Becky’s POV
Pulling Jackson into the darkness, the screaming alarms and the boom of gunshots subsided into a faint hum. My heart was racing; every beat reminded us we were imprisoned. Unquestionably, he was in pain; his shoulder was bleeding from the shot that almost brought everything to an end. But time did not allow one to linger on it. We have to keep on shifting.
Trying to keep the terror out of my voice, I murmured, "Stay with me, Jackson." To stop the bleeding, I ripped a fabric strip from my shirt and pressed it up against his incision. His flinch sliced through me, then he nodded with a closed jaw.
Gritted teeth let him say, "I'm fine." "We have to figure out our exit.
I nodded, but the ambiguity bit me. Every sacrifice we had labored for seemed to be collapsing. And Zara, God
