Fiona couldn't bear the thought of leaving Reginald's side, especially not to tend to Allen. The betrayal felt fresh in her chest, but Reginald had no patience for her hesitation.
"Go, Fiona. We can't let him die, or we're dead too!" Reginald's groan cut through her as she failed to move quickly enough.
"But..." She bit down hard on her lip, fury building inside her. "I don't want to go to him! I refuse to check on him! I can't stand to see him or touch him! I won't!"
"Fiona!" Reginald's sharp tone made her flinch. "Check on him now. If he dies, we die with him. I need to know our chances!"
His harsh words stung, especially when worry for him consumed her every thought.
She had no choice.
She forced herself up and crossed to Allen. The old bastard lay face-down, his breathing barely there, his leg bent at a sickening angle. Definitely broken.
If no one set it properly before it healed, he'd limp forever. Perfect. Better yet if he stayed disabled or just died.
