Thirty-eight
Somewhere in the depths of his soul, he knew he couldn't leave just yet; he would not allow her to die in such a humiliating manner. Drawing on whatever remaining reserves of anger and … something he no longer deserved to acknowledge... that he could access, Myles fought his way back from the edge of unconsciousness.
The two idiots had figured him for dead, and cut him down before they hurried off to have their fun. It was fortunate, since he knew full well that he could never have loosed himself in his current condition. It took every ounce of strength he had to crawl over to the control panel for the jamming device and shut it down.
He leaned against the cabinet, trying to focus enough to dial his cell phone, while he checked his sidearm, and Tara's, for ammunition. The whip had wrapped around most of his torso this time, and there was no nexus to the pain; it was everywhere, and harder to work around. Just a little longer… then you can rest.