Wren
Ididn’t expect to sleep, but when I open my eyes, light seeps from behind the tacked down drapes. Ryker is curled around me, our fingers intertwined.
“I love you, Wren.”
I wanted to tell him how I feel. But…like so many times since we met, he protected me. I think…I do love him. I know I want him. Need him. But he was right to stop me. If I say the words—when I say the words—I want to feel like…me. Not the old me. I’ll never be the woman who left Boston with him again. But…a version of me who knows the temptation of heroin and doesn’t want it to be the answer.
I’m not there yet. As I stretch my legs under the soft sleeping bags, pain lances through my hips, and the bullet wound to my arm burns. I’m terrified Kolya will find us—me—again, and I’ll be back in that bathroom, trying desperately not to beg for the blessed release of oblivion.
Ryker’s real. And he loves me. And for today…that’s enough. Maybe more than enough. Staring down at my coping mechanism—the green and purple beads I never wanted to be without—I ease my bracelet back over his hand, then run my fingers over the beads. Right now, I need to see the crystals around his wrist. Know he has a piece of me. Even if I don’t know whoIam anymore.
“Zion would have loved you,” I whisper.
The scent of coffee—real coffee—wafts under the door, and I hear voices. Slowly easing out from under Ryker’s arm, I use the wall to brace myself as I stagger to my feet. My left knee throbs with each step, but I stay upright as I make my way to the door.
With one last glance at a sleeping Ryker, I slip into the hallway.
In the living room, a dark-haired man with piercing blue eyes stares at a computer screen, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. “I don’t know,” he says. “He brought in another six overnight.”
“Well, shit.” Inara comes around the corner and stops short when she sees me. “Wren.”
“I couldn’t sleep. And I smelled coffee.” I take another three steps towards the kitchen—awkwardly—before Inara rushes over to me and wraps her arm around my waist.
“You look like you’re about to topple over. Sit down. I’ll get your coffee.” She helps me to the couch, and the man skirts the makeshift command center set up along the far wall. Maps cover the tall table, along with three laptops, a handful of legal pads, and several small, rectangular devices I don’t recognize.
“West. Sampson,” he says as he holds out his hand. “You look…better.”
My cheeks heat as I realize he probably saw me naked the night before. Inara jabs him in the ribs as she heads for the kitchen and mutters, “Idiot.”
“It’s okay.” I offer him my hand, then realize how bruised my knuckles are when he closes his fingers around mine. “Except…maybe no more shaking.”
“Let me see.” He drops to one knee, then examines the swelling. “Make a fist.” I do, and he watches my face the whole time. “Okay, now try to hyper-extend your fingers.” Again, he pays attention to my expression, and when I only wince a little, he nods. “Not broken. I have some arnica in my kit. It’ll help.”
“Thanks.” Cradling my hand in my lap, I stare at the various pictures strung up around the living room. All different views of Kolya’s fortress. Some have red dots on them that look almost like…people. Clear, block handwriting covers others, words like “dining room” and “sleeping quarters” and “Wren?” strategically placed around those red forms.
“You…knew where I was?” I ask when West sinks down next to me with a tube in his hand and Inara returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs.
“Not for sure. But Ry thought from the way the heat signature moved,” Inara says, “you were on the top floor. In a bathroom.”
Nodding, I try not to flinch when West takes my hand and starts massaging a cool gel into my knuckles. “I was. Kolya, uh, chained me to a pipe under the sink.” My voice cracks, and Inara passes me the coffee.
Inara pats my knee—the bad one—and a little of the dark brew spills over the rim of the mug as I stifle my whimper. “Shit. Will that stuff work on a twisted knee?”
“You should have Ry take a look. But yeah. It’ll help.” West caps the tube and sets it next to me. “Take it. I have an extra.” He’s up and back at the table before I can even sip my coffee, and I realize I must look like death warmed over. Even Inara watches me with a wary eye.
“What…what are you planning?” I tug the sleeve of my sweatshirt, suddenly worried they can see the needle marks, but the cuff is only slightly above my wrist.
The two share a glance, and Inara inclines her head towards the hall. Towards Ryker.
“Tell me.” Forcing strength I don’t feel into my tone, I hold her gaze. “I’m not fragile. I want to help. That’s my computer over there after all. I’m the reason you’re here…risking your lives. And I…messed up.” My cheeks heat, and I stare down into my mug. “If I’d listened to Ryker…maybe we’d all be home by now.”
“Stupid cyka!”The angry shout sends my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and I drop the mug, scrambling away from the sound as footsteps thunder towards me. Hands close around my throat, and I try to scream, but I can’t. I can’t move. Can’t think.
Until a roar comes from behind me and the pressure at my neck falls away. “Get the fuck off of her!”
I only see a shadow as my attacker flies into the wall, and then I’m in Ryker’s arms, his scent surrounding me, and the hard muscles of his chest under my cheek. “Are you okay?”
“I…think so,” I croak, the combination of the brief strangulation and my own panic combining to leave my voice unsteady and rough.
