AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It was thick from whatever they’d done to him, but the level of self-control that took to shift from unconscious to an angrybarkwould have impressed me if I weren’t just relieved to hear him. Alive. Not well. But awake. Awake and hurting was better than dead.
"I think we’re in Brooklyn. I heard voices but nothing loud enough to know who was talking."
Well, to hear any accents if I was being precise.
"Brooklyn?" he rasped.
"Yes. I woke up as we drove off the island. They brought us here—it stinks of fish. We’re clearly at a dock somewhere."
"Russians own all the docks in Brooklyn," he rumbled, his pitch changing. "Lyanov is dealing with in-fighting; that means we’re in no man’s land."
Trying not to panic, I carried on rubbing at the nylon tie with the glass. When I cut him again, he jerked in surprise then groaned under his breath. "My fucking shoulder's dislocated."
I swallowed. "Want me to pop it back in?"
His scowl told me he wanted that as much as I did. "You sure you can do it?"
"I told you before Dad sent us off to Jungle Jane camps to figure out how to survive a kidnapping. I just never frickin' thought I'd have to survive one in Brooklyn!"
In the glare of the flashlight, I saw his lips curve. Mine, however, thinned.
"It's all right for you," I groused. "They at least zip-tied you. They just duct-taped me."
"You have to appreciate sexism sometimes," Aidan drawled as, finally, I got his hands free. "They underestimated you."
"Damn straight they did," I said with a sniff. "The audacity."
I ignored his snort of amusement at my temper and took stock of myself.
My fingers were slick with my blood, his, and some poor Atlantic halibut’s. The cuts on the tips were stinging like mad. When this was over, because itwouldbe over, I wouldn’t be able to write for a few days, that was for sure.
My head ached less, but the stark glare from the flashlight made my eyes burn. My stomach was still the most vulnerable part of me—I was going to vomit if I accidentally looked at the floor again. That meant I had to be cautious.
"Savvie?"
"I think I’m going to be sick."
He straightened then hissed as that clearly affected his shoulder. "Do you have a concussion?"
"No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just think we’re sitting in a pile of fish guts." I swallowed. "It’s on my hands too."
Our blood and a bunch of dead fishes’ blood were probably having a bacteria party.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I shuffled around the netting to reach his other side.
"Are you sure you’re good to do this?" he asked me.
"I wouldn’t do it if I couldn’t."
"I don’t mean that—are you in too much pain?"
"No. And if I was, I’d still do it because this is not how we go out for good. I want Lady Gaga singing at my funeral, Aidan. I will not be fish food; do you hear me?"
"I hear you, little one," he soothed. I didn’t need soothing, dammit. His hand cupped my jaw. Well, maybe just a tad. "Shoulder first, Savvie, then once that's back online, I'll take over trying to liberate my feet."
"What do you want me to do while you’re handling that?"
"I need you to see if you can pick the lock on the door."
