Finnegan
The ambulance doors closed behind her as they wheeled my Abigail away on the stretcher. I couldn't breathe. I was standing in the middle of a highway that reeked of burning rubber and blood.
Her blood.
I could not pull air into my lungs. My men were everywhere. Someone was speaking to me and I couldn't hear a single word.
The paramedics had practically pried me away as they loaded her in because I wouldn't release her hand.
"Dad," Angel grabbed my arm. She had been pulled from the wreck first, shaking so badly I could hear her teeth chattering.
The paramedics had checked her over quickly — minor cuts, no broken bones, mild shock.
I had barely registered any of it because my eyes kept returning to Abigail's face.
Why was it so white? Too white.
I steered Angel toward the police car.
"Follow her," I barked at the driver. "Follow her, please. Now."
Thank God he understood without needing me to repeat the words.
