“What?” I croak.
“Grab him. We have to get out of here,” another voice says.
That’s definitely Gabe.
“Let’s go,” Alonso orders, gripping my arm and hauling me upright. He wraps an arm around me to keep me on my feet as we move into the dark hallway.
Two bodies lie sprawled near the doorway. I recognize one of them immediately—the man who’s brought me food and water every single day.
We keep moving, but my legs feel like they’re made of lead. Every step takes more effort than I have left. Alonso practically drags me forward while Gabe moves ahead, his gun raised.
Three more men in suits are crumpled along the floor, blood dark against the concrete.
“Damn, you guys went to town,” I mutter, trying to cut the tension and make sure I’m not hallucinating.
Gabe snickers. “Almost a year of being held and tortured, and you still haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
We step outside, and the sudden brightness of the sun makes me wince. My eyes burn as if they’ve forgotten what daylight feels like. We move slowly toward a black SUV parked nearby.
I glance at Alonso and Gabe. They’re both dressed in black—pants, shirts, combat boots, bulletproof vests. They look like they walked straight out of a war zone.
They load me into the backseat, and I collapse against the cushions, barely able to keep myself upright. As the doorshuts and the car pulls away, my eyelids finally slide closed. For the first time in nearly a year, I feel something close to relief.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Fuck—was I hallucinating?
I pry my eyes open, the beeping louder now, sharper.
“Shit,” someone mutters. “Gabe, he’s awake.”
Alonso. One of my best friends.
“Hey, man,” he says, stepping closer. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” I rasp.
Before he can reply, several nurses and a doctor rush in, speaking rapid Italian. Alonso answers for me, his voice calm and controlled. They check my vitals, ask about my pain, poke and prod until I’m barely holding myself together.
Then they leave.
“What did they tell you?” I ask, looking between Alonso and Gabe.
“That you should be out of here in a few days, and then we’ll go home,” Alonso says. “None of your injuries need more than time to heal, so they kept you sedated for a bit.”
“How long was I out for?”
“Five days,” Gabe answers.
“Fuck.” My chest tightens. I need to hear her voice. “I need to call Vanessa.”
“No, you don’t. You’ll see her soon,” Alonso says gently.
“Is she here?” Because if she is and no one told me, I might actually kill all of them.
