I make a sound that might be his name, but it comes out wrong. A sob. A gasp. A thing with teeth.
He drops to his knees in front of me, gun still in one hand, the other already checking my face, my throat, my arms.
“Where are you hurt?”
“I’m okay.”
His eyes blaze. “Don’t lie to me right now.”
“My wrists.” My voice shakes. “Just my wrists. Maybe my ribs from the car. I don’t know.”
His jaw clenches.
“Knife,” he barks.
Someone puts one in his hand. He cuts the zip ties with terrifying care, like the plastic personally offended him but my skin is holy.
The second my hands are free, I fall into him.
He catches me.
Of course he does.
His arms lock around me, hard enough to hurt, not enough for me to care. His face buries in my hair. His whole body shakes once.
Just once.
But I feel it.
“I’ve got you,” he says, voice rough.
I clutch his cut. “I thought you wouldn’t find me.”
His hand grips the back of my neck. “Never.”
One word.
No room for doubt.
Behind him, Brianna sobs. “Talia, please. Please, tell them I didn’t mean it. Tell them he made me.”
I stiffen.
Shadow starts to turn, but I grab his cut tighter.
“No,” I whisper.
His eyes come back to me.
I look past him.
Brianna is on the floor with one biker standing over her, wrists zip-tied now. Her face is wet. Her hair a mess. She looks young again.
Small.
Familiar.
Fake.
