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Mace came around to point his gun at the vehicle. Striker yanked at the door, but it was wedged in tight against the foliage. And there was no movement inside.
“I don’t think anybody’s gonna shoot at us.” He tried to keep his mind away from thinking what that meant. Friday couldn’t be dead. To hell with his snake—he was wishing the asshole gone. But Friday… “Push on the wheels. See if we can get it up off the ground so I can open the door.”
Mace slipped his gun into the holster strapped to this thigh and pushed against the wheels. The car rocked under his strength, and Striker managed to yank the door free. He crouched to look inside. The massive body of the man who’d snatched Friday from him was sprawled over the roof of the car.
But there was no sign of the little scientist.
“What the hell? Where is she?”
“You think she was thrown from the car?”
“Better look around.” He put his hand on the door to pull himself up. That’s when he heard it. A slight rattling noise.
Dumbass? he snapped at his other half. You there?
Every muscle within him clenched tight as he waited for an answer.
Sore.
That one word almost brought him to his knees.
Where the hell are you? Is Friday with you?
Small space. Dark. She’s mine.
Striker breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Damn possessive reptile. He crouched down and examined the interior of the large car. It was the modern equivalent of a twenty-first century SUV, only it was fitted with adjustable seating and plenty of tech. He examined the seats. Of course. There was a gap under the back seat. He stuck his head into the car to get a better look and almost collapsed with relief at the sight before him. Friday was wedged into the narrow space, his snake curled around her.
“They’re here!”
He heard a moan. Friday’s moan. “I’m coming, bébé. Hold tight. We’ll get you out of there.”
Mace had been scanning their surroundings. He came jogging over. “How the hell did they get in there?”
He was damned if he knew. But their hiding spot had probably saved their lives.
Stuck. Sore. His other half complained.
Is Friday okay?
She’s waking up. She’s mine.
“The talking handbag says Friday was unconscious, but she rousing now, and he’s in pain.”
“We need to get them out of there if you plan to make accessories from your animal.”
Another slight moan emanated from the car, and he had to fight panic. He had to stay clear-headed. He had to make sure he got her out without causing her any further damage. He swallowed hard at the thought. How badly hurt was she?
Is she bleeding? he asked the rattler.
Sore. We both sore.
Yeah, that didn’t help at all. He eyed the dead man taking up all the space inside the car. “Help me haul him out.”
They took an arm each and dragged him out onto the grass. There was no need to be gentle. He couldn’t feel anything. And from the number of bites on the man, it was a fast death—although not painless. A fact that warmed his heart.
They dropped him like trash beside the car, before Striker crawled into the interior to get to Friday. He wanted his hands on her. He wanted to reassure himself that she was breathing. That she was alive. He reached into the space under the seat and gently stroked her cheek. Warm. Alive. His. She moaned again and turned her face toward him. Her eyes
still closed.
