Muscle memory kicks in as I buckle up and Thane passes me a headset.But I never take my eyes from her.
The only woman I’ve ever loved.
Ever will.
“Here are the blocker bags.” Thane tosses me two electronics bags and I drop the cell phone and the satellite phone inside and seal them up.
A former SEAL named Colt Cardiff is already opening his kit, caring for her wounds.
In the midst of the noise and darkness, when she looks at me, it’s a physical punch.
“She needs fluids,” I tell Colt.
“Yeah, yeah.” He gives me a sharp look.“I got your girl, don’t worry about it.Just sit over there and decompress.”
CHAPTER 21
Compared to the vast terrifying forest the helicopter should feel like a safe cocoon. Instead it feels like a blacked out tin can with no air inside.
Shifting in my seat, I try to shake the sensation that my skin is shrinking.
“I’m going to check you over,” the medic kneeling at my feet says through the headset as his eyes hold mine in the cabin lit only by red lights.
“I’m pretty sore.”
His expression hardens as he glances at Ryker. “We’ll get you fixed up.”
The blades thrum overhead, a relentless pounding roar that vibrates through my bones. The chopper tilts and I jolt, hissing in a breath.
I’m safe.
Iknowthat.
But my body hasn’t gotten the message. I’m queasy. Shaking inside. Overstimulated like I’ve had ten cups of coffee and got on a carnival ride.
Don’t throw up.Not in front of them.
The medic gathers both my hands in his gloved ones, turning my wrist for a look.
“She’s got some deep wounds on her wrists,” he reports to Ryker, or whoever he’s talking to.
“It was plastic zip-tie cuffs,” I stammer, but my brain stalls out as I’m flooded with horrific memories. The van—the smell and the pain comes back in a flash. I must flinch because his hands tighten to steady me.
“Easy. You’re safe here. Two minutes and I’ll have them bandaged.”
“He has them too,” I say, hoarse, motioning at Ryker with my chin.
Blood is caked on both his arms. There are deep cuts carved into his skin from the restraints he fought for god knows how long.
“Look at him, too, please.”
“I’m fine,” Ryker replies in his headset as he looks at me like…
Like I’m the world.
“You’re not fine,” I insist.
The hunter’s shirt he’s wearing is pushed up on his forearms, he’s torn up from wrist to his elbows. Plus the cuts from tree branches on his face and neck.
