I know I need to move. I’m a sitting duck in the van, but I need to work out my next move and find something besides the empty gun to use for protection.
Using my teeth, I try to break the zip ties, but it’s obvious it’s a waste of time. Searching the van for another gun, I pull out a backpack hidden under the front seat, but it’s full of documents and bundles of cash. I dig my hand back under the seat and search for anything to use.
The hope I had of everything being over is extinguished when the shadows in the hangar start to move. From the other side of me, there is more activity as two men climb out of the jet and start approaching the van.
They’re both armed, but instead of stopping, they run faster and start firing inside the hangar.
I don’t stick around to watch. I haul ass.
But my legs are like rubber, and now that I’m so close to escaping all the bullshit going on, it’s like something inside of me breaks or got broken, because I can’t run in a straight line to save myself. In fact, I can barely run at all.
Behind me, the distinctive popping of guns firing continues, and I risk a look. My heart sinks. Only one man is standing at the hangar entrance now; the other one is racing after me.
And he’s fast, so fucking fast.
He’s big too.
I twist back around and pump my arms harder.
I go from wobbling over the tarmac to running mid-air as I get hoisted off my feet. I buck and thrash, trying to escape, but he holds me to his chest while he cuts the zip-ties. As soon as my hands release, I bolt. Or try to, but I barely get one foot in front of the other before he catches me again and throws me over his shoulder.
I use both my arms and legs to try to escape.
“Fuck me, you’re a bloody firecracker,” he mumbles, easily dodging my hits. “Settle down,” he barks suddenly. Viciously.
He unleashes the full effect of his designation and renders me voiceless.
I whine in anger at the way he drains everything from me in a single, powerful command. No matter how hard I try to fight through his compulsion, I end up limp over his shoulder.
And I hear him swearing under his breath in frustration when he turns around and starts walking back toward the aircraft, which makes no sense. There’s an eerie silence that accompanies us, kind of like he’s annoyed at himself, except he doesn’t let me go. He just keeps walking toward the private jet.
I think my fight really gives out at that point. Maybe because I’m so empty of everything, I’m more sensitive to the way his designation affects me, but whatever it is, I don’t miss when he pulls back his hold. With each step, more of me returns. Along with sharpening awareness, my panic lessens and sound returns.
And I realize someone is in the middle of a good old belly laugh.
It’s weird because I have heard it before.
Just recently too.
“Oh feck, Santiago, ya fucked up. If Valentine sees what you’ve done to his wee wife, he’s going to beat you stupid.”
And then I put the laugh and the Irish brogue together. Ronin.
I feel a shuddering sigh from the man still carrying me like a sack of flour over his shoulder. “How was I to know she’d be able to fight so hard? I told you, you should go get her.”
He has an accent as well. It’s hard to place what nationality he is, but on top of it, there’s also an air of education to his voice. English isn’t the only language he speaks; you can hear it in how his words are overly practiced.
“Yeah. Clearly, I’m seeing the error of your ways now,” Ronin says, and without looking up, I know he’s still smiling. “You’re on your own there, and you’ve got to know you’re feckin’ screwed. And so are we if we don’t get in the air in the next few minutes.”
I get jostled around, nearly forgotten, as the Alpha under me argues with Ronin. “We can’t leave her here. Valentine will murder me!”
“It’s still on the cards, no matter how you explain it, Santiago. Do what you need to do, and feckin’ apologize for barking in her face. But we need to fucking go before he gets here for about a hundred or so reasons, ya wee bastard.”
The man holding me makes a noise, like a frustrated grunt, but in the next breath, he lowers me to my feet. Not dropped. There’s a careful gentleness to his movements, and when I come face-to-face with Santiago, I’m completely robbed of the ability to speak. Again.
He is absolutely stunning. There would not be a person alive who would say he isn’t, either. He’s one of those people who would turn heads wherever he goes. His skin is like steeped tea, his hair is jet black, and his brown eyes are so dark, they’re like molasses. He might be drop-dead gorgeous, but his beauty doesn’t do anything for me. Not in the least.
Looking past his features, I can also see very clearly, and easily, that he has the aura and presence that only really strong Alphas do. Valentine has the same quality, and without checking, I know Ronin does too. I’m sure it’s part of the reason why they bonded over a shared vision, but it’s also why Ronin and Santiago are bickering now, and why Santiago is worried about Valentine.
