Chapter Thirteen
He was running back to where Harold was holed up behind the sheriff’s car, and he saw the moment he spotted him, the horror in his eyes. Ryan was also there now.
“What the hell, Luke? Where’s Marcus? What’s going on?” Ryan said, lifting his shades, on edge, alert, and shocked. “You’re bleeding…”
In the distance, people were watching, everyone trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Harold was in the trunk, then pulled out a bandage and pressed it to Luke’s forearm, which was dripping blood. He took the thick gauze and pressed it against the flesh wound, then took the tape Harold had ripped off and secured it in place.
“It’s a scratch, is all,” he said. “I’ve had worse.”
“What’s going on in the house? Mom and Eva are in there? How did you get out?” Ryan demand
