The muffled voices of two men floated from inside.
“If you want to keep breathing, you shouldn’t lay a hand onher,” one man said. “Nomar will slit your throat if you fuck around with his woman before he does.”
Rocco moved closer at an angle, giving him a view inside the room. He couldn’t see Jemma but he had no doubt she was inside. Her presence was tangible, like a magnet drawing him closer.
One guard, facing the door, had his arms crossed over his chest. No sign of a weapon in his possession or nearby. The other man had his back to Rocco. He couldn’t tell if the guy was holding a weapon or not.
“How would he know?” the other man challenged. His arm stretched toward a part of the room Rocco couldn’t see from the opening. “Look at that body. She’s fucking sexy as hell.”
A haze of anger rumbled within him, propelling Rocco into action. Slipping inside the door, Rocco pounced on the other man, the knife in his left hand, and executed a swipe of the blade across the man’s neck with surgical precision. With the gun in his right hand, he fired two shots into the first man’s chest.
Rocco moved further into the room.
A sense of dread flooded over him as the silhouette of a woman, slumped on a king-sized bed, came into view. A sharp pang of fear pierced him as he stood rooted to the spot. He couldn’t see her face but he’d had his body wrapped around hers too many times to not recognize who it was.
“Jemma?” His voice cracked the heavy silence, a mix of relief and mounting concern as he rushed to her side. He knelt on the bed next to her, brushing a hand against her skin. She was cold and clammy, a stark contrast to the warmth he was used to emanating from her. A tremor ran through her body but she didn’t stir.
“Open your eyes. It’s me, Rocco. I found you,” he said, tapping her face softly. “Come on, Jemma …”
His mind raced, wondering what the fuck they’d done to her.
Her breathing was too shallow and too slow, a rhythm that sethis heart racing. He’d seen this many times before working in the clinic in San Juan. The invisible chains of fentanyl that took the mind and body hostage. He turned her arms over and saw the tell-tale marks of tracks from needles plunged into her arms.
“Fuck …” Rocco whispered. “You’re okay, Jemma. I promise you, you’re going to get through this. I’m going to help undo everything they did to you.” He paused. From the guard’s conversation, he could only pray that their assessment of the situation was accurate—that neither them nor Nomar had laid a hand on Jemma. She hadn’t been sexually assaulted while held against her will.
That was small comfort as he stared at her.
The woman he loved more than his own life.
The tough, strong, vibrant, fierce woman who owned his heart was a ghost, reduced to a state of vulnerability she couldn’t claw back from.
The urge to protect her and destroy every single fucker who’d had a part in her being this way surged with a ferocity that startled him. The war that had raged between Jemma and Nomar was one he knew he would end. Nomar would never get another chance to hurt Jemma. He would make damn sure of that.
“I heard gunshots. You okay?” Everett’s voice wafted in through the open door.
“They drugged her,” Rocco whispered as he stroked Jemma’s face. He was acutely aware of every inch of her. The softness of her hair as he brushed it back from her ashen face, the delicate curve of her cheek. The way her skin was like ice under his fingertips.
“Sedative?” Everett asked.
He wished. Rocco turned to look at his friend. Everett dragged the other guard away from the doorway, clearing a path for their exit.
“Fentanyl based on her body’s reaction. The only good thing isNomar doesn’t want her dead. It’s the only reason why the hits they gave her weren’t fatal,” Rocco said.
“I’ll get on the comms to the guys. We need an extraction plan. Nomar and his other two guards will be done dumping that woman’s body soon and we need to be long gone,” Everett said, then spoke in hushed tones to Sebastian.
Rocco turned his attention back to Jemma. He grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the bed and adjusted her position to wrap it around her body. His movements were careful. She looked so fragile and delicate. He didn’t want to do anything that caused her pain, even if the fentanyl was dulling her abilities to feel anything.
As he maneuvered her into a position to lift her, Rocco noticed her breath hitched and she flinched from his touch. The move damn near broke his heart. “It’s me, Rocco. You’re safe now.”
She stirred, a slight, almost imperceptible movement that sent waves of hope through him. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing pupils so dilated they swallowed the color from her once vibrant brown eyes. A testament to the fentanyl coursing through her veins. She frowned, a mask of confusion crossing her face. Her gaze was directed toward him, but he sensed she couldn’t make out his features in the fog created by the drugs.
“Rocco.” She announced his name in a slurred whisper as if she didn’t recognize it anymore.
He pressed his forehead against hers, willing her to push past the cloud of drugs in her body and realize who he was. Recognize that she was free from Nomar and safe with him.
“Yes, it’s me, Jemma. I’m here.” Rocco waited for her to respond. He pulled back as her eyelids drooped and then closed again. The drugs were too much, muddling her mind and keeping her from him. For now.
“We’re in here,” Everett said, more urgency in his voice.
