Page 21 of Pucked Around and Found Out

Standing here in this interrogation room with Fiona Williams in my face and four dead friends on the table between us and my body running on nothing but adrenaline and dehydration, I am done waiting.

I am done carrying hope.

Not the fight. The hope that someone else is going to resolve it.

I look at this woman, this powerful, corrupt, utterly self-serving woman who picked up a badge and used it to settle personal scores across a decade and I understand for the first time with total clarity that the only person standing between me and losing everything is me.

I want to win.

Not survive. Not endure. Not get through.

Win.

The cartel. The truth. Fiona paying for what she's done. And Xaden, Xaden looking at me without the war between us, just once, and seeing exactly who is standing in front of him.

All of it. I want all of it.

And I am done waiting for permission to go after it.

“See you soon, Fiona,” I say quietly.

Then I turn my back on her and walk.

My stomach is cramping violently from hunger. My throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper. My entire body aches with exhaustion and dehydration.

I don't know how long I've been locked in this room. Hours? Days?

They're trying to break me. Forcing someone to go without food and water, locking them in a bare room with nothing, it's a classic interrogation tactic.

Except I lived in a cage just like this one for an entire year.

If Walter House didn't break me, this place sure as fuck won't.

I jolt awake when someone shakes me, my head snapping up as I struggle to focus my blurry vision.

“Tatum?” I croak out, my voice barely recognizable.

She purses her lips, trying to hide the worry in her eyes but failing miserably.

“Come on,” she mutters, grabbing my arm and helping me to my feet.

The world spins violently. I sway, my vision tunneling to black at the edges as nausea rolls through me in waves.

“Omen,” I hear Tate say urgently.

Suddenly I'm being lifted off my feet and cradled against a solid chest. The movement makes my stomach lurch and I swallow repeatedly, fighting the bile creeping up my throat.

“He's alive, Tor.” Omen's quiet voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “Carnage is alive.”

The relief that floods through me is so intense it's almost painful. The nausea ebbs slightly and I close my eyes, resting my head against Omen's chest as tears leak from beneath my lashes.

He's alive. He's okay.

“Stop right there!”

Fiona's shrill voice has my eyes snapping open. Omen comes to an abrupt stop and I push weakly against his chest.

He looks down at me, and whatever he sees on my face makes him carefully place me on my feet.