The Secret Service [KINGSMAN]

viii. WATCH OUT

EIGHT.
WATCH OUT

"Eggsy, what's your opinion on ditches?"

"Wha- um, I guess they're all right. Why?"

"Because that's where you are going to end up. Oh sorry, where your rotting, decomposing corpse is going to end up after I murder you."

There was a moment of silence and a crackle of static on the other end of the phone.

"So, you're still mad then? About the-"

"The way you bought a corndog when you were supposed to be keeping watch and left me exposed, which led to my subsequent kidnapping?" she panted.

There was a sudden rustling like he had dropped the phone. "You got kidnapped? Bex, what the hell! I thought you went to the bathroom or something!"

"No, but I'm just about ready to shit my pants now."

A note of panic had crept into his voice, but Bex could barely pick up on it at this point. Her breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps from the pain radiating through her shoulder. Her vision was starting to blur slightly and her ears were ringing. All dead giveaways that she was teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

"Where are you?"

"If I knew, do you think I would be calling you? My phone has GPS, you can track it from your phone-"

She stopped for a moment to let out a grunt of pain, burying her face in her shoulder so Eggsy wouldn't hear.

"My phone is about to die, but I just want you to know two things. One, I'm going rip your intestines out and strangle you with them. Two, I've been-"

The line beeped once, signifying the call had been ended. She glanced down to see the screen of her cracked phone was black and lifeless. Bex let out a muffled groan as she shifted, the phone falling out of her shaking hand. The screen was smeared with blood from her fingers.

Two, I've been shot.

She closed her eyes, feeling her chest rising and falling far too quickly. The claustrophobia of being trapped in the trunk of a car, combined with blood loss was making her woozy. Bex's eyes were starting to feel heavy.

Snap out of it, Alden, she urged herself.

Bex needed a plan. She could barely move within the trunk of the car she had been unceremoniously dumped into, but she did her best to roll over to her side. She ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of her t-shirt and, using her teeth and free hand, wrapped it tightly around her upper arm to form a tourniquet. It wouldn't be a permanent fix, but it would have to do.

Judging from the amount of blood covering her hands and seeping through her denim jacket, the bullet might've hit her brachial artery. Which, coupled with the fact that she was trapped in the trunk of a car headed to an unknown location and was nearing a panic attack, was turning out to be a major pain in her ass.