Page 129 of Savage Surrender

“Kate.”

I reach for him. “What is it?”

I loosen his collar and pull the fabric away from his neck as if that will help. His skin is hot beneath my fingers. His eyes have begun to water, and when another cough folds him forward, I put my arm around his waist automatically.

“Slowly,” I tell him. “Try to breathe slowly.”

He grips my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. “Mar—” The word breaks into a thin, rough wheeze.

“Marcy,” I offer.

The woman who brought me to his office.

Emmett nods, then loses his balance. One knee strikes the rug, and his glasses slide down his nose. I fix them before I can stop myself.

“Please help me.” The plea comes out in a gasp, loud enough that I look at the office door, half expecting someone to burst through it.

If I opened it and yelled for her, Marcy would come running and press the injector into his skin.

Nothing would change.

I’m close enough for his fingers to wrap around my wrist, and the fear in his face nearly gets me to my feet. I want to help him. I want the man I loved to still be inside this body where I can save him again.

“You aren’t the man I thought you were.”

His grip tightens, but he wobbles and falls onto his side.

Tears blur everything now. “And if I help you, you’ll hurt her again.”

His eyes close as the ragged wheeze in his throat goes quiet.

I move toward the door to find Marcy. Behind me, there’s nothing but silence.

27

WELLER

The door slams, and Owen’s fist hits it before the sound has finished.

“Stop the van.”

He grabs the handle and holds on, head dropped, shoulders heaving, his knuckles bleaching around the latch.

Owen wrenches at the handle as we move farther away from her.

I catch him around the chest, but he comes backward into me with enough force to knock my bad ankle against the leg of the stool, then twists, elbow driving into my ribs as he tries to get his feet under him.

“Ezra.” Owen’s voice is enormous in the cramped space. “Fucking turn around. Now. I can’t do this.”

Ezra ignores him and keeps driving. She’s with Freddie. She’s safe.

Owen bangs a fist against the metal wall of the van. Then Tristan stands, catches a fistful of Owen’s shirt, and shoves him down hard.

“Fucking quit.” Tristan’s hand remains twisted in his shirt with a death grip. “You’re making it worse.”

Owen looks up at him, wild-eyed and furious. “You think I don’t know that?”

Bianca’s scent is everywhere, in my shirt and on our skin.