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“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Then a sudden thought occurs to me, and I stiffen. Victoria mentioned using a GPS tracker to find me before. Something Carson slipped into my clothes or my shoes.
I don’t know how the fuck anyone could’ve gotten a tracker onto me or my men between when we arrived at Luca’s place and now. No one anticipated the night would end up like this, not even the Viper himself. So it seems unlikely.
But still…
“Trackers,” I say, glancing up at Ryland, who stands beside me. “We should check him for any kind of GPS tracker or bug. And ourselves too, just to be safe.”
“Yeah.” He nods, leaning over the bed and patting Dominic down. He rips his shirt open, checking to make sure he doesn’t have anything taped to his torso, then pats down both legs and tugs his shiny black shoes off. He hands them over to Theo. “Should be a knife in the kitchen.”
“On it.”
Theo takes the shoes and disappears, and I kick my own shoes off, pulling the flash drive and connector out of my dress’s hidden pockets before smoothing my hands over the fabric.
My search doesn’t yield anything, and neither does Ryland’s. We should be clean, but I still can’t shake the nagging worry that someone will manage to track us anyway.
“Nothing,” Theo announces when he returns a moment later. He drops Dom’s shoes on the floor beside the bed. The soles have been torn out, rendering them basically useless.
“Should we kill him?” Ryland’s voice is hard, and although it’s phrased as a question, it almost sounds more like a statement. Like he’s already made up his mind.
I grit my teeth, my stomach clenching. “No.”
All three of the men glance at me. Marcus doesn’t exactly look surprised, but Theo’s eyebrows rise a little.
My lips feel dry, and I dart my tongue out to wet them before I speak again. “He saved our lives. I don’t know why he did it, or if he even meant to. But we should at least find out if he did before we kill him. I don’t like the idea of killing him while a debt is owed. I don’t want that hanging over me, forever unpayable.”
Ryland’s hazel eyes are hard as he catches my gaze. “He kidnapped you. Tried to kill you. I’d say this makes you fucking even.”
“I know.” I swallow, shoving down the nausea that turns my stomach. I fucking hate all of this. “But I still think we should wait.”
Ryland’s lips press together. I can practically see the conflicting impulses raging inside him—the urge to give me what I want fighting against the urge to end anyone who threatens me.
I lay my hand on his arm, looking up into his eyes. “If it comes down to it, if we find out he was trying to hit us instead of them, I’ll kill him myself.”
He sighs, his body relaxing slightly under my touch. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to my lips. “You’re a better fucking person than I am, Ayla.”
“Not better,” I murmur as he draws away. “Not by a long shot.”
Dumber, maybe.
But despite the situation Luca has forced us into, despite the constant refrain of “kill or be killed,” I can’t quite bring myself to murder a man in cold blood. I couldn’t even pull the trigger on the man who raped me as a child, although I’m hardly sorry Jordan is dead.
Ryland kisses me again, and I lean toward him as we break apart, chasing the feeling of his lips against mine.
“All right.” Marcus glances from Theo to Ryland, and when they both meet his gaze, he nods. “He’ll live. For now.”
He strides from the room and returns a moment later with a roll of duct tape. He uses it to bind Dominic’s hands and feet together. Then he pushes the man’s dark, blood-matted hair away from his face. “Gash on his forehead, and a nasty fucking lump. Probably split the skin when he hit his head. You find any other injuries, Ryland?”
“No.”
Leaving the trussed-up man on the bed, Marcus steps back and rests a hand on my lower back, steering me from the bedroom. “Come on, angel. I think there’s a bottle of whiskey in this house somewhere.”
He leads me into the living room, and I sink onto the couch, grateful to give my shaky legs a little reprieve. I’ve been standing upright by sheer force of will, and even that is starting to fade. Hiking the fabric of my dress up a little, I reach beneath the skirt and undo the thigh
holster, setting it and the gun on the coffee table in front of me.
Marcus goes looking for the whiskey, and when Theo sits down next to me, I turn to face him. “How’s your arm?”
