Stunned, Quinten moved into a sitting position, his body aching from the fall. With a quick glance around, he realized the shack was invisible to the naked eye, hidden so deeply in the foliage that he’d have probably missed it if he hadn’t fallen. Walking around to the front, he noticed the shiny lock on the door. It told him he was on the right track, or he prayed he was.
Dropping his knapsack to the ground, he took out his pocketknife and quickly tried to pry the lock open, but it wouldn’t budge. The wood that held the lock was worn, so he stabbed at that and smiled when splinters of wood started to fly off.
He quickly took in his surroundings, which ended up being a big mistake. Pain shot up his arm to his shoulder, radiating throughout his body, as he missed the wood. Blood ran in rivulets down to his hand, dropping on the ground.
The good thing was that he’d gotten the door loose. The bad thing was that if he didn’t stop the flow of his own blood soon, he wouldn’t be of much use to anyone.
Standing back, he kicked the door of the shack open, stumbled inside, and knew he’d never forget the sight that greeted him.
He paused on the threshold as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and his brain tried to ignore the smells that assaulted him. He choked on the horror of it all and staggered toward the wooden table bolted to the middle of the floor. “Saige,” he whispered, his mouth dry, voice broken with the overwhelming grief he felt. She didn’t move and he hesitated before his fingers searched her neck for a pulse. Relief flooded through him...she had one, albeit faint.
The weakness in his body drew his attention to his arm, which he’d forgotten about. He took a quick glance around the shack, and moved to what looked like a workbench. Grabbing an old rag, he wound it around his arm and tied off a tourniquet before he moved back to Saige’s still body.
So much blood.
The leather straps around her ankles and wrists felt new and were stiff and unyielding as his fingers fumbled with the buckles.
He grabbed what looked to be a surgical knife and sawed through the bindings before he moved to her neck. He gulped and swiped at the tears and sweat that blurred his vision. He couldn’t afford tears, they’d have to wait until Saige was safe.
The leather strap around her neck was wide and thick with no give. He was surprised she hadn’t choked to death. But he thanked God that the buckle was easy to work because he sure as hell didn’t want to risk using a knife near her neck.
The leather gave and he hesitated, he had no idea where to touch her because of all the lacerations that covered her body, the majority closed with congealed blood.
He removed the blindfold slowly and placed a kiss to each closed eyelid, relieved that she would now be safe while she slept on.
Shrugging off his long jacket, he covered her with it. His eyes scanned her broken body and he held his breath, praying that he didn’t hurt her further as he lifted her into his arms.
Without wasting any more time, Quinten quickly dashed out of the shack and through the forest. He hadn’t gone far when he needed to catch his breath. He leaned against a tree and looked around carefully, analyzing where he needed to go from there. He used his quick stop to his advantage and called the sheriff to meet them in a clearing not too far from where they were—he needed to put distance between them and the shack.
There was hardly any weight to Saige as he carried her against his chest. His body shook with relief that he’d gotten to her in time, and in fear that the sick fuck would come back before he could get her away.
Nearing the road, Quinten looked down when Saige gave a slight gasp. She was still unconscious, but he didn’t want to risk her waking and struggling in his arms. He spotted a small patch of grass that was free of brambles and underbrush and hurried forward to set her down.
He dropped to his knees and carefully placed her down, hoping that he didn’t cause her any more pain.
She murmured slightly and curled into the warmth of his jacket.
The location he’d given the cops was about a five minute walk from where they were. They’d have to be blind to miss them. He was tempted to go and wait for them. Lead them back to her. But as his eyes wandered over her blood soaked legs, he knew that there was no way he could leave her.
He’d never felt as helpless as he did in that moment, hovered over her unconscious body. A searing rage filled him, knowing that she’d been tortured and left for dead. He wanted to scream out in anger...wanted to hunt the bastard down, but he couldn’t do either. Saige needed him here. He dropped his forehead to hers while he gave in to his fear and anguish, letting his tears fall before they choked him.
“Don’t.” Her whispered word was so quiet he wasn’t sure he heard her. Quinten lifted his head and scanned her face for any sign of her waking. Her eyelids fluttered open for mere seconds before they closed again. He wanted and needed more from her. He needed something to tell him that she was still in there.