I breathe through the onslaught of comfort bursting through our bond. And I marvel at the way my pack is chasing away the trepidation of the crap we’re about to face. Logically, I know my fears are going to intensify the closer I get, but at the same time, the reprieve from my pack keeps me from blowing things out of proportion.
“The house is in view,” I say, keeping the speed on the slower side, my lights off. I know this road like the back of my hand. I memorized so much of this property before leaving for Russia, not knowing if I’d see it again.
“We’ve arrived and are in position. Hold on for a few more moments and keep rolling slowly forward.”
The call cuts off as the gate comes into view. Without revving the engine, I steer off the road using the momentum to pull the car around and park with my nose facing the direction I came.
As I open the door, anticipation burns exactly like in a horror movie. Leaving the door open, I reach back through to the passenger seat and grab the rudimentary first-aid kit we pulled together after going through the private jet.
In the distance, a dog barks, and it’s the signal I was waiting for.
This cloak-and-dagger approach might be unnecessary, but I’m not about to risk Marco and Deena by my rushing in first. The men Victor sent here would be strong and violent. He probably sent Pedro, knowing how much I hate and fear him. Pedro has always had a nasty fixation on causing me grief. We’d never gotten to the pain part of that, but it simmered each time we were in the same space.
I’m not here to take down people; that’s what my pack is for. I’m only here for Marco and Deena.
I’d put money on Victor expecting me to go after him. The game, from his point of view, only ever had two players. The man is a complete idiot if he thinks he’s the most important piece in all this. Then again, Victor’s ego and his over-inflated self-importance is what started this. It’s why I’m here, and not knocking on his apartment door at Prostasia.
I’m not a religious person, in any sense, but I close my eyes and take a series of long deep breaths, hoping like a motherfucker while I wait for my pack to storm the house.
I’m far enough from the house that I can’t hear what’s going on. Occasionally, there are flashes of lights from inside as they walk through the property room by room. My heart beats louder than the cicadas, and time does strange things while I wait. It feels like a very long time before I hear one of the dogs barking and Santiago yelling my name.
The sound of alarm in Santiago’s voice is like kerosene, flaming my fears. I take off, sprinting down the driveway, the darkness and my panic feeding a sense of blindness. As soon as I see the front door wide open, I seize control of my emotions and feel the shift as my brain switches to doctor mode. Process overrides panic, and anxiety flitters away under the weight of skill and knowledge.
Slowing my pace, I’m nearly blinded when every light inside the house blinks on.
“Electricity is back up,” Santiago yells unnecessarily from the basement.
And I hear him, I could feel him approach, and if I waited a handful of seconds, I would have seen him, but at the same time I’m seeing Deena’s body.
“Move her to the spare room,” I say stoically, racing ahead of Kade and pulling a fresh towel from the linen closet before he’s managed to lift her.
Her awareness is slowly trickling away. As soon as he has her on the bed, I hand him a pair of scissors. “Cut away her clothing.”
I step past him, moving up to her face. “Deena, it’s me.”
When she doesn’t respond, I try again. She’s in shock and, no doubt, a lot of pain. She’s been beaten horribly. Her face is already bruising, one of her eyes swelling.
“Deena, it’s Quinn. You’re going to be okay.” I lean in closer, brushing the hair off her face. “Where’s Marco?”
If he’s not next to her, and the others aren’t back with him, it’s not hard to assume he’s missing.
“Deena, it’s Quinn. Where’s Marco?”
I’ll say it a thousand times to get through if I need to.
“Deena,” I start again, and I see her pupils dilate at my voice.
She struggles to right herself, fighting through the pain and adrenaline. Her movements are jerky, her brain not quite registering what is right in front of her.
“I’m here.”
Her mouth moves, but her voice is a whisper. I lean down closer, and as her focus returns, she tries again. “Quinn.”
“Yes. It’s me. You’re hurt. We’re at the house still. Do you know where Marco is?”
She tries to speak, a soft groan stealing her words as Kade works on cutting her clothes free.
“Where’s Marco?”
