“No!” the man shouted, scrunching his face and groaning through the pain. More quietly, he begged, “Please don’t leave me. They… they might come back.”
The gunshots. Slade’s hackle’s rose. He surveyed the area. Quiet. No one around but them. “Who are they? What do they want with you?”
The man panted now, expression tensed in agony. “I… I don’t know.”
Slade’d met plenty of liars in his forty-five years. This man didn’t strike him as one. Someone chased him naked through the woods. Suspicions began to wriggle in the back of Slade’s mind of why a man might be naked in the woods. “What are you doing bare-assed naked?”
“I… might… ask… you… the same thing.”
True enough. A neat side-step of the question too. Slade’s heart pounded.What the fuck am I doing?Keeping the man in his sights, he came ashore. The guy looked older than at first glance, late twenties, early thirties, maybe. “You’re shot?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see.” It took a few tries to pull the guy’s hands from his side. Too much blood to see anything. “Look, I gotta go back to my camp, get supplies.”
The guy raised a bloody hand, grasping onto Slade’s biceps. Without thinking, Slade glanced down at the hand on his arm.
“Sorry,” the guy said, letting his hand fall away. “But don’t worry, you can’t catch—”
Whatever the guy started to say ended in a wracking cough. He cried out. The cough must’ve cost him a lot.
“I’ll be back. I promise.” Slade waded back into the pool, swimming this time and washing off any traces of blood. Now, which way to camp? The pool led to the stream, the stream to his camp.
He threw on clothes, snatched his first aid kit out of the SUV, and hurried back downstream.
Feeling warmth against his chest, he ran a finger over his wolf charm. For a moment, for one split second, he felt—fur? Must be stress. Darting through the trees saved time on his return. Pained moans guided Slade’s footsteps.
He dropped down beside the stranger, first aid kit in hand. “Told you I’d be back.”
The man’s weak smile trailed into a grimace. Slade had witnessed a few gunshot wounds during his rougher biker days, though he’d hardly call himself a medic. “I need to get you to a hospital.” Now to figure out a way to get the guy back to camp.
Slade glanced down at his surprise patient writhing in pain.
“No hospitals. No doctors. Can you just get me home?”
“Where do you live?”
The guy pointed through the trees. “Five miles to the west, I think.”
Slade shook his head. “You’re gonna bleed out before I get you there.”
“I’ll be fine if I go home.” The man connected his gaze to Slade’s. “Please?”
Ah, hell. Many times when Slade needed help, not one damn soul reached out a hand. Then again, some did. “I’m afraid this might hurt.” Memories of first aid training came back: clean the wound; wrap in gauze; apply tape. At first, the gunshot bled profusely, and now the damage didn’t appear nearly as severe. A bullet lay on the ground.
“I need to get some clothes on you. You’re smaller than me, but these sweats are the best I got.”
The man let out a few whimpers, lips pressed into a tight, white line, eyes firmly closed while Slade covered him.
“You’re in no shape to go five miles through the woods. Is anyone there to take care of you?”Is there anyone looking for you?If so, what then?
“No, but—”
The guy needed care. “I’m taking you back to my camp. You can rest. I’ll drive you tomorrow.”
“But…”
“No buts. Come with me now, or I leave you here,” Slade snapped, in the same voice his father once used to keep the Slater brothers in line. No way he’d leave the stranger, but the stranger didn’t need to know the emptiness of the threat. One arm beneath the guy’s back, another under his knees, Slade lifted.