Eight
Hanson came to with a start, rolling onto his side and using his left arm to push himself upright. A flare of pain had the arm collapsing under him and he hit the hard floor, banging the back of his head in the process.
‘Careful, you’ll bust your stitches,’ Hannah said, her voice coming through a fog of pain and nausea.
He gritted his teeth as he rode out the pain, waiting for the sick feeling roiling in his stomach to ebb away before he chanced opening his eyes again.
Hannah hovered over him, worry lines etched around her sparkling hazel eyes.
‘What happened?’ he asked, voice scratchy, his mouth feeling as if someone had crawled in there and died.
‘You were shot. Don’t you remember?’ The lines on her face deepened as she leaned closer to run soft fingers over his head. The end
