riptide- outer banks

131 | the grudge

〰⋅〰⋅〰

Climbing over seats had gotten old two stops ago. It caused him too much pain already and he really wasn't in the mood to try to combat random spurts of fire shooting through his ribcage because Pope wouldn't forfeit the passenger seat. Of course he hadn't. The prick still sat a row in front of him with the map spread out across his lap like he was the only one who could read it. But he couldn't complain. He didn't have to climb over anything to get out in the middle row.

He shook his head with an exhale. He just had to go crashing into that crate in the middle of the storm. Because one Cameron sibling almost dying wasn't enough. Why not add two? The more the merrier. Sarah and Logan Cameron, two peas in a pod. One pregnant, the other sporting two cracked ribs and at risk for a collapsed lung.

That was them– one nuclear little shit-show siblingship produced by Ward Cameron himself.

And despite always being one of the most capable pogues, Logan was now useless. He couldn't protect the girls like he always had. Not anymore. Not like John B, Pope, and JJ. Now he was the one that needed protecting. Because he couldn't even sit in a rundown Jeep without a steady ache settling in between his ribs. What the hell would he do if a fight broke out?

Pope was right; he couldn't afford to take any hits.

They rolled to a stop a little ways from the entrance just as the sound of tires screeching on gravel sliced loudly through the air. Logan perked up, but from where they'd pulled off to, he was blind. They all were. All he knew was that they weren't alone. Simultaneously, they all quietly climbed out of the vehicle, stealing glances at each other.

"Don't move!" A voice boomed.

Kori glanced at her brother, but JJ wasn't looking at her, brow tightly drawn together. Almost as if in recollection. Like he'd heard that voice before. Like he–

Gunfire erupted in her eardrums and she flinched like she'd been hit herself. But she pushed forward, everyone else by her side. They made it through the sparse grove at that moment, finally setting eyes on him as his words came tumbling out. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Okay, all right?!"

Logan's eyes went round. Because he knew that voice. He'd recognized it the second he'd heard it. Panic washed over him at the sight of his big brother, hands raised in the air above him as he faced the mercenaries that had their rifles pointed at him.

"There's no need for a big show, son! We just want the map!" Dalia called out.

"Okay, just take it easy. Okay?" Rafe responded.

The eight of them stopped behind a thick brush and crumbling sandstone, eyes set on Rafe. Map in hand, frozen in the middle of it all, he stood like he wasn't about to die. Like there weren't three different rifles aimed at his chest. Ready to shoot if he didn't give them what they wanted.

"Damn it. Damn it." John B murmured.

But Sarah wasn't focused on him. Or Rafe. No, not her older brother. Her gaze was on Logan, her younger brother. The one with sweat sticking to his slick skin and breaths coming too fast for someone who'd merely crept forward. His hand was pressed to his ribs like it had been for days.

She didn't have to say anything for him to lock onto her worried eyes. "No." He said immediately, head shaking at the look he'd already read into on her face. "Don't. I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine, Logan." She objected, not bothering to contain her rising fear. "If we have to run–"

"I can run." He insisted.