Fresh air hits my face as the blanket slides away, and I blink hard. It’s dark outside, a single street light illuminating an empty parking lot and a plain, squat concrete building. Alec unlocks the wrist cuffs from the ring on the floor, cuts the duct tape binding my ankles, and then half drags, half carries me until I’m sitting in a wheelchair.
“Nnnoooo.” I want to fight him, but I’m too weak, in too much pain, and he slaps my cheek lightly.
“Shut up. The rest stop is deserted, and there’s no one to hear you scream, but if you make another sound, I’ll gag you anyway.” He throws a blanket over my bound hands and pushes a baseball cap low over my forehead to hide my face.
The world around me spins and tilts, but the fresh air helps me focus. Until he steers me into a large, accessible stall in the men’s bathroom and reaches for my belt.
“Don’t!” The idea of his hands on me is so repulsive, I want to vomit.
“Quiet,” he hisses. “Like I’d ever fuck you again. I don’t need to. You disgust me. But I don’t want my van smelling like piss for the next five hours. So you’re going to shut the fuck up, and I’m going to pull down your pants.”
We’re back at the van less than five minutes later, and he practically throws me out of the chair onto the floor. “Please,” I beg as he yanks my hands over my head. “Don’t. It hurts too much.”
“It won’t after your next dose of meds.” His face swims in and out of focus, but I think he’s smiling as he pulls out a pill bottle. “Open up.”
I shake my head, and his fingers dig into my jaw. As soon as he forces the pills past my lips, I spit them out. The snarl he makes sends a cold shiver down my spine, and my cheek explodes in pain, his fist snapping my head to the side as he laughs.
“Remember, Quint. I don’t need to be nice to you. I just need to keep you compliant andrelativelyunmarked for the next few weeks until all the legal shit is taken care of. After that, a quick overdose or maybe a shot of insulin? Doesn’t matter. No one’s going to care that you’re gone.”
“Connor,” I whisper.
“Your brother isn’t in a position to help you anymore.” Dennis sounds almost gleeful as he pries my jaw open.
Alec dumps the pills back into my mouth and then presses a strip of duct tape over my lips. I scream, but my words are lost behind the tape.
What did you do to Connor, asshole?
Thrashing earns me another punch to my side, and then someone tapes my ankles again, tucks the blanket all around me, and the engine rumbles to life. The taste of the meds dissolving on my tongue is familiar and overwhelmingly bitter, and I wheeze, fighting for every breath.
Memories mix with reality until I can’t tell what’s real anymore.
Graham. Graham is real.
But with the next pothole, I lose my train of thought, and I can’t remember what it was I was holding on to. Or why.
Chapter Twenty-One
Graham
Thankfuck Ryker didn’t want to be away from Wren any longer than absolutely necessary. As soon as we rescued the “hostage,” one of a team of seven former members of theCuerpo de Fuerzas Especiales—Mexican Special Forces who helped us stage this mission—Ry called in a transport helicopter to pick us up. The trip to Culiacán only took twenty minutes, and the plane carrying us back to Seattle is twice as fast as the piece of shit we rode to get here. Also a hell of a lot nicer. Actual seats. With cushions.
It’s a little after 7:00 a.m. back home, and before we take off from Culiacán, I turn on my phone. Q’s message fills the screen, and holy shit. That’s the little park on the corner of his street. He did it.
“I’m slow as fuck. But when you get back, give me ten minutes’ notice, and I’ll meet you on this bench. I have something important to tell you, and I want to do it right here.”
He might be up already, and even though I probablyshouldwait to reply, I can’t help myself.
“We land around nine-thirty. I need a shower—trust me—but I’ll meet you on that bench at ten.”
The littlereadnotice appears next to the message, but he doesn’t reply. Odd. Maybe I woke him up?
Ryker taps his ear. “Alpha Team to Base. We’re on the transpo about to head home. I’ll contact you on our private channel in a few minutes.” Circling his finger in the air, he signals the pilot to take off before moving to the back of the plane to talk to his wife.
West and Inara are asleep in seconds, and Raelynn pulls out a small notebook and starts writing. Her instincts were spot on in the field, but she needs to learn how to trust her team. Unsurprising as she barely knows any of us. Ryker or West will give her “the talk” when we get back. Remind her that going off on her own could get her—or any of us—killed, and then assign her climbing wall drills for a solid week. Or worse. Make her clean the whole warehouse.
I’ve done it. It’snotfun.
Despite how worn out I am, every time I close my eyes, I see the picture of Q sitting on that little bench. I’ll message him again in an hour. Until then, I’ll fantasize about how good it’s going to feel to kiss him outside in the sun.
