I didn’t thank him.
I turned and moved, my steps measured until I cleared the hallway, then faster. The building’s orderly calm grated against the urgency climbing my spine. I pushed through the rear door and stepped into the alley.
Rain slicked the ground. Brick walls rose high on either side.
My blood went cold when I spotted the white van near the loading bay. Its rear doors were closed, and there were no boxes or crates in sight. There was also no Artemis.
I crossed the distance in long strides and grabbed the handle.
Locked.
I didn’t knock. Gritting my teeth, I braced my shoulders and pulled at the doors with all the force I had restrained since entering the city. Metal screamed as the doors burst open.
The smell hit me first: oil and human sweat.
Then I saw her.
Artemis was bound to a metal chair tipped on its side, her wrists tied behind her back, her hair damp and tangled. Her face was pale, eyes wide and stunned.
The man standing over her whirled around, alarm flashing over his face.
I closed the distance in a single step and kicked him in the chest. He flew backward and slammed into the side of the van with a satisfying thud.
I dropped down beside Artemis, my hands shaking as I tore through the restraints. The plastic snapped under my grip like thread. Her breathing hitched when Ifreed her wrists.
I scooped her up without thinking. She weighed nothing. Her head tucked instinctively against my chest, and my chest twisted at the trust in that movement.
Behind us, the man groaned as he stood up.
“That’s the quietest the bitch’s been since I got her in here,” he slurred. “Fucking take her back. Useless.”
I turned. Still holding Artemis, I crossed the space again and kicked him in the chest a second time.
He hit the wall harder this time. His body went slack. I didn’t look to see if he was breathing.
I carried Artemis out of the van and into the rain, my focus narrowing to the steady rise and fall of her chest against mine.
Neither of us said a word, but the world had shifted.
Whoever had dared to do this had made a serious fucking mistake.
I carried her through the back door and into the staff corridor before my mind allowed anything else in. The space was narrow and utilitarian, with stone walls and a low bench bolted beneath a coat rack. A single overhead light hummed with quiet insistence, and it smelled faintly of cleaning solution and damp wool.
I carefully set her down on the bench.
She swayed once, then braced herself against the wall. “I’m fine,” she said quickly.
The speed with which she said it mattered.
“What hurts?” I asked.
“My wrists,” she said, rolling them gently. “And my ego.”
I didn’t smile as I crouched in front of her. Rain clung to her coat. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, damp and sticking to her cheeks. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Adrenaline had not finished burning through her yet.
I examined her hands. The red marks wringing her wrists were already darkening. Nothing broken, though. No unnatural swelling. I pressed lightly along her forearms.
She hissed. “Okay, that part hurts.”
