Chapter 200

ABIGAIL COULD BARELY LIFT her hand. Her fingers were numb. Her head spun, and not in the fun, dreamy way Luke had made her feel since meeting him. This was a bad, slowly suffocating sort of sensation. Oxygen deprivation was an awful way to go.

She'd had broken ribs and a collapsed lung once.

This was worse.

If she had to guess, her windpipe was constricted, either due to swelling or some sort of internal damage from Nador's attempt to strangle her. The blows had to have cracked a rib, probably messed up a lung, further compounding whatever problem she'd had from The Pit. No matter how deeply she tried to breathe, it hurt, and she wasn't getting enough air.

She was dying.

Slowly.

But she was dying.

Abigail sat back and watched Luke fuss under the hood of the Jeep with only the desert stars and moon to light his way. They had a full tank of gas due to some enterprising individual who'd stashed the back with gallons of fuel. Luke would make it out of here.

Her?