The kid spits in my face, and I roll my eyes. “You see me, right? I could rip you in half and not even break a sweat. Who. Sent. You?”
“You’re dead, big man. You and the girl. I won’t tell you shit.”
“Suit yourself.” One more punch and he’s unconscious, and I pat down his pockets, hoping…yes. Zip ties. No good—or bad—kidnapper ever leaves home without them. When the two men are secured, I move to Wren.
A goose egg swells on her cheek, but her heartbeat is steady. “Wren? How deep are you under, sweetheart?” She doesn’t answer when I brush her hair off her forehead. After a sigh, I mutter, “Pretty deep, then.”
“Ry. Sit rep,” Dax calls.
“Two hostiles. Restrained. Wren’s unconscious. Get your ass over here.”
Tap, tap, tap.Dax’s cane skitters over the cobbles as he slowly makes his way down the alley. “Pixel’s tied up inside,” he says. “Cops are on the way.”
Gently, I lift Wren into my arms. “I’m getting her out of here. These idiots wanted both her and her laptop.”
“Fuck. Go. Call me when you’re secure. I’ll get her computer and call Ford to take the dog for a few days.”
“Any chance you can keep her name out of this?” I ask as I settle her against my chest and dig for the keys to my rental.
“Not likely, but I’ll try.” Dax claps his hand on my shoulder as I start to move past him. “I don’t know how to forgive you for ghosting, Ry. But I’m damn glad you’re here. Keep her safe.”
I nod before I remember he can’t see me. “I will.”
8
Wren
I’m floating. Why am I floating? Something firm and warm moves under me, and I try to force my eyes open, but they don’t want to obey. A little moan coils in my throat, and the thing under me moves again.
“Shhh, sweetheart. We’re almost to the room.”
The room? I don’t understand. “Mmmy…head.”
“I know. I’ll get you some ice in a couple of minutes.” There’s a beep and a click, and then I’m not floating anymore. A warm hand cups my cheek, and I finally manage to pry my lids open. “Ryker?”
“Good. Do you know what day it is?”
“Of course I know what day it is,” I snap as I push myself up to sitting. And fall over when I’m suddenly on a tilt-a-whirl. “Crap on a cracker.”
“That’s not a day of the week.” Ryker takes my wrist, and as the room comes into focus again, he checks his watch. “Who’s the President?”
“I don’t have a concussion. I got punched in the face.”
I got punched in the face.
As the words register, and the memories come flooding back, I start shaking. “I got punched in the face. And drugged. And—” I swallow a sob. “Where’s Pixel?”
“She’s fine. Dax is taking her to Ford’s for a couple of days.”
“What did they give me?” I rear up again and grab his muscular forearm as his brows furrow. “Ryker, tell me. What did they give me?”
“I don’t know. Some sort of sedative. Why? Are you allergic to—” His eyes darken, the colors shifting to a deeper hue as he searches my face.
“No. I just…Zion. My mom had an addictive personality. So does—did—Z. I don’t…I can’t…” I start to hyperventilate, and my heart hammers against my chest so hard I think the thing fromAlienis about to burst forth and kill both of us.
“Look at me, Wren.” His voice turns rougher, demanding, and he presses my palm to his chest. “Breathe with me. In. Out. Match my pace.” I try, but I can’t stop wheezing. “Slower. Listen to my voice. In. Good. Out.” He covers my hand with his until the world slows and rights itself again.
“Flippin’ flapjacks. Fudgsicles. Cracker Jacks.”
