Ilay my head on Ryder’s chest, straining to hear if he’s breathing. The faint thump of his heart is barely audible, a weak rhythm that does little to calm my racing thoughts. What’s wrong with him? The pallor of his skin, the blue tinge to his lips—what is it?
I need to call for help. Now.
Phone. I need a phone. Mine’s lying useless yards away, somewhere. But Ryder should have one.
I sit on the ground beside him, the rough gravel digging into my skin through my torn clothes. I reach for his back pocket, my fingers clumsy and uncooperative.
Damn, it’s hard with tied hands. I grunt, tears of desperation welling in my eyes as I fumble with the fabric. Finally, I pull the device free. I lift it with trembling hands, trying to aim it at Ryder’s face tounlock it.
Please work, please work.
The screen lights up, and relief floods through me. Oh, thank God.
The chopping sound of helicopter blades cuts through the air before I can make the call. The sleek black machine descends toward us, kicking up a storm of dust and debris. Dark windows prevent me from seeing the pilot, but a spark of hope ignites in my chest.
Help. It has to be help.
I hunch over Ryder’s body, shielding him from the biting wind and swirling dust. The deafening roar of the rotors drowns out every other sound.
As the helicopter touches down, the blades slow, allowing me to lift my head and blink the grit from my eyes.
A large man dressed in black jumps out of the helicopter and runs toward us with purposeful strides. He signals something with his hand, and two more men descend, unloading equipment with practiced efficiency.
“Zane Mercer?” The name escapes my lips in a hoarse whisper.
I recognize him from the photo in Ryder’s cabin, but the image didn’t do him justice.
There’s no gentleness in him. He radiates raw power, an authority that makes me want to shrink back. The picture couldn’t capture his presence—he's handsome in a dangerous, predatory way that warns you he could destroy you without hesitation.
“Indeed,” he answers, his voice a low rumble as he crouches beside me. Those green eyes scan my face, taking in every cut, every smear of dirt and blood. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through my battered body. “Just bruises and scrapes.”
Zane’s attention shifts to Ryder, his expression hardening. “Did he say anything?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Ryder’s still form.
“No,” I choke out, fighting back a sob. “Just... Just that he wants me to go on, no matter what happens to him.” The words feel like glass in my throat, cutting deep. “What happened to him? I thought Josh shot him, but I couldn’t find a wound.”
“He was poisoned,” Zane answers, signaling to his men. They spring into action, placing a stretcher beside Ryder.
Poisoned? The word echoes in my head, each repetition bringing a fresh wave of horror. “What are they giving him?” I ask, watching as they connect Ryder to an IV, injecting something into the line.
“Fluids. We’ll also give him Activated Charcoal. It’ll buy us time until we can get him to a hospital and identify the poison.”
They lift the stretcher, Ryder’s limp form looking so vulnerable, so unlike the strong, protective man I know.
“Ryder!” I cry out, trying to stand but stumbling on my weak legs. “Wait, I want to go with him. I need to be with him.” The thought of being separated from him now, when he’s fighting for his life, is unbearable.
Zane’s hand on my shoulder is firm. “I’ll make sure he gets the best treatment available,” he promises, his voice softening a fraction. “I’ll take you to him as soon as possible, but right now, we need to take care of you.”
“No, I want to go with him,” I shake my head.
Zane’s grip tightens, not painfully, but enough to command my attention. “You’re distraught, injured, and there’s a body here that needs to be taken care of. There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”
I slump, the fight draining out of me. “Who did this to him?” I ask, my voice small and broken. “Why? How?”
“Don’t move,” he commands, ignoring my questions.
I do as he says. I don’t think anyone could refuse this man when he speaks in that tone.
