Talk To Me

Chapter Twenty-One

Present

The woods were too quiet. Too still. Oliver's pulse hammered in his ears as he glanced over his shoulder, searching for Mark through the thick veil of shadows. He could barely make out his best friend's figure between the swaying trees.

Lily's ragged breaths filled the cold night air, her body trembling against him. He barely had time to process her distress before another gunshot shattered the silence. The sharp crack reverberated through the forest, followed by a sickening thud as Mark collapsed onto the mossy ground.

Mark lay curled in on himself, his body hunched forward, his stomach pressing against his bent knees. His left shin was clutched in his hands, darkening beneath the spreading stain of blood. The moonlight barely pierced through the tree canopy, casting fragmented light over his pale, pain-stricken face.

Oliver froze, torn between the two people who needed him most. Lily was barely conscious, a fragile weight in his arms. But Mark—a strangled gasp tore from Oliver's throat as Mark lifted his blond head, his green eyes burning with urgency.

"Run!" Mark barked, dragging himself up from the dirt, his breath sharp and uneven.

Oliver hesitated for only a second before moving. He tightened his grip on Lily and watched as Mark pushed himself to his feet, his boots slipping over the wet leaves and loose soil. His hands trembled as he steadied himself, and then he began limping toward Oliver.

The two met near a dense cluster of undergrowth, their chests rising and falling in frantic gasps. A shadow emerged from behind the trees, broad and menacing.

"Shit," Oliver hissed.

Another gunshot split the air. The bullet tore through the space between them, embedding itself into the damp earth at their feet. Mark staggered forward, dragging his wounded leg, the blood seeping through his jeans in an ominous bloom.

They reached the car in a desperate sprint, the world narrowing to nothing but movement and survival. Oliver yanked open the back door and laid Lily down as carefully as he could, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"You drive," Mark ordered, already climbing into the passenger seat, his voice strained with pain.

Another shot whistled through the trees. Oliver ducked on instinct, then bolted around the car, fumbling to open the driver's side door as Diesel's figure tore through the underbrush. Oliver's hands shook as Mark shoved the car keys into his grip. He jammed the key into the ignition, his fingers slick with sweat. Diesel was getting closer. The engine roared to life.

Oliver slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The tires screeched, gravel kicking up in a whirlwind of dirt and dust as they drilled forward. Diesel's dark silhouette was swallowed by the rising cloud of debris, and the trees blurred into streaks of darkness as they fled the woods.

Oliver's grip was iron-tight on the wheel, his knuckles white. His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest.

"This was a stupid plan," he muttered as they sped onto the main road. He flicked his gaze toward Mark. "Are you okay?"

Mark winced, leaning back against the seat, and gripping his leg. "I'm fine. And the girl is safe. That's what matters."

Oliver scoffed. "Fine? You got shot. We need to get to a hospital." Mark shook his head immediately. "Are you fucking kidding me, Mark?"

"We have a passed-out missing girl in the backseat, and, as you said, I'm shot. Do you want us locked up before we can figure out what the hell to do?" Mark lifted his leg slightly. "Look, I'm fine."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is that?"

"It's a scarf. It'll stop the bleeding for now." Mark adjusted the makeshift bandage. "Drive to your place—"