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Pierce drew a sharp breath. “Marcus—”
“Marcus went to New Orleans the day after you were taken,” I told him, then smacked my forehead. “Shit! I meant to call him and give him an update.”
He shook his head, pushed up on his elbows despite the distressed noise that wrung from Dr. Nikas. “No. No. They have him.”
Shock held me in its grip for several seconds. “You’re wrong,” I finally managed to force out. “That’s not possible. He was with me that evening.”
“Angel, believe me.” His eyes met mine. They were light grey rather than deep brown now, but I recognized the force behind them. “Saberton has him.”
I stumbled to my feet. Somehow all the air was gone from the room. Brian said something to Pierce, face contorted in anger and distress, yet I couldn’t make out the words. Dr. Nikas reached for me, worry darkening his eyes, but I took another step back then turned and rushed out of the room.
As soon as I stepped into the hallway I could breathe again, but fury spurred me on. It took me a couple of tries, but I finally found Andrew upstairs. He was dozing on one of two twin beds in an otherwise unfurnished room, shackled by one wrist and one ankle to the frame of the bed. I closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him close. He jerked out of the doze, eyes flying open in shock as he brought his free hand up in instinctive defense.
“Your people have Marcus?” I yelled without a single speck of calm whatsoever.
“What? Shit!”
I shook him, rattling the chain on his wrist shackle along with the teeth in his head. “Do you motherfuckers have Marcus Ivanov?”
His expression went stony. “Why do you think that?”
A low growl throbbed through the room. Mine. I bared my teeth. “Don’t fuck with me. I have a rel
iable source, so answer my fucking question!”
His gaze flicked around the room in an instinctive search for escape before he controlled himself. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. Saberton has him.”
Breathing hard, I released him and took a step back. “Anyone else there I need to know about?”
“He’s the only other one in New York besides Pietro Ivanov. And Griffin now.”
No way was I going to correct him about Pietro. “When did your people take Marcus?”
Andrew tugged his shirt straight. “Evening, the same day as the others. He was a secondary target since Archer intercepted Dr. Nikas before we could get to him.”
A chill began to work its way down my spine. “How . . . ? How was he taken?”
“In his house,” Andrew replied with annoying calm. “Not even a fight.”
“What? A home invasion?” I felt almost lightheaded. “Your people busted in and grabbed him?”
His mouth twitched in faint amusement. “You want the play-by-play?”
Clenching my fists, I advanced on him again. “I am so not in the mood for your bullshit.”
He drew back but recovered quickly. “Not so dramatic as breaking in and grabbing him,” he said with a tight smirk. “The team kicked back in his house and waited for him to walk through the front door. Took him down with tranqs in seconds. He had no mods, which made it easy.”
A desire filled me to smash a fist into that arrogant face, and I stood trembling with hands and teeth clenched for several seconds as I fought it back, only doing so because this was Naomi’s brother. Besides, one nose-breaking a day was probably a good limit.
I turned and exited without another word, slammed the door behind me, then returned to Pierce’s room. He was sitting up a bit more now, and already looked more stable. He began to speak as I entered but stopped at the look on my face.
“They took him less than an hour—” I paused to fight past the knot in my throat. “—less than an hour after we broke up.”
Pierce glanced at Dr. Nikas and Brian, and they both exited at the unspoken request.
“Why the break up?” he asked, calm eyes resting on me with surprising gentleness.
I groped for the words to explain it. “He told me he got accepted to law school. I was so damn happy for him, y’know?” I rubbed at my eyes, not surprised to find them wet. “And then he said, ‘Hey, we’re moving to New Orleans, and I’ll find you a job there.’” I bit my lip to stop it from quivering, then moved forward and sat on the edge of the bed again. “He didn’t even ask. Didn’t discuss it.” I met his eyes. “It wasn’t a Fuck You breakup. I told him I couldn’t go with him, that I needed to—” I took a deep breath. “—needed to keep figuring myself out and that I still wanted to be friends.” I cringed at how lame that sounded now. Ugh.
