Page 8 of Bound

At once, an important recognition hit.

He’d been asking the wrong question. No way could this be hell.

Then where exactly was he?

“Ah. You are awake. Thank fuck for small miracles.”

Maybe he’d tossed off that hell theory too fast.

Between the mountain of a human who stalked into the room and the take-no-prisoners look across the guy’s formidable features, that much was adding up just as quickly. And much too accurately.

“Define awake.”

He felt safe enough about rasping the jibe, which was only half a joke. He’d been beat to a pulp on many occasions, for reasons both noble and nasty, and felt only slightly worse than this. He was fairly certain that wasn’t the case this time, though the exact details were fuzzy. Logic wasn’t giving him any hints. He was housed like a sultan but being glared down like a convict.

Shit…

“Fair question,” the giant muttered, bypassing a couple of nearby chairs to reposition himself at the foot of the bed. Of course. Establishing more control by maintaining his elevation. “Since my surgeon dug three bullets out of you just as many days ago.”

“Three bullets? Just as many d—” He choked, reaching for a cup of water on the plastic tray nearby. After glugging the liquid, he managed, “Okay, what the actual fuck?”

The hulk barely flinched either brow. “What is the last thing you remember?”

Brick ignored him with matching intention. “Three days,” he muttered. “Shit.”

“What do you remember?”

“Okay, okay. I heard you.” But could he trust the stranger? The inquisition certainly wasn’t small talk. Then again, he wasn’t even cuffed to the bed. Maybe the guy already knew that moving more than an inch was like inviting a thousand knife throwers to take target practice through his gut. And his left arm. And his head. Damn it, his head.

But he had to try the whole remembering thing. For both their sakes.

“Paris,” he stammered. “Yeah. I was there…helping a friend out.”

“Ozias Demos.”

He took a chance on lifting his gaze, grimacing against the ruthless glint off the sea. “That’s right.” No harm in declaring what the guy obviously knew.

“He asked for your assistance in locating Princess Jayd Cimarron.”

Jayd.

It killed him, physically and mentally, to keep his reaction sheathed this time. So help him God, if this dickhead was in cahoots with Trystan Carris and had handed her into that asshole’s hands…

“You care about her.”

He didn’t waste more seconds playing dumb. It’d only piss off the not-so-jolly giant, and he still had no idea who the fucker was. Worse, who he was working with or for.

“She was the asset. I found her. That’s it.”

“Bullshit.”

Brick chuckled. Good Christ, it hurt. “Oh, goodness me. Thank God I don’t have any state secrets to spill. Ooo, you’re so big and frightening, I might just tell you everything.”

The guy flared his nostrils. Beyond that, there was no sign Brick had tread on sensitive territory. The observation was weirdly frightening.

“I do not have time for everything,” he countered. “But I do have all the fucking time in the world to hear why my little sister threatened me with interesting physical harm while defending your honor.”

And there went all the good intentions of holding on to his poker face. Fortunately, his surprise from the hulk’s first revelation covered well for his second. “Your little sister. Well, damn. Jayd is your—”He peered around with fresh focus. “Jayd is your sister, and this…is Arcadia.”