His words break off abruptly as Ian unleashes a ghastly groan of pain, drawing both our gazes. I watch him writhe on the pallet of palm fronds for a moment, then glance back at Beck. He’s already staring at me. Beneath the fear and disbelief in his eyes, I see guilt. And somethingelse.
Acceptance.
Without another word of argument, he reaches into his bag, pulls out the flask, and hands it over. I try to take it from his grip, but his fingers tighten as he leans in to my face. “If we kill him, don’t ask me why I didn’t try to talk you out ofthis.”
“If we kill him,” I snap, yanking the whisky from his grip. “I won’t ask you for a damn thing ever again. That’s apromise.”
* * *
We talkthrough the plan threetimes.
I catch Beck staring at me like I’m crazy on more than one occasion, but I pointedly ignore him. I have bigger things to worryabout.
We rub our hands down with whisky to sterilize them, then sponge a few sips of the alcohol down Ian’s throat. It’s not exactly anesthesia, but I figure it can’t hurt if it numbs even a fraction of hispain.
I carefully probe the breaks in his leg. The worst of them is where the metal impales his thigh. By severing the bone, the shard has actually done most of the work for us. Once we pull it out, we should only have to slice through a few layers of ligament and sinew to complete theamputation.
Only.
“Do you want to talk it through one more time?” I ask, pulsepounding.
Beck shakes his headstoically.
“Are you sure?” I’m suddenly flushed with nerves. “I don’t know if you have the stepsdown…”
“Violet.”
My wide eyes find his. “Yeah?”
“Breathe.”
I pull a deep breath in through my nose and feel some of my panic abate. I was so calm when it came to convincing him to help. Now that he’s on board, our roles have reversed. He’s remarkably in control; I’m the one spinningout.
“Hey.” Beck’s big hand lands on my shoulder. “You are not alone. I’m here with you. You gotit?”
“Got it,” I agree. “But maybe we should sterilize our handsagain—”
“They’re as clean as they’re going toget.”
“Right.” I steady my shoulders. “You’re right. It’s time.” I glance at him. “You’ll hold himsteady?”
Becknods.
“He… he’s probably going to wake, and he’s probably going to scream.” I suck in a breath. “Alot.”
“I have the stick for him to bite down on, ifnecessary.”
“It’ll be necessary,” I muttergrimly.
Reaching out, I check that the tourniquet is still tight, then wrap my hands around the jagged piece of metal protruding from Ian’s thigh. When my grip is secure, I look up into Beck’seyes.
“Onthree.”
He nods, adjusting his hold on Ian’s shoulders in case he suddenly begins tothrash.
“One… two….three!”
With one swift motion, I pull straight up on the shard. It slides cleanly from the wound like pulling a stake from the grass after a game of horseshoes. There’s less resistance than I thought there’d be, but I don’t dwell on that as I cast the jagged debris aside. I’m focused on the blood pouring from the gaping hole I’ve justcreated.