She whispered something, but he couldn’t hear her. Her head dropped back.
“She’s unconscious.”
"Damn it, what’s going on with her?" Dude said through the comms, and Talon tended to agree with his communications specialist's succinct question.
Why would this woman, an American by her accent, be held captive on a boat carrying yellowcake uranium? That was the question of the week, and possibly the answer to that question would provide apiece of the puzzle as to why everything had gone wrong on this floating nightmare.
As he carried Riley toward safety, toward air that didn't reek of human suffering, Talon made a silent promise. Whatever happened here, whoever was responsible, they would pay. The woman in his arms had survived hell, and he would make damn sure that those who’d put her here would answer for every moment of her suffering.
The hunt wasn't over. It was just beginning. The Siege echoed through his mind. The terror his mother and aunt had endured. He would never willingly let another woman suffer the way they had.
CHAPTER 4
The fluorescent lights above the hospital bed buzzed with an electrical hum that seemed to vibrate through Riley's skull. Everything was too bright, too clean, too white—a stark contrast to the metal tomb where she'd lost track of time and hope. The antiseptic smell burned her nostrils, but it was clean, sterile, and safe. So different from the stench of her own fear and filth that had surrounded her for … how long had it been? She started to shake again. Her muscles ached from it, and her head pounded with an unrelenting headache.
Her throat felt like sandpaper, raw and swollen from screaming even when no one could hear her, from the hands that had choked her until shethought she would die. Riley forced the memories away.Not now. Not when she was finally safe.
Dr. Martinez moved around the bed with efficient precision, her kind, dark brown eyes occasionally meeting Riley's as she worked. The woman spoke with a gentle Spanish accent that somehow made everything feel less threatening.
"I need to examine your injuries thoroughly. Is that all right?" Dr. Martinez asked, her voice soft but professional.
Riley nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through her neck where bruises bloomed across her skin. She caught sight of herself in the metal surface of a medical cart and quickly looked away. She didn't recognize the hollow-eyed woman staring back.
"Your friend, the one who brought you in, he's waiting outside. Very worried about you," Dr. Martinez said as she gently probed Riley's swollen jaw. "He refused to leave until he knew you were stable."
Talon. The man who'd appeared like some kind of warrior angel in that hellish container. Riley's heart rate spiked on the monitor beside her bed, beeping frantically.
"Where … where is he?" she croaked, her voice barely recognizable.
"Right outside. The nursing staff had to practically force him to let us examine you alone." Dr. Martinez smiled gently. "He's very protective."
As the doctor continued her examination, Riley tried to focus on her words rather than the gentle but necessary touches that made her skin crawl with phantom memories.
"You have significant facial swelling and bruising. The x-rays show a hairline fracture of your zygomatic arch—your cheekbone. It will heal, but there may be some tenderness for several weeks." Dr. Martinez's pen scratched against the clipboard as she made notes. "The ligature marks around your neck indicate strangulation, but your airway is clear, and there's no permanent damage to your trachea."
Riley's hand instinctively went to her throat, fingertips tracing the tender skin where someone's hands had tried to steal her breath, her life.
"Your wrists show deep compression injuries from restraints. There's some nerve damage in your hands—you may experience numbness and tingling for a while, but physical therapy should help restore full function." The doctor's voice remained calm,clinical, but Riley could hear the underlying anger at what had been done to her.
"You're severely dehydrated and malnourished. We're administering IV fluids and will closely monitor your electrolyte levels. You also have multiple contusions across your torso and back, but no internal bleeding or organ damage."
Each injury catalogued felt like reliving the moment it was inflicted. Riley closed her eyes, trying to disappear into the white hospital pillow.
"Ma’am, you're going to be all right. Your body will heal. I want you to know that." Dr. Martinez placed a gentle hand on Riley's arm. "I'm also recommending you speak with our trauma counselor. What you've been through … The mind needs healing, too."
Riley nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them. The salt stung the cuts on her face. "Can—can I see him? Talon?" The name felt foreign on her tongue, but saying it somehow made her feel less alone.
"Of course. But only for a few minutes. You need rest."
Dr. Martinez stepped out, and moments later, Talon appeared in the doorway. He looked different under the harsh hospital lights. Youngersomehow, his hard edges softened by concern. His dark hair was still damp with sweat, and his tactical gear had been replaced with a simple black T-shirt and jeans.
"Hey," he said quietly, hovering near the door as if afraid to come closer.
"Hey." Riley's voice was barely a whisper.
He moved slowly into the room, his hands loose at his sides, every movement telegraphed and non-threatening. Even in her fragile state, she recognized he was being careful not to startle her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, though his eyes were already cataloguing her visible injuries with what she was beginning to recognize as professional concern mixed with something more personal.
