“I screwed up, my hip hit some propped-up drywall. He blinds me with the
phone.” My body tenses. “He’s coming at me, and the crap all over the floor is
making it a nightmare to get out of the way. Not that he’s doing much better.”
An echo of pain kissing my ribs is followed by the faint sound of my gun clattering into the dark. “Shit! My gun’s gone, my leg just gave out, and Kayden’s yelling at me. He needs to shut up. Up, get up, Cyn. No time, he’s kicking the ever-lovin’ crap out of me. Son of bitch. Need to take his legs out.
Get some room to get up.”
“You’re okay, it’s just a memory. Stay with me. You’re on your feet now.”
“Not for long,” I grit out, but my adrenaline eases back, taking panic with it.
Tito’s enraged face takes on demonic proportions as he barrels toward me. “This
is going hurt. Why won’t Kayden shut up? Can’t deal with him and this jackass
at the same damn time. He doesn’t recognize me. Wants to know what I want.”
“What do you tell him?”
“Just looking for a mutual friend. He doesn’t like that.” I hiss as the echoes
of his hits resonated through me. “Bastard hits mean. We’re circling each other
and…” my voice trails off as an ominous click sends ice through me.
Warmth enfolds my cold, cold fingers. “We’re just watching, Cyn,
remember?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a gun to my head. No chance to get it away yet. Just have to
wait it out. They search me and find my knife, then the earpiece.” I try to ignore
the sickening feel of Tito copping a feel, then the terror of seeing my only link
crushed underfoot. “Kayden’s going to be so pissed. He needs to be careful.
They know I have backup. How did they know?”
“Who’s got the gun?”
“Iceman.” My wrists tingle with phantom sensation of plastic tightening, cutting into skin.
“Tell me about him.” Wolf’s command pulls me back from the swirling
chaos of panic and nerves.
“Don’t know him. Graveyard eyes. They don’t fit the rest of the picture.”
“Why?”
Memories collide bringing a startling level of detail considering how dim it
was in the building. “He’s got this generic, American boy-next-door look going
on. Military cut on the hair, close to the scalp, dark blond, leaning toward brown.
Eyes are muddy brown. No scars, no identifying marks, just those eyes. There’s
nothing sane behind them.” My stomach roils. Just a memory, girl, it’s just a memory.
“I’ve got you, Cyn, he can’t touch you. What does he want?”
“Ellery.” The answer was automatic.
“Why?”
Images crash and tumble, but nothing really makes much sense. The dull
thump of a car door. The disorienting sense of being carried. The bittersweet smell of marijuana, and a brief argument overhead.
Everything spins, then settles.
My head feels like an overripe melon, one touch and it’ll burst. The evil animal crouched inside my skull is waiting with a cunning patience. Tied to a chair, unable to move, I can only sit there as Iceman stares at me with a cold, cold smile. Behind him, Tito smirks as he leans against a counter.
“Stay with me, Cyn.”
