But…by now, Clive knows we’re gone. Wren probably has half of the Boston Police Department looking for us. I just have to stall. And maybe…someone will find us.
“L-let me…talk to my mom. Just one more time. I…I won’t say anything about you. I’ll…make it sound like…like I’m about to kill myself. I just want to tell her I love her. P-please.” I stop fighting my tears and let myself sob, praying he has some small shred of compassion left.
But Noah just glances up at Louie, and the asshole pours a dozen pills into his hand. I grab the pen, bite off the cap, and spit it on the floor.
I’m sorry. I wanted to create a product that would change the world. But I lost my way.
Lifting my gaze, I try one more time. “Please, Noah. I won’t fight you. I just…I need to tell her I love her. If…you’d had the chance…with your dad…wouldn’t you have taken it?”
Noah’s gaze softens, and he almost seems…wistful. “Yes, I suppose I would have.” He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Louie, get her phone. She can record the message there.” He rises, pulls his handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes away my tears. “I’m sorry, Evianna. I tried to set Kyle up to take the fall, to spare you. But he refused to cooperate. And then Louie got a little overzealous convincing him, and…well…Kyle was useless once his neck was broken. I’ll give you a few minutes to think about your final words to your mother and make whatever peace you need with your maker.”
His footsteps echo on the concrete, and when the door slams behind me, I scream until my voice is hoarse, hoping somehow, someone will hear me.
34
Dax
My limbs are leaden, but my heart races, and I struggle to catch my breath. What the fuck happened?
Evianna. I can’t hear her. Rolling onto my side, I feel wires drag over my arms. Taser. That fucking prick Tasered me and took Evianna.
Yanking the twin prongs out of my chest, I force myself to breathe deeply. Evianna described the room. I’m close to the door—or was, when that fucker dropped me.
Slowly, I feel my way along the walls. The door’s locked again—big surprise—and I keep going. On my knees, not trusting myself to stand yet, I let my hands and memory guide me until I come to the stack of pallets.
“There’s an air vent. Opposite side of the room from the pallets.”
Based on where we were standing, the vent is to my left. But the pallets are only two feet high, and while I’m tall, I doubt these are eight-foot ceilings.
Sinking down onto my ass, I drop my head into my hands. Noah has her. And whatever he needs her for…he can’t keep her alive for long. Not without putting marks on her. And he sure as hell won’t bring her back to me. Not unless he needs to hurt me to get her to cooperate.
She’s going to die. All because I was too broken, too slow, too…stupid to protect her. I should have known they would come for her at the party. Should have sent Clive in as her date instead. Fuck. I should never have left her in the first place.
The cold from the concrete floor seeps through my dress pants. So much like Hell—with fewer rocks. Less shit, too. Just as much pain. Only this time, it’s my heart that’s shattering—not my bones.
“Get the fuck up, soldier.”
“Ry?” I can hear him so clearly, it’s like he’s right next to me. But when I raise my head, I know I’m still alone. Fucker’s so big, I’d see his shadow no matter how little light there is from the overhead bulbs.
Before the insurgents captured the last of us…we were bleeding, out of ammo, and had been trapped on the side of a mountain for more than twenty-four hours. No water left. Sun beating down on us during the day, winds whipping through the canyon at night.
But Ry…he kept us alive. Kept us going. Trying to climb. To escape.
“Get the fuck up, soldier. Now. You think you deserve to wear that Special Forces patch? That green beret? You do not give up until you’ve exhausted every possibility. Until you’ve spilled your final drop of blood. Until your heart beats for the last fucking time. Now move.”
“Yes, sir. Moving, sir.”
The memory curves my lips, and I almost laugh. That was the first, last, and only day I ever called Ry “sir.” And he gave me shit for it until they finally caught us.
Pushing to my feet, I feel for the top pallet in the stack. If I stand it on its end, it’s almost four feet tall. Maybe…if I’m the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet, I can make it into that fucking vent.
My muscles still twitch involuntarily every few minutes, and I stumble more than once as I drag the pallet across the room. It doesn’t feel stable, so I add a second, leaning in the same direction, then push the remaining four pallets against the first two, praying I don’t end up on my ass—or breaking my neck.
Not to mention…I don’t even know exactly where the vent is. I have to hurry. That asshole knew I was behind the door, so there’s probably a camera in this room somewhere.
Wedging my dress shoes in the spaces between the slats, I climb until I can touch the ceiling. There. The edge of the vent. Stripping off my tie, I wrap it around my fist, then punch the vent cover. It bounces, and I grab it and toss it to the floor.
Climbing to the very top of the pallets, I fit my head and shoulders through the vent. The muscle of my mangled thigh protests as I tense, but I ignore the pain and jump up, then wriggle forward.
