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Chapter forty-three

Raider

I wake up with a start. My chest feels weird, and my head is heavy. Everything is hazy, but in the back of my mind, I know that I’m supposed to be doing something when I wake up. Something urgent. It’s strange, though, I’m floating on clouds. Two huge guys lift me up, putting my arms over their shoulders. They walk me out of the room.

My head lolls back, and I look up at the ceiling. It’s so pretty. I feel weird.

Drugged, my mind supplies. Kurt. The broken skate. Wren is leaving. My mind clears a little but not enough.

The bond rips violently open, and I feel Kit’s terror and pain. It and the adrenaline that surges my body in reaction to my mate’s distress causes the haze of the drug to recede. I still don’t feel right, but I feel better. It doesn’t matter if I’m halfway to dead, I’m going to save him.

Kit is hurt and scared.

Where is Callan?

Where is Wren?

Ryann…

Still, I can’t find it in me to break free. I’m limp between them as they lead me to the entrance of the stadium. I remember Kurt said something about a doctor. My mind grows clearer by the second, and energy starts returning to my body. I flex my muscles one by one, forcing them to move. Preparing them.

The fire alarms go off in a sudden explosion of wailing. The guys holding me curse and increase their speed .

I stiffen, watching as people suddenly appear around us. The throng thickens until they are one big mass. We’re swept up, being pushed and jostled.

I shove the guys off me and limp and hop as fast as I can into the crowd. They sweep me up, and I ignore the jolting pain from the accidental bumps that hurt my ankle.

I try to break free of the river of people, but they have me caught, and there is no escape. I end up outside in the car park, being jostled, as I desperately search back and forth for my pack.

Callan appears out of thin air, looking strong, healthy, and furious. I call for him. His head snaps in my direction.

“Raider!”

He turns away. But, in seconds, he’s rushing towards me. Kit runs after him, but Kit looks awful, his face is swollen like he’s been hit, and he’s been crying.

“What happened?” I manage to get out.

It’s getting easier to hold the drugs at bay, but my head still feels slow and woozy. My balance isn’t great either, and I keep getting these waves of heat.

Callan grabs me, and I realise just how bad I was listing, but I keep my eyes on Kit and his bloody lip.

“What happened?” I whisper and reach out, touching his lip so gently, yet he still winces.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s done,” Kit says.

“Where’s Ryann?” Callan asks.

That stumps me for a whole five seconds.

“I don’t know. They shot me full of…” I stop, hunting for the word, but it’s elusive. “Something. I haven’t seen Wren either.”

I grab at my head and let out a distressed whine.

Callan and Kit exchange a long look. “She wouldn’t abandon us, not if she thought we were inside.”

“We go back in?” Callan asks.

Kit nods. “We have to find her. He’s here.”

“Yes!” I say too loud. “Wesley!” I snarl. “How can he be Wesley?”

Callan and Kit whip their heads in my direction.

“What?”

“It’s Wesley. He’s the one. It all makes sense. He knew our trap. He was here to fuck up my skates. Wesley is new to the team. He knew where she was and who she was with, and he was there with us at the pub.”

I nod my head three times, but the Earth keeps rolling. I vomit, hard.

“We need to find you some help, Raider,” Kit murmurs and brushes my hair back .

“No, we need to help Ryann. She needs us.”

“All right, let’s go, then,” Kit murmurs.

Callan helps me turn. It’s a mammoth task fighting the crowd, and I’m jostled more than once, closing my eyes in agony, but we make it inside. Just in time, too, because I can see the police and security rushing towards us as we speak.

“Where would she go?” Kit says with a gasp.

Someone turns and apologizes to him but keeps running for the exit. Kit holds his ribs and looks in both directions.

“Where’s Wren? The last I saw, he was on the ice?” I whisper and swallow my nausea.

Callan jerks Kit behind him to avoid him getting hit again, but the movement almost dislodges me, and I stumble, almost falling.

“Fuck, Raider, what did they give you?” Callan mutters. “Okay, Kit, take my phone to see if you can work out where she is.”

“What’s that?” I slur.

“I put a tracker on her,” Callan says gravely.

We start moving again, me supported by Callan and Kit leading us against the ocean of people. I keep struggling forward, though, refusing to waste anymore energy on conversation.

“Go to the ice,” I mutter. “She’s gone to break the ice.” The refrain keeps going through my head, over and over. I trust the voice.

Callan looks at me sideways. “Okay, Raider. Okay.”