Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

wounds and how the injuries point to his hands being tied. My eyes fly to Ethan’s. He’s looking at me, knowing what I’m going to say next.

“This wasn’t just a five-minute thing,” I say to the whole room. "He was tortured," I whisper, looking at him. He doesn’t have a chance to answer me because two car doors slam, and everyone looks toward the front door. The rain has finally slowed.

My father, Beau, and Ethan’s father, Jacob, run up the stairs. Both of their eyes assess the situation. My father finds my eyes right away, making sure I’m okay, and then he looks down at Mayson.

"Did he attack you?" he asks, confused by this whole scene.

"I’ll fill you in, Uncle Beau," Quinn says. "But first, we need to get him over to Chelsea's house."

"My house?" I snap. "Why my house?" My heartbeat is going so fast now it echoes in my ears.

"Now wait a second," my father snaps, stepping forward and holding up his hands to stop everyone. "We are not bringing him to her house."

"This needs to be under the radar," Ethan says to him. "I would never ever put her in harm’s way, but we need someone who can monitor him."

"Then hire someone." I stand and take off my gloves. "Just like Uncle Casey can get whatever I need, I’m sure you can get a doctor who can take care of him.”

"Honey," Jacob says, looking at me. "I don’t think anyone can take care of him as well as you can. If it came down to it, there is no one I would want except you."

"You took an oath," Ethan says, and I glare at him.

I then say the words that shock not only everyone in this room but even me. "Get him in the truck."

Chapter 4

Mayson

"Get him in the truck." I hear Chelsea's voice, and try to open my eyes, but one is sealed shut. The other one is blurry from the sweat and blood dripping off my forehead. I try to lift my hand, but nothing happens. Not even a twitch. I focus on what is going on around me. I can hear everything, and I want them to know, but I can’t communicate with them. “Someone needs to apply pressure on his bullet wound to make sure he doesn't lose anymore blood,” Chelsea says, and I hear people move all around me. “I need a belt,” she yells, “to tie around his legs to stop the blood flow until we get him back to my house!”

"Be careful moving him," Ethan says as the men lift me, and the pain rips through me. My stab wounds in my legs feel like they are ripping open. The bullet wound in my side feels like someone lit a match and put it straight inside it. In my head, I’m roaring out in pain, but in reality, the only thing that comes out of me is a groan. "We’ve got you, Mayson," I hear Ethan say from beside me. Ethan and his family are the only ones who call me Mayson. Everyone else uses Carey, my last name, and I don't know why, but it’s only when I hear those words does my body let go. The tension leaves, and I soak into the darkness.

"Come here, you fucking piece of shit." His voice came out in a snarl as his spit flew on my face, and he grasped my hair in his fist. "You thought you saw the last of me." He chuckled as he grabbed my chin in his hand as hard as he could, squeezing. "Hiding like a fucking coward." I looked into the eyes that I prayed I would never see again. Eyes that haunted my dreams.

Letting my chin go, I knew pain would come next, and I was not wrong when he kicked me right in the ribs. One. Two. Three. He always went for three. My hands were tied together around a tree in the middle of the forest.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the pain, and it was just too much for him. "Oh, no, you don’t." He grabbed my hair into his fist, pulling my head back. "Not yet, you fucker." He smiled as he looked at me. "You close your eyes when I tell you to," he said, shocking me when he head-butted me.

"We will place him on the flatbed," Chelsea says. "I’m going to ride in the back with him to make sure he’s stable." I feel myself being carried. “It’s pitch black. I need a flashlight," she tells Ethan, and I can tell she is irritated with him. I’ve been around her a total of ten times, and each time, I've learned something new about her. But I got her irritated look after ten minutes.

"It’s a four-minute ride if we use the backroads," Jacob says as I feel the cold metal of the truck against my back.

“Don’t let go of the pressure on his side,” Chelsea says to someone. “Don’t you fucking die on me,” I hear her whisper in my ear.

I don’t know how long it takes, but when the truck finally stops, my stomach roils. I’m carried off the truck and then placed on the softest bed and sheets I’ve ever been on. I know that I’m going to owe her a new bed when this is all over. If I survive, that is.

"I can see bruising on his ribs," I hear Chelsea say, and my breathing starts to come in short spurts as the pain races through me. "Of course we can’t know because I have nothing here. "

"You can’t do anything for broken ribs anyway," Ethan says, and I can feel the glare Chelsea gives him. "What? It’s true."

"Well, I’m assuming he didn’t puncture his lung since he isn’t choking on his own blood," she hisses out.

"Jesus, Chels," Ethan says.

"Is Casey back with the stuff I need?" she asks, and then I feel her hands on me. Soft and cool.