Insatiable (Steel Brothers Saga #12) - Helen Hardt Page 0,12

to eat?” I asked.

“Pizza,” Alex said dryly.

“Pizza?” I said. “You’re a personal trainer, Dominic.”

“And I can’t eat gluten,” Colin added.

“Then you’ll go hungry, won’t you?” Alex said, untying Colin’s ankles, and not gently.

“Just eat the toppings, Colin,” I said.

Dominic hadn’t responded to my personal training comment. I tried again.

“Don’t tell me you regularly eat pizza,” I said to him. “Not with that body.”

“Stop trying to suck up.” Alex yanked me off the couch.

“Who’s sucking up? Your brother’s ripped. So are you.” No lie there. Alex’s muscles put some men I knew to shame. Not my brothers, though. And certainly not Bryce.

I looked over at Colin. He’d been a good-looking man with a great physique once. Tom Simpson had stolen all of that from him. Now he was thin and scarred. A shadow of his former self.

“Just come on. You too.” She yanked Colin up by the arm.

“You’re pretty rough with us for someone who’s supposedly doing this to protect us,” I couldn’t help saying.

So much for trying to be nicer, though Dominic, not Alex, was my target.

“I can get rougher,” she said. “Come on. The food’s waiting.”

I was no shrinking violet, but Alex had muscles on her muscles. She could most likely take me, especially since I wasn’t at full capacity. I smiled—sort of—and followed her to the kitchen.

Dominic and Dave were already at the table.

“Help yourselves,” Dominic said. “There’s only water to drink. Sorry.”

“Water is the best way to hydrate,” I said sweetly. Sort of. “As a trainer, you should know that.”

“It is, except when extra electrolytes are necessary,” he said. “You two should be fine with plain water, though.”

“How did you get us here?” I asked. “My head doesn’t hurt, so you couldn’t have knocked me unconscious.”

“A small injection in your neck,” he said.

I trailed my fingers to my neck, feeling around. Sure enough, there was a tiny area of irritation. “You drugged us.”

“Very safely,” he said.

Again, I held back the words I wanted to spew at him. “What if one of us had had an allergy?”

“Unlikely,” he said.

I inhaled. The pizza smelled good to me, and my stomach growled again.

Dominic chuckled. “Go on. I can tell you’re hungry.”

“I need a fork,” Colin said. “I can’t eat the crust.”

Alex with the eye roll again. She opened a drawer and shoved a fork at Colin.

He grunted a thank-you.

I took a bite of pizza and nearly swallowed it whole. Run-of-the-mill pizza wasn’t really my thing. When I made pizza, I did it with style and panache—prosciutto and provolone, or kalamata olives and goat cheese. But damn, regular old pizza—pepperoni and mozzarella—was totally hitting the spot.

I had downed one piece and half of another before I spoke again. “Why is it unlikely that we’d have an allergic reaction to whatever you stuck us with?”

“Because we’re given detailed information on everyone we deal with.”

“Deal with? Is that your nice way of saying ‘kidnap’?”

So much for my flirting idea.

Dominic cleared his throat. “We’re given detailed information, and neither of you had any drug allergies listed.”

“Was Colin’s gluten allergy listed?” I asked sarcastically.

Colin looked up. “It’s not an actual allergy, and I don’t have celiac disease, to my knowledge. I just can’t eat it. Not since…”

“Tom?” I asked.

He nodded, looking down at the naked pizza crust on his plate. He’d eaten the toppings, as I’d suggested.

He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t press it. I guessed he’d probably had only stale bread or something like that to eat, and now it didn’t agree with him. Or maybe it was psychological. That was more likely.

Whatever it was, even the toppings didn’t agree with him.

Colin retched, turning his head. At least he hit the floor instead of the table.

Chapter Nine

Bryce

Dying.

Clearly, I was dying.

Tears poured from my eyes, and vision eluded me.

My sweet little son.

My mother.

Marjorie. Precious Marjorie.

I’d never see any of their faces again.

“Got you,” a gruff voice said.

I was moving now, lying down and moving. Still coughing, choking, gasping.

Joe? Where was Joe?

Somehow I’d always known we’d die together. It was no less than we deserved for unwillingly letting a friend die and keeping a dirty secret for my father.

I deserved this…

I deserved death…

“Pepper spray,” the blur in white said to me.

“Pepper spray?” I rasped out. But all that actually came out was a choking gasp.

“Don’t try to talk, Mr. Simpson,” the same voice said. “It’ll take another hour or so for the effects to wear off, but nothing will be permanent. Your vision and voice will be normal again.”

Pepper spray? That bastard attacked us with pepper