Forged in Steele

CHAPTER 39

AS soon as Steele headed for the cockpit, Maren leaned over Hancock’s body and began to pull him toward the seat. It took every bit of her strength, but she was wired on adrenaline and at the moment she could move a damn mountain.

Hancock’s eyelids fluttered and he stared up at her in confusion as she began to prop him up so she could roll him onto the seat.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy? Get your ass belted in. Now!” he barked.

Only it came out so weakly it was more of a yip than an actual bark. Where before he might have sounded like a German shepherd, he now sounded like a Chihuahua. God, she was getting hysterical because she was actually considering what kind of dog he sounded like now.

Steele was in the cockpit after hauling the dead body of the pilot onto the floor. He was swearing a blue streak and Maren knew that wasn’t good. Not at all.

“I’m getting you belted in. We’re going to crash,” she said calmly. She marveled at how nonchalant she sounded. As though she’d just said they were attending tea at some palace. Yeah, she was losing it.

“For fuck’s sake, woman, I took a bullet for you. I’m going to be pissed if you kill yourself trying to buckle me in. Now get your ass in your seat and get your head down and cover it with your hands. Got me?”

She ignored him and pushed and pulled until she had him far enough onto the seat to secure the seat belt around him. Then she pushed in next to him and belted herself in. Before she could think of what to do next, Hancock shoved her down and covered her body with his.

She could feel the warmth of his blood against her skin. Could smell it. His pulse was weak. She’d been barely able to detect it when she’d briefly checked for one as she was dragging him from the floor. How he managed to even speak was beyond her, but the man had already proved to be somewhat of a superhuman. He and Steele were evidently cut from the same cloth.

“Going down!” Steele yelled from the front.

The rest was a blur. She almost expected one of those out-of-body moments where everything slowed and your life flashed before your eyes in episodic frames. But all she registered was shattering glass, a bone-shattering thud and the creak and screech of metal tearing. And then the world tilted sideways and she was slammed against the side of the helicopter, Hancock still draped over her.

And then silence.

Awful, overwhelming silence. She tried to move but she was trapped under Hancock’s body and something was pinning him on top of her. She tried to reach to feel for a pulse, but she couldn’t manage it. She had no idea if he was alive or dead, and the idea of being trapped underneath a dead man freaked her the hell out.

Which was stupid given that she was alive and she should be grateful for that much. She mentally went over every part of her body, trying to ascertain her level of injuries. And the baby. Oh God, her baby. Panic filled her and she closed her eyes, praying with every breath that nothing would happen to her child as a result of the crash.

Steele. Her senses were finally coming back to her, and now on the heels of the worry over her child came the knowledge that Steele could be dead or very seriously injured.

“Steele.”

She tried to yell it but it came out as a low croak, her voice cracking. Pain lanced through her shoulders and she puzzled over it. She didn’t feel injured. She didn’t feel much of anything at all.

Shock.

She was in shock and as soon as it wore off, she was going to feel every one of her injuries even if she didn’t know the extent or even what they were. Shock could be deadly, but she was thinking somewhat rationally. She sounded hysterical even to herself, but she’d just been in a helicopter crash, for God’s sake. She deserved a little slack for that.

“Steele!” she said in a louder voice, and it was then she tasted blood and realized her words were slurred.

She closed her eyes and focused on calming her breathing and controlling her heart rate. She needed to calm down. And hope to hell someone rescued them fast.