Bound by the Past, Locked by the Heart novel Chapter 30

Randal sat in the car, his complexion deathly pale. A few strands of his hair, slick with cold sweat, clung to his temples.

His left hand was shoved into the pocket of his windbreaker, the dark fabric at the hem already stained with a spreading, ominous shadow.

He lifted his leg to step out, his movements stiff from the dull ache radiating through his body, and a frown slipped past his defenses.

"Now you feel it?" Miles grumbled, though his hands were quick and steady.

He quickly grabbed Randal by the right arm, half-dragging and half-supporting him out of the vehicle and toward the clinic. "Why didn't you think about the consequences when you were playing hero on that mountain? Have you lost your damn mind?"

There was only one doctor on duty at the clinic, and the commotion startled him.

Miles shoved Randal into an examination chair and flashed the doctor a strained smile. "Doc, please check his hand, and there might be some injuries on his leg too. He took a nasty tumble down a mountain."

The doctor quickly snapped on his gloves and reached out to touch Randal's hand.

Randal jerked away. "Fix the leg first."

"Do you want to lose that hand?!" Miles nearly jumped in exasperation, his voice rising a few octaves. "You finally finished rehab for it, and now you want to ruin it again? Nobody's going to baby you this time."

Randal ignored him, merely lifting his gaze to cast a chilling look at the doctor.

Helpless, the doctor began treating the cuts on his leg first.

Once the leg was sanitized and wrapped, the doctor motioned for his hand again. Only then did Randal slowly pull his left hand from his pocket.

Even though Miles had mentally prepared himself, he still couldn't stop the sharp gasp from escaping his lips.

From the back of his hand to his knuckles, the skin was a mangled mess of torn flesh, with gravel and jagged pebbles embedded deeply into the wounds. It looked horrific.

The doctor's expression turned grave. "This... this needs a thorough debridement. We don't have the proper equipment here. You'd be better off heading into town, or straight to a hospital..."

"Do it here," Randal interrupted. "Clean it out and wrap it up. That's all."

"Randal!" Miles tried to argue.

Randal squeezed his eyes shut. "Shut up."

The subsequent cleaning process was pure agony.

Randal's face was ashen. He clamped his jaw shut, the muscles in his neck tightening into thick cords, with only the occasional muffled groan escaping his throat.

Randal leaned against the headrest, not looking at him.

Miles was practically fuming. "You're not actually trying to steal Zack's girl, are you? He's your cousin. Over a woman who dumped you? Is it worth it?"

Randal remained silent.

Miles roared, furious at his friend's stubbornness, "And your hand! Do you know how much work it took to get it back to normal? Do you want to destroy it again? Do you ever want to get back on a track in your life?"

This time, Randal finally reacted.

"I want to ruin her peace. If I'm suffering, I'll make damn sure she is too," he murmured, almost as if talking to himself.

"Fuck, keep digging your own grave, Randal! I'm done!" Miles slapped the steering wheel in anger, cursing under his breath, but still drove Randal back to his temporary residence at The Skyloft Penthouse.

Over the years, Randal had cycled through all the properties under his name, never settling in one place for long.

According to him, staying in one place too long just brought on nightmares.

As for what those nightmares were, Miles never asked, and Randal refused to say.