be in my best interest.
My struggles cease, and I pant against the pain as he digs. Finally, blessedly, he locates the tracker and excises it from my flesh. Crazy Mr. Rodgers pats my shoulder.
“There now. See? That wasn’t so bad. And you deserve something special for being so very honest with me.” He holds out his hand. The man with the knife passes over a bandage, one of those big square adhesive things. Mr. Crazy places the bandage and even leans down to “kiss it to make it better.”
I swear, if Griff and the rest of Alpha team don’t get here soon, I’m going to hurl like there’s no tomorrow. In fact, I’d love to barf on Crazy Mr. Rogers. I won’t. Because, you know—self-preservation leads to survival, and survival is my jam.
I should be more terrified, but frankly, I’m pissed.
Been here. Done that. Please just for once, I’d love a surprise. I don’t want the damn scars. I want a medal. A freakin’ survivors’ medal. And I want off this damn merry-go-round. I’m tired. I’m just tired.
The man with the knife opens a window and tosses out the tiny tracking device. My entire body sags in defeat. I have just the one tracker left, but I can only use it in extreme circumstances. If this crazy man really does have a detector at the hangar, I can’t risk turning on the tracker behind my ear.
Hanger means airplanes. As much as it sickens me to think about it, I need to keep my last tracker in reserve for when we get to wherever it is we’re going.
“Now, we don’t have to worry about any of those men ruining our fun. Do we?” He hugs me to his chest, and I let him.
I curl against him like a little girl clinging to her daddy as my gut churns and acid rises in the back of my throat. Meanwhile, I plan my escape.
There are four of them and one of me. I see no way out of this mess, but I’m a survivor. Somehow, I’ll find a way through this. We pull off the main highway and into a steady stream of people headed toward the airport. Prominent signs point the way to Arrivals and Departures, but we take an access road, heading to the private side of the airport.
We pass rows and rows of industrial hangars, some prominently marked with well-known shipping giants. Others are less well marked. The hangar we pull into has no signage on the front. The SUV pulls to a stop. The men pile out. Crazy Mr. Rogers gives me a little shove, and I slowly crawl out of the back seat and exit the vehicle. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum bracket me the moment I’m out of the car. One grabs my left arm. The other grabs my right. They march me forward to let Crazy Mr. Rogers out of the vehicle.
He takes my arm. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum step aside, and all civilized like, we walk toward a waiting plane.
The urge to run overwhelms me, but there’s no way to activate the last tracker. I missed my opportunity.
I hate my life. Absolutely hate it.
The driver of the vehicle, who walks in front of us, suddenly smacks the side of his neck. He stumbles and pulls something looking like a feather out of his neck. He turns around, eyes wide, and collapses on the ground.
Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum draw their weapons, but then they slap hand to neck. This time, because they’re closer, the tiny darts are visible. Their jaws drop. Their limbs twitch. They stagger and fall.
Mr. Crazy grabs me tight, pressing my back to his chest. He whirls around, facing the unknown threat, and puts a knife to my throat.
“I’ll kill her!” He backs up toward the small jet.
The stairs are down. A man peeks out from the opening. I’m dragged backward.
Hot. Stinging. The knife slices my skin. I close my eyes and hold back a whimper. Blood drips down my neck. For now, it’s only a flesh wound, but it won’t take much for that to change.
“You’re done, Townsend. Let the girl go.” My eyes snap open with the unmistakable sound of Griff’s voice.
Our gazes lock. He holds up a weird-looking gun and feeds me strength across the impossible distance separating us.
Thirty-Five
Griff
Dead cold inside, I erase my emotions. All that anger? Banked. Fear for Moira’s safety? Can’t deal with that shit right now. Fury for the prick who has his hands on my woman? Oh, that’s a