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“Shit!” A large tattooed guy curses as he rushes in but stops dead in his tracks when he takes in the scene. He throws an arm over his eyes like he can’t bear the sight of it, and I don’t blame him. “Fuck!”
Though I’m sure he hears him, Arran doesn’t look behind him. Instead, he says to Landon, “Stay put or the damage will be worse.” He takes a step back. “Stay,” he repeats, lifting a finger to him as if he were a dog. “Ruslan here is going to help you.”
“The fuck I am. You chopped off his dick!” the large man complains.
Arran ignores him. “Once you’re all patched up, I want you to go back to Mother and stay there. If I ever see you again, if you ever so much as breathe near Skye, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
Landon gives him a short nod, then averts his gaze.
Arran turns to me now. His stare bores into mine as his jaw clenches and unclenches.
“Rus,” he says without taking his eyes off me. “Take care of this piece of shit.”
Ruslan shakes his head. “You’re going to owe me big for this one.”
“Just do it!” Arran hisses. Then he comes to me and snatches my wrist. Without another word, he tugs me out of the room and through the door across the hall that’s now filled with security.
We’re in a nondescript office like the one we just came from. He moves us behind the desk to another door that I assume is a closet with a lock.
Arran presses in a code and the electronic mechanism unlocks. To my surprise, beyond the door is another hall, this one narrow and long. At the end is a very modern high-tech steel elevator, complete with several cameras and a touch screen. He places his palm on it, and the elevator doors slide open.
We step inside, and this time, Arran has to put his face close to a retinal scanner. The elevator descends for what seems like forever, especially in the heavy silence, where all I can hear is the grinding of his teeth. The entire way, he keeps his hold on my wrist, tight and secure. I only attempt to tug at it once, and that’s all I need to do to know he’s not planning on letting go, his grip intensifying.
“Where are we going?” I ask when the doors open and we exit onto a floor that could belong in any swanky office building, only, without windows.
“My office.”
16
SKYE
Ipeek into every room we pass as we move down a wide hall with abstract artwork hung on sleek wood-paneled walls. While there are some armed men, obviously guards, milling about, it’s not near as busy as it was on the upper level.
A few yards away, an older woman steps out of a room, holding a silver tray laden with prescription bottles and what looks to be the remnants of a meal.
“Arran!” She looks up in surprise, glances between us, then quickly ducks back inside. Before I can question Arran anymore on where we are and who that was, he pulls me around a corner and into one of the rooms.
Jaw working furiously, he kicks the door shut and, finally, he releases me. He stalks over to a massive glass-top desk and back to me.
Breathing raggedly, he pauses and lifts his blue stare to me. “Did he manage to…?”
I shake my head. “There might be some bruises, but that’s all.”
Then he’s on me. His fingers are on my throat, thumbs stroking the thin collar. Then his eyes are following the movement of his hands as he inspects me, turning my face from side to side, as if he needs to see for himself that I’m untouched.
“He didn’t,” I reassure him. “You got there in time.”
Suddenly, he’s shaking. He digs his fingers through my hair and drops his forehead to mine. Pressing his entire body against me, he breathes me in. “I should have killed him. He should be dead.”
“No. Arran, he’s your brother.”
“And that’s all that kept him alive.”
Against my better judgement, I snake my arms around him, placing my palms flat against his muscled back. Because I’m trembling too. And I also need the reassurance that I’m all right. That I’m safe.
I close my lids and inhale, sucking in his now familiar male scent, taking in his heat. “Arran.” His name comes out like a plea, though I’m unsure of what I’m asking for.
He goes rigid, his fingers like steel in my hair. A long moment passes between us, the tension building even though we’re not looking at each other.
