Robbie wrenches my arms behind my back. More ropes, then I’m moving. Being dragged by my bound ankles.
Oh, God. Not the box.Not the box.
The concrete cools. Ice cold now. Cold can burn like fire. I forgot that. Or did I?
“N-no…” I moan when the two of them lower me into the crate.
Theo tips a fresh bottle of water to my lips, and I suck down two gulps before he pulls it away.
The lid forces my head down, and darkness presses in on me. Metal. A lock. Footfalls. Getting quieter. Then nothing.Silence.
My breaths come faster and faster. The pitch black around me spins. But I don’t pass out. I can’t. They’ve trapped me with my panic. No way out. No way through.
Ronan. I’m sorry.
I picture his face. The rough stubble. Recall his scent. Fresh rain. Clean and woodsy. But his voice…I can’t remember his voice. Can’t hear it. And I need it. So badly. Need…him.
* * *
Ronan
Snow falls steadily outside the conference room window. No one’s gone home. Hell, even Marjorie is still here.
Tank found the car Theo and Oliver used in the corner of an underground parking garage. A few drops of blood led from the trunk to the adjacent parking space, which means they used a second car—one we can’t possibly trace—to move her.
Ripper took over for Wren a little after 9:00 p.m. Ryker practically had to drag her away from the computer.
The door swings open, and I turn away from the window. West Sampson, former Navy SEAL and one of Ryker’s team, takes one look around the room and shakes his head. “Ford? Get some sleep. You too, Clive. The probie will wake you in three hours.”
Raelynn, her blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, edges around the SEAL and dumps her pack in the corner of the room. She only started with Hidden Agenda a couple of months ago, but she helped rescue Quinton, Graham’s guy, less than twenty-four hours after her initiation exercise. “The probie this, the probie that,” she mutters. “When are we goin’ to hire someone else, anyway?”
“When Ry says so.” West’s sharp reply shuts her up, and she claims a corner of the conference table for her laptop and phone. “Ronan, pick your jaw up off the floor. Did you really think we weren’t going to come?”
“I…” The voice in my head won’t shut up, and my shoulders slump. “I don’t know what any of us are doin’ here. She’s gone, and the cartel is goin’ to kill her.”
Dax swivels his chair to face me. “If we gave up every time we ran into a brick wall, half of us wouldn’t be alive right now.”
He’s right. Wren. Trevor. Joey. Ripper. Nodding, I reach for the water pitcher Marjorie fills at regular intervals. My hands shake, and West eases it from my grip. “You’re taking a couple of hours too, Ronan. As soon as you tell us everything that’s happened in the past few days. We’ve heard the second-hand accounts. We need yours.”
“What good is that goin’ to do?” I down the glass of water in four gulps, and West refills it, glaring at me.
“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. No detail is too small where these fuckers are concerned. Names, descriptions, who’s the muscle? The brains? Both? Fighting styles. It’s all important.”
In the upper corner of the video screen, a timer counts up. Zephyr’s been gone for almost eight hours now.
“They had me for three days. They’d shove me into the storage trunk when they were done with every torture session. Seven, eight times, I think.”
Three days. Seventy-two hours. Eight times in the trunk. If they kept a regular schedule, same time in the trunk as out of it…
Meeting West’s gaze, I swallow hard. “Based on what Zephyr told me about the last time they captured her, they’ll spend at least four or five hours torturin’ her, then lock her in a small, dark space for the same amount of time. Eventellin’me about it left her shattered. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever known, but these fuckers are twisted bastards who won’t stop until they destroy her. And only after she’s broken so thoroughly, there’s nothin’ left, will they let her die.”
Understanding swims in the SEAL’s eyes. His expression never changes, nor does his stance. But he nods. “Then let’s get to work.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zephyr
My constant shiveringslows to the occasional shudder. This is bad. My hands and feet are numb. I can’t feel my nose. My lips.
