Page 157 of Monstrous Urges
Yeah, I’ve been to war. I know what comes next.
I bite the fuck down.
The pain is delirium, agony incarnate when she grips the piece of metal and yanks it out of my body. Her hand grabs mine, pinning my palm over the gauze staunching the blood.
“Hold that.”
She grabs her needle and thread. A fresh wave of pain washes over me as she pulls my hand away and pushes the needle through my flesh, lacing the gash closed. She works quickly, perhaps a little clumsily. But when I glance down again, she’s biting off the string and taping heavy gauze to my side.
She looks up, her Taylor eyes that aren’t Taylor locking with mine.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood, and I think your leg might be broken. But you’re still stronger than me, and I need that strength right now. Understand?”
I frown. “Who the fuck?—”
“Do you love her?!” she blurts, her eyes wildly searching mine.
She’s not wrong about the blood loss. My head is swimming, and there’s three of her coming in and out of focus. But I could be dead and still answer that question.
“Do you love Taylor?!”
“Yes,” I choke.
“Good,” she replies. “Because she needs our help. Get the fuck up.”
Yeah, that does it. With a stab of pain, I take her outstretched arm and wrench myself to my feet.
Holy fuck.
I’m standing on the very edge of Hell. The bridge is blown to shit, with a massive chunk in the middle gone. Fiery piles of wreckage and what might be spilled oil give the whole scene a blood-chilling look as the flames and the smoke cast flickering, nightmarish shadows over everything.
“This way.”
She grabs my arm, yanking me almost off my feet as I stumble after her. We scramble over rubble and wreckage, smoke and ash and fire choking my throat and burning my eyes. Suddenly, even before the woman says anything, I see her.
Taylor.
“Wait—”
I ignore her warning, lurching forward down a crooked slab of concrete. At the last second, I realize it drops off at the end. I leap, hissing in pain as I jump across the gaping divide and go crashing against the opposite side.
FUCK that hurts.
I claw at the ground, my feet kicking thin air. My teeth grit, and with a cry of agony, I wrench myself back up over the edge.
My stitches have ripped out. Blood is pouring down my side. But I don’t care. I go staggering toward Taylor, slumped on the ground.
Her eyes closed.
Her body covered in ash.
A huge slab of concrete on her leg.
An explosion and a crumbling sound rip my attention behind me. The other Taylor screams, lurching backward as part of the concrete slab slides off the bridge and into the water below.
“I can’t jump that!” she screams at me. “But she’s bleeding out!!”
“So throw me the bag!” I roar. “THROW ME THE FUCKING BAG!”