordan

“Hey,” she said. “Are you coming in?”

“Uh, no,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for more noise.”

She crossed her arms and stepped off the small porch. “What are you doing out here?”

He tried a smile, but nerves made it falter. Freaking nerves. What the hell? “I haven’t talked to you all day.” Not exactly an answer. “How’s your hand?”

She lifted her injured hand and curled her fingers into a fist. “Sore but okay.” She took another step toward him. “Congratulations. That went off perfectly. Josh was impressed, and Jax was stoked.”

His smile came easier. “That’s great.”

“You got back fast,” she said. “I thought you’d be out cleaning up for a while.” She gestured toward the dining room. “We’ve got cupcakes inside. Chocolate.” She grinned. “Or I can make you a drink—”

An explosion ripped through the night. Alarm streaked down Ryker’s spine and raised gooseflesh over his entire body. He spun toward the bridge, his mind tearing from his thoughts of Rachel. And ran.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was the only thought that filled his mind for the first half of the run up the hill. The second half of the climb brought all the horrific possibilities. He must have missed a live plug of RDX in the post check. His mind skipped from Charlie to Ray to Brad to visions of Mike, and every thought was worse than the last, each growing worse until Ryker’s mind rattled in his skull.

He heard the screaming before he’d rounded the embankment and hit the asphalt. Screams that ripped at Ryker’s skin and tore his heart out of his chest. Screams that transported him back to Kandahar in an instant.

He spotted a group of shadows at the middle of the bridge and sprinted. By the time he reached the men, his mind had gone numb. He dropped into a crouch beside the one curled on the ground—Ray. It was Ray. Charlie knelt beside the younger man, Brad stood nearby, hands on his head, eyes wide with horror.

“Fuck, my hand!” Ray’s scream sounded garbled to Ryker’s ringing ears, like he was under water. “My hand!”

“Light,” he said, afraid to reach out until he could see what they were dealing with. “Someone give me light.”

A flashlight clicked on. Ryker snatched it and turned it on Ray, searching for his hands. “We’ve got you, buddy. We’ve got—”

Ryker’s stomach turned to rock. Ray’s left hand was covered in blood—and missing three fingers. The other two barely held on by skin and bone.

“Brad, first aid kit,” he said.

Brad slowly walked backward, expression still dazed.

“Brad!” Ryker shouted. “First aid kit. Now.”

“Y-yeah,” he sputtered before he turned and ran to the nearest truck.

“Okay, buddy,” Ryker said, barely able to hear his own voice beneath the buzz. “I’m lifting your hand above your head.” He gripped the man’s wrist, found his pulse, and pressed his thumb over the artery hard. Ray screamed and pulled back, but Ryker held tight. “Hold on, man. Hold on. Charlie, shine that light on him. Ray, are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I…I…don’t know,” he croaked, his voice drowning in pain.

Ryker scanned his face, wiped at some blood to see if it was hiding an injury or just blowback. “How’s your vision? Your hearing?”

“I…I don’t know. My hand hurts so bad I can’t feel anything else. Fuck!”

A toolbox hit the ground, and Ryker ripped open the top with his free hand, then ordered, “Get me the Celox gauze and bandages, Charlie. Silver packages.”

He groped the ground for the flashlight Charlie had set down and shone it on Ray’s hand again. The sight of bright white bone surrounded by ravaged red tissue kicked off similar images in his head. Ryker’s stomach pitched. His mind slid sideways.

“I called for an ambulance.” The female voice behind him startled Ryker, and he turned his head quickly. Too quickly. His head spun, and he tipped off balance, catching himself with a clank of the flashlight on asphalt. Rachel’s face gazed back at him from the shadows, fear swamping her expression.

“What can I do?”

“We can’t wait. I’ll drive him,” he rasped, clawing at the bits and pieces of his mind trying to scatter. “Fingers. Need to find his fingers. Take them with us.”

Color drained from her face, but she pushed to her feet, and the beam of her flashlight scanned the ground. More voices and shadows filtered into Ryker’s mind of mush, but the sound of ripping drew Ryker’s gaze back to Charlie just in time to grab the gauze shoved his way.

He handed the flashlight to Charlie. “Hold this.” Then to anyone at large, he yelled, “Someone get a vehicle over here. Someone hold his arm.”

Marx dropped into a crouch beside Charlie and gripped Ray’s arm. “How did this happen? Why was he handling explosives?”

“Keep pressure on his artery,” Ryker said, dismissing Marx’s questions, then to Ray, “Hold tight, buddy, this is gonna hurt.”

With gritted teeth, Ryker focused on the missing fingers and packed the blood-clotting gauze on the stumps.

“Ah!” Ray screamed and jerked. “Ah!”

Marx held tight, immobilizing his arm. “Almost done. Stay tough.”

Ryker wound the clotting bandage over and around the gauze and secured the end. The sight of severed body parts, the screaming, the blood—they crowded his brain, and Ryker fought to hold on to his mind.

Ray’s cries quieted, and his expression turned slack and glazed. “He’s going into shock.” He looked over his shoulder. “Where’s that vehicle?” He turned back to Ray and tapped his face. “Stay with me. We’re getting you to help, buddy, just hold on.”

A truck stopped at the edge of the bridge, and Ryker pulled Ray’s good arm across his shoulders, then lifted the man to his feet. “I got you, Mikey. I’m here. Won’t leave you, buddy.”

Reality seemed to toggle back and forth in his mind. Ray and Mike. Ray and Mike. And no matter how hard he tried, Ryker couldn’t keep his mind from straying to that horrifying day…

Ryker forced it from his mind as he bent, gripped Ray’s thighs, and lifted him over his shoulder, then hustled toward the headlights.

He lowered Ray to the seat and climbed in beside him, catching sight of Jax’s profile in the driver’s seat. Ryker didn’t even have the door closed before he was yelling, “Go, go, go.”