West scribbles note on his tablet, then returns his focus to the screen. “Open the other one, Rip.”
Oh, God.
The windowless room upstairs is completely bare, save for a thin mattress. No furniture. No blanket or pillow. No lamp.
“What the fuck?” Wyatt asks.
Swallowing hard, I peer up at him. “He’s letting me know he can take everything away. There used to be a bed in there. A small dresser with clothes. A nightstand with a lamp. Sometimes a treadmill—since insisted I keep myself in shape, even when he locked me in there for days at a time.”
Wyatt’s low growl should reassure me. But when Ripper opens the last photo, any hope I had vanishes.
Our plane. Sitting at the private airfield forty-five minutes outside of town.
With each plan West drew up, my confidence faltered a little more. Now, it’s shattered into dust. We can’t win. Not going in blind. I need air. Need to see the stars. To feel the breeze on my cheeks before I can’t anymore.
Shoving at Wyatt, I twist out of his embrace. Before I can take two steps, I slam into Ryker, and it’s like hitting a brick wall. One that catches my elbow to stop me from falling.
“Hope—”
“Let me go.” My voice sounds so small. So afraid. Because I am. As soon as he loosens his grip, I run for the back door. The yard is nothing but dirt, and I fall to my hands and knees. My breath saws in and out of my chest, each gasp harder and harder until the canopy of stars above starts to fade.
“Count to ten, darlin’.” Wyatt. He kneels next to me, his quiet, deep voice prompting me. “One. Two…”
By five, I know I won’t pass out. But I also know what comes next. He helps me to my feet, but I resist when he tries to guide me back inside. “No. I need a few minutes out here. By myself.”
“I am not leaving you,” he says sharply. “Not after what we just saw.”
“You have to let me go.” I stumble back, prepared to run—even though I know he’d catch me. “Going in blind? It’s suicide. He knows I’m here. Probably knows I’m not alone. What if he has more men now? He’s smart, Wyatt. And careful. He’ll know who you are. He’ll expect you to have friends. What if there are ten guys with guns? Or twenty? What then?”
“She’s right.” West slips out the back door, Ryker following on his heels. “The plane’s untraceable, but nothing and no one—not even with our resources—can make FAA records disappear completely. I’d bet money he doesn’t know how many we are. Or who we are. But he knows we exist.”
Wyatt stares at West like he just started speaking another language. “So you’re just giving up?”
Ryker scans our surroundings. “Hell no. But we need a new plan. One you’re definitely not going to like.”
“No fucking way,” Wyatt growls. “Over my dead body.”
It takes me several seconds to figure out what’s going on, but when I meet West’s gaze, all the puzzle pieces fall into place. “You’re sending me back to Simon.”
“No. They’re not. We’re leaving. I’ll drive us back to Seattle if I have to, and as soon as we pick up Murphy, we’ll disappear.” Wyatt reaches for my hand, but I dart to West’s side.
“If we do that, Bettina’s dead.” The first prickling of tears burns my eyes, but I force them away. “I’ll go,” I say, peering up at West. “If you promise me one thing.”
“I’m listening,” the former SEAL says as Wyatt lunges for me. Ryker blocks him, throwing out one massive arm and catching him across the chest.
“You all walk away. Drop me off half a mile from the compound, and leave. Go back to Seattle where it’s safe.”
Wyatt lets loose with a string of obscenities until Ryker shoves him toward the house. “Back inside. Now. Everyone. We’re too fucking exposed out here.”
My heart breaks into a million jagged pieces when West shakes his head. “Abandoning you? Not gonna happen. No man—no one—left behind. Come on. We only get one shot at this and we’re running out of time.”
With each step, a little more of me goes numb. Simon will kill all of them. Because of me. And there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
20
Wyatt
Sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, I glare at Ryker’s back. He stands between me and Hope while West outlines the plan. Smart move. If I didn’t think he’d lay me out flat, I’d throw Hope over my shoulder and run. The idea of sending her back to that asshole—even for five minutes—fills me with a sickening combination of rage and dread. Abandoning these men and women who claim we’re family should be the last thing I want to do. But Hope comes first. Always.
