Bloodline [h.s.]

fifty.

"Can you give us a minute?" I asked him.

"We don't have a minute. There's too much blood, and it's too dark for me to see where it's coming from. She needs medical attention. I can't help her on a god damn beach." He whispered to me, so she couldn't hear. He was right.

But I also knew exactly what Bee wanted to avoid. Calling emergency services would draw the attention of everyone still inside the hotel. Competition, investors, and clients... all of which would see her in a vulnerable position. It open her up to questions from the police and even more daunting, her parents.

How could we explain yet another attack?

"I can hear you." She said, pushing his hands away. "And I'm not going to a hospital. I feel fine."

"That is probably because you're in shock, Bee. You need to get to a hospital." I tried to move her hair away from the cut, but she shrunk back. "Where else did he hurt you?"

"No where. I am fine," she got to knees in an attempt to stand before I stopped her.

"Bridget, he is right. You're in shock, and you need help. We don't have time to argue. I have a key to my friend's urgent care clinic. We can go there, but I won't have access to it anaesthetics or pain medication. Or we go to a hospital. Those are the options." Dean offered, firmly.

I watched him getting more uneasy with each passing moment. He knew what could go wrong the longer we waited.

"Fine, the clinic." She muttered. I wished she would agree to the emergency room, but this was better than nothing.

As I slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her back, she reluctantly let me lift her from the sand, grimacing with each movement. Dean ran ahead of us to get his car, giving me a moment alone with her. She buried in her face in my chest, keeping her hands clenched in fists.

"Talk to me, please." I whispered against her hair while my feet trudged through the sand. My hand gripped tightly around the back of her ribcage, her heartbeat pounding against my fingertips.

"He's going to ask what happened, and I have no idea what to say." She said, muffled into my shirt.

"I can kill him. He can't ask you or tell anyone if he's dead." I shrugged.

"No, Aiden, don't. You can't—" she gasped. Her eyes shot up at me.

"I'm joking, I'm joking, angel."

"Not funny." She mumbled.

"You don't have to lie. Just tell him as little of the truth as you can. You and Abby were on the beach and someone attacked you with a knife. She got away and ran to get help. That's all you have to say." I told her, kissing her head. "But this wasn't what I meant. We can figure all that out. I'm not worried about you saying the wrong thing. Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."

"All I want is to go home. Can we please just go home?" She pleaded. Despondence replaced the usual glimmer in her eye. Its absence made me sick to my stomach.

"Bridget–"

"I don't– I don't want to do this anymore...I'm so tired." She muttered. My chest cracked in unison with the breaking strain in her voice, and my feet grew heavier. I didn't have it in me to ask what she meant.