Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel by Priscila Santa Rosa

Author:Priscila Santa Rosa [Rosa, Priscila Santa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01MZ9PBZJ
Published: 2017-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

The damp tunnel carries the stench of moss, oil, and grease, making every breath I take harder than it needs to be. Vines and weeds cover the wet, rotten wooden planks on the ground, and the electrical wiring on the rocky ceiling has deteriorated badly. Shards of broken lamps and fallen cords litter our way inside.

I glance back to the camp, afraid of seeing Rico’s form chasing us or the glint of his sniper rifle, but there’s nothing but rain and the buildings, getting farther and farther away as we haul ourselves deeper into the tunnel.

Diego’s breathing is shallow, uneven. He doesn’t complain of pain and manages to keep up with my speed somehow, but I can feel his arm around my shoulder tremble. His grimace deepens at each step.

Once I feel we’re far enough from the entrance, I help Diego sit, his body giving in to gravity as he slides down against a wall. Carefully, I take his backpack off and place it nearby. Kneeling beside him, I check his vitals. Something I learned from Liam.

His heartbeat is just as fast as mine. I don’t know what that means except that we’re both exhausted and drenched.

Squeezing my eyes shut for an instant to calm down, I prepare myself to see the damage the shot did to him. The tunnel is far too dark for an examination, so first I find a mini-flashlight inside his backpack.

“I have to see the wound,” I whisper. Rico didn’t follow us in, but there are other dangers to be wary of in here. “Take off your shirt.”

“Okay, but just so you know, next time you want me naked, there’s no need to have me shot. Just ask.” He laughs weakly at his own words.

I’m too worried to be amused by his flirting. “Raise your arms. I’ll help you.”

He takes his hands off the wound. The soaked piece of clothing falls, and blood starts flowing again. I wince and he flinches, but I need a clear view of the damage. With gritted teeth, Diego keeps his arms raised as I pull the shirt off. There was mud, foliage, and blood on it. I throw it away.

Between rasped breaths, he finds strength to give me a strained smile. “I paid three hundred bucks for that shirt. Another perfectly good thing Rico ruined.”

I aim the flashlight at his lower right side, just above the hip bone. There’s discoloration around the wound, but no sign of the bullet on the surface. I look at Diego’s back, relieved to find an exit wound—the bullet went through. If it had remained inside his body, he would’ve needed extensive surgery. Another piece of knowledge I have Liam to thank for.

But he’s not out of danger yet.

The risk of an infection—the normal kind—is huge in this damp darkness. And I don’t know what the bullet did to his organs. He might be bleeding internally. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Without the proper tools—like a needle and a thread for

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