Page 6

Oh hell no.
Her struggles began in earnest. She couldn’t let them drug her. She could fight pain, but she had no way to control her tongue under the influence. Somebody slapped more tape over her mouth, and while three men held her still, the fourth jammed the needle into her arm.
Warmth flooded her body, and behind the tape, she screamed obscenities and threats. Seconds later, an icy coldness replaced the warm flush, and she began to shiver.
“I’m told that’s the worst part. First the heat and then the cold.”
She glared up at the beast who’d done this, shooting murderous thoughts from her eyes. She might not be able to do anything now, but if she survived this ordeal, she wouldn’t rest until these bastards were dead.
Blurred images appeared before her eyes, and her mind muddled with the bizarre and obscure. Holding a thought in her head for more than a few seconds became a challenge, and she chased after them as though she were running for her life. A dull flash of pain in her face brought her head up briefly. A monster in a mask stood before her, and she opened her mouth to scream. Only a moan emerged.
Olivia dropped her head, her chin on her chest, her entire body limp.
“She’s under.”
“Good.”
Her dulled mind recognized the voice was one she hadn’t heard before.
The sound of thundering feet penetrated her consciousness, but she couldn’t make herself raise her head. Voices came and went. There were shouts, curses, grunts of pain.
A hand touched her neck, and she heard a soft, growling curse. Despite her drugged state, her heart leaped at the sound.
“Sorry, boss,” a man said in a breathless voice. “They all got away except this one.”
“Take him back to the house and find out what was in the needle they gave her.”
“You want me to stay?”
“No. I’m good.”
Voices cut in and out of her consciousness. Her mind was still, filled with white noise, the pain in her body dulled, but she heard something…someone. The sound came knocking at her brain, telling her to wake up, to pay attention. She fought the sluggishness, the need to just drift away.
Her hands and feet were released. Strong, muscular arms lifted her, and she was floating through the air. Her head nestled against something hard and warm, something familiar. She heard a thud—the thud of life. A small voice in her brain told her that the sound was significant, but her brain wouldn’t function, couldn’t reason why.
The world whirled as her mind struggled to comprehend. Blurred images swirled around her, and she blinked rapidly, fighting against the need to close her eyes. She had to see… She needed to see. Her eyes refused to cooperate, and she muttered a frustrated moan.
“Shh,” the voice said. “You’re all right now.”
Though she couldn’t comprehend what was happening, that deep voice assuring her that she was all right lessened the agitation building within her.
Softness beneath her and the familiar smell of lavender-scented sheets brought more comfort. Pain continued to be present but distant—a dull reminder that something had happened and wasn’t right.
With a sigh, she succumbed to the lethargic pull of the drug and drifted away. A second before unconsciousness took her, she felt warm lips against her forehead and heard an achingly familiar voice whisper, “I’m sorry, Livvy.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Frustration fueling every step, Hawke strode out of the house where he’d been living for the past few days. Wasn’t much to look at, but it had a big basement, which served as an excellent interrogation room. This wasn’t the first prisoner they’d questioned here, nor the most annoying. However, they needed answers, and no matter how many times he asked, Hawke knew he wasn’t going to get what he needed. The man was a mercenary, hired to do a job without any real idea of why. Hawke had run across hundreds like him, and they were rarely given any intel. They didn’t want it. They wanted only to do the job, get the money, and move on. This guy was worthless to him. He’d keep him here, under guard, and decide later what to do with him. For now, he had bigger fish to fry.
His heart told him to go to Olivia and assure himself she was okay. The beating she’d taken had been mostly surface injuries, but that didn’t still his need to see for himself. One would think he’d be past caring, but one would be wrong. When it came to Olivia Gates, there was no such thing as not caring. Even when he had hated her, he had cared.
But his head—which he told himself was a lot saner than his heart—told him she was fine. She’d been dealt worse and had gotten up the next day to do it all over again.
So he was going to follow what his head told him to do. He would go to Montana and face the OZ team. It was not going to be pleasant. First, they’d be shocked, and then they’d be pissed. They had every right to feel that way.
He had never been one to hold back intel. Had always been of the philosophy that if you trusted a person with your life, then you sure should trust them with your secrets. In this, he’d had no choice. If they had known what was going on, nothing would have stopped them from getting involved, making them targets. One or more of them could have gotten killed. He couldn’t have risked that. Yeah, they faced death every day, but this had been his mess to clean up. Unfortunately, it had just gotten messier.
Despite his seemingly sound reasons for not telling them his plan, he had no choice but to involve them now.