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Pepper spray? That bastard attacked us with pepper spray?
Who the hell armed himself with three weapons and rigged his desk with streams of pepper spray? What other booby traps did he have hidden?
“Joe?” I said.
But it sounded like another gasp.
“Please,” the man said.
Was he a doctor? A nurse? I had no idea.
I didn’t care. Relief swept through me at the knowledge I’d recover. Pepper spray was considered innocuous. Didn’t feel very innocuous at the moment.
Talon had been tased once. I remembered him telling his brothers and me about it. He’d been immobile, frightened, nearly lost control of his bladder and bowels.
I hadn’t been tased, but I could relate. The sensation of not being able to breathe was something I didn’t want to experience again anytime soon.
“Mr. Steel is in the next room,” the person said. “He’s recovering as well.”
The bastard had gotten both of us. How many streams had he released? It probably didn’t matter. One was probably enough to incapacitate us both.
We’d disarmed him.
He’d bested us anyway.
Who the hell was Cade Booker?
An ex-FBI agent.
An attorney in Grand Junction.
A man who was into BDSM.
Interesting, to say the least, but none were reasons to be so heavily armed.
Joe knew him, had trusted him. I trusted Joe. But I’d seen something dark in Cade Booker, something Joe hadn’t seen. Maybe because everyone at a leather club exhibited a little darkness.
I tried to speak once more, but instead of words, gasps emerged.
“Rest, please, Mr. Simpson,” the white blur said once more. “I’ve given you a mild sedative. When you wake up, you’ll feel much better.”
I jolted awake.
Where was I?
Panic set in. I opened—
Shit! My eyes wouldn’t open. Damn it! They’d said my vision would return! Frantically I felt around for a call button. I found something at the side of the bed and pushed frantically.
Voices broke into my thoughts.
A television. I’d turned on a television. Quickly I moved my hand over the control, pressing every button. The voices became wretchedly loud.
Within seconds, I heard the door to the room open.
“Yes, Mr. Simpson?” said a female voice. She took the remote from me and turned off the TV.
“I can’t see. What’s going on?”
