Durability (The LockDown Series Book 3) Read Online Free Page A

brain of my last breathing seconds. “Oh god, my father.” I cry a little, if that is possible when you are a dead spirit, but I do. I can feel the salty droplets burning my aching wound, the hole lying rugged and ugly in my shoulder.
    “We’ll find him, all of us, but we have to get out of here and quickly Abbi,” she tells me sternly, getting my arse into gear further. I become a speedy rock climber, clearing feet after feet of rugged rock face, my hand stinging and cut to bits, but my determination and utter focus is now on that hole.
    “Argghhh!” I growl as I pull us over an overhang rock.
    “We’re close Abigail, look, only a few feet to go.” I can hear dogs barking fiercely below us, at least a hundred feet between us. I am proud of myself, pulling myself up this wall and to my freedom so easily.
    “Yes, yes, nearly there.” I chant to myself as I clasp the final lip, the edge, the bright light blinding my movements but I don’t care.
    “We’re safe Abbi; we’re going to be ok,” the angel tells me as I heave us over the edge and onto the hard floor outside.
    I roll onto my back and feel the same numb feeling I felt when I had been shot; the cold, nerveless feeling and I know that isn’t right.
    What is wrong with me? I am supposed to be alive and kicking now, with my husband, finding my daughter.
    WAKE UP ABIGAIL.
     



Leighton
     
    “Sir, please, calm down,” the doctor says sternly as I kneel on the floor in a crumpled heap. I am not going to survive this loss; I want to be there with her, cold and icy, but warm and safe in the heavens above where I know her angelic soul will be waiting for me.
    “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE HER!” I scream at him as I look at his serious face. “YOU FAILED HER!” I shout once more, my tears rapidly falling against my cheeks and soaking my shirt. My tuxedo jacket is somewhere back at the house, but my once crisp, clean white buttoned shirt is now a crimson canvas.
    “Sir, calm down please. We need to talk to you about your wife’s condition,” he tells me, making my head shoot up once again.
    “Her condition? I, I, I thought she was dead. Oh god. I need to see her.” I wipe my face of tears, pulling myself to my feet.
    “Sir, please, before you go we need to talk,” he instructs me, pointing to the chair.
    “What’s wrong, why can’t I see her?” I ask nervously.
    “There were some complications with the surgery sir. We managed to stem the bleed and stitch that up fine but it seems the bullet has damaged a large majority of her nerves. We tried to reconnect and mend as many as we could but we are afraid that she may not have any movement in her right arm again.” I gasp at his answer. What would Abbi do if she couldn’t use her arm, couldn’t hold our daughter with it?
    Fuck it, I am just overjoyed she is alive.
    “Okay, I can deal with that. I’ll help her through it. But please, I need to see her,” I beg. My heart had been broken when I had heard that gasp from her mouth, that blood bubbling up from her throat.
    “Ok, but please, do not get her riled up, she ne eds her rest Mr Lock.” He turns and opens the visiting area door for me to walk outside. I follow him through the never ending hallways of the hospital, the white walls all too pristine and perfect compared to my bloodstained shirt.
    “Other than her arm, she’s going to be okay?” I ask him, my black dress shoes squeaking on the shiny floor as we stride the corridor.
    “She should recover fine Mr Lock, but she will need to stay in for observation for a few days, maybe a week. And we will have her on intensive rehab to try and get her arm functioning again,” he informs me and it settles my anxious stomach a little.
    “Thank you Doc,” I tell him, following through the double doors that lead to the recovery area.
    “God, b aby.” I cry as I look to the bed and see Abigail wired up to various machines, her shoulder dressed and her arm in a sling. She is a little less