Page 9

CHAPTER 8

Get your ass inside…

Nova blinked, groaning as the scenery swam across her vision—her stomach roiled in protest. She tried to move her head — catch a glimpse of whoever had spoken — only to give up when pain strummed through her temples then into her chest, stealing what little breath she’d gasped in.

She let herself fade, that red-hot pain pulsing in the background until another voice echoed in the darkness. Mocking. Cruel. The hard edge impossible to miss.

You won ’ t get far…

Was she dreaming, or was there a viable threat in the room? She blinked, again and managed to pry her eyelids apart enough to make out a chair off to her right before everything went black and dragged her back into that numbing haze.

I’ll have every cop on the island hunting you...

Nova jolted awake, groaning against the pull across her chest and down her side. What felt like stitches and tape — maybe the slide of blood against her skin. It made the room spin a bit, and she considered drifting off, again, until she heard muffled voices in the distance. Nothing concrete, but she definitely wasn’t alone.

She tried to shuffle her memories — pinpoint where she was. But they were a jumbled mess of gunfire, explosions and blood. Realizing she wasn’t handcuffed or bound was a good sign. Not that it meant she was safe. Especially when all her weapons were missing. Nothing but her belt looped over the chair.

Was the fact her clothes were missing important? She felt like they could be? A tangible link to those elusive memories hovering out of reach. Like a lifeline back to before it had all gone to shit.

She glanced around the room, wishing it would stabilize long enough she could focus on anything that might give her some clues — judge the level of crap she was in. Was the door locked? Were they watching with hidden cameras? Would they bust in as soon as they realized she was conscious?

Nova didn’t know, and she couldn’t afford to wait to find out. Even if the voices weren’t a threat, she had a nagging sensation she needed to hide. That simply being there was a risk. And in her condition, she couldn’t afford a confrontation.

Not that moving was going to be easy, especially with her head foggy — her limbs barely getting any signals. She rolled to her side, groaning against the instant stab of pain and placed her palm on the cushions. It took several tries but she finally managed to lever herself up — grab the side of the couch. Nearly falling off the edge cleared her head a bit. Not enough she remembered what the hell had happened, but it allowed her to focus without the floor shifting.

Until she swung her legs over and placed her feet on the wood and thought about standing. That had the room tilting in every direction, back and forth until she thought she’d puke. Having it finally settle on a slight angle wasn’t ideal, but she’d muscled through worse.

At least, she hoped she had because she wasn’t sure she could do more than balance for a few moments before she crumpled.

You’re dead, Martin.

That voice again. Threatening her. Only it wasn’t just the one guy. There had been more. All those snippets of the guns and explosions and blood racing around inside her head. Not just her blood. Someone else. Someone… important. The reason she was sitting there, willing her legs to move so she could stumble out the door. Maybe steal a car and take off. Because despite the emptiness where her memories should be, she knew, without a doubt, that if she didn’t keep moving, they’d find her.

She had no idea who “they” were but based on how much she hurt — how hard it was to find a way to stand — they were obviously dangerous.

Nova clenched her jaw then pushed off, nearly tripping onto the floor when her legs threatened to buckle. She managed to stumble a step forward — grab the top of that chair. It rocked backwards but didn’t tip, allowing her to catch her breath before attempting the five steps it would take to reach the door. Two felt as if it would be pushing her limits, but she’d try. Go down fighting if nothing else.

Nova grabbed the belt off the back of the chair. The only form of defense at her disposal. Not that she was strong enough to use it — strangle some hired thug if they challenged her — but it soothed the part of her brain that was screaming at her. Warning her this would only turn out badly.

She wrapped one end around her hand, giving it a tug. And if that one motion hadn’t drained half her strength, she might have felt empowered. Instead, it highlighted how weak she was and that if she didn’t get extremely lucky, she’d end up back in this room.

Or worse…

Motivation to suck it up and get moving.

A prayer and a shove and she inched one foot forward — was able to take that first step. A tentative lean, and she tripped her way to the wall. The first lucky break she’d had since Tate had been murdered.

Tate was dead?

Pain shot through her head at the thought, and she braced her weight against the wall to keep from sliding down it. Had she remembered that right?

She tried to deny it, but the truth settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe. To focus on moving. He’d been the only family she’d ever had.

Cooper.

His name materialized out of the fog, soothing the jumpy feeling in the pit of her stomach. The answer to all the questions swirling around in her mind. All she needed to do was find Cooper.

Which meant getting her ass in a car.

Were those footsteps?

She pressed her ear against the door, cursing the steady tap moving toward her. Calm. Unhurried. Eerily familiar. She scanned the room, but there was nowhere to hide. And by the time she slipped behind the door, it would be open.

No other choice but to fight.

She shifted over so the asshole wouldn’t see her the moment he opened the door, readying the strap between her hands. A twist of the handle and a creak, then the guy appeared. Gaze focused forward on the couch. He inhaled, tripping a step at what she assumed was the empty cushions, then she was on him. A kick against his knee and a wrap of that belt around his wrist and she had him off-balance. A turn and a hip thrust and he was plastered against the wall. The gun in his holster within her reach.

Until the floor tilted out from underneath her, slamming her against the wall beside him. She managed one last move, snagging his weapon and dragging it free as the guy jumped back, hands at the ready. Lips turned into a frown.

Did she know him? Because there was something about the shape of his mouth — the way his hair teased his eyes that reminded her of someone. Not Cooper but adjacent. A friend, or maybe an enemy. Either seemed possible.

“Shit. Nova?”

Had he called her by name? Was he staring at her because she had the gun somewhat pointed in his direction or because he recognized her, too?

She blinked, nearly blacked out, but managed to maintain her grip on his gun — hold it steady as she slid down the wall until her ass hit the floor. Or maybe the room was moving in sync with her hand, giving her the illusion she had some semblance of control.

Had she told him to freeze? Because she swore everything had stopped. Just her sitting there, that gun in her hand as a clock ticked somewhere in the background.

Was he talking? Yelling? Or was she imagining his lips moving? Because all she heard was her own labored breathing — what sounded like more footsteps racing toward her.

A cold nose touched her cheek followed by the brush of a wet tongue. Nova blinked in an attempt to focus, staring at the dog standing in front of her. It looked familiar, like the guy, but she couldn’t quite place its name.

“Christ, sweetheart. What the hell are you doing?”

That voice. Even with her vision closing in on her, her pulse echoing inside her head, she recognized the man’s voice. The sense of calmness that eased the panicky feeling inside her.

Had he grabbed the gun? Or had she dropped it? Maybe given it to that dog because her hands were empty when he cupped them in his, looking at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

She inhaled at the thought, the image of a shadow dancing along a wall punching into her head like a damn train. Stealing whatever strength she had left. She couldn’t remember where she’d seen it but it was like her clothes. That same tether back to the truth.

Cooper tsked, tucking her hair behind her ears. “How the hell did you get vertical?”

She opened her mouth, but only a soft moan made it past her lips. All that pain from before bubbling back up. Cooper shook his head, reaching for her. She blinked, then she was in his arms, her body cradled against his chest. Her head on his shoulder. Was he walking? Because she felt weightless. Like falling only without her stomach lurching up into her throat.

Cooper sighed, gently placing her on the couch. “You weren’t supposed to wake up for a few more hours let alone walk across the room. And did you seriously jump Bellamy when he came in to check on you? For the five freaking minutes I was out of the room since we brought you in twelve hours ago?” He leaned in closer. “You’re making me look bad.”

She wet her lips. “I… thought…”

Talking shouldn’t hurt that much. Shouldn’t feel as if it took more strength than getting to the door had.

“I’m sure it’s all a jumbled mess. That’s what happens when you get shot and lose over a liter of blood. You need to rest.”

She’d been shot?

She shook her head, groaning when it set off jackhammers inside her skull. “Can’t… They’ll…”

Two words. That seemed to be her limit before her thoughts derailed. Just scattered like dust in the wind.

Cooper smiled, and it lit up the room. “We took care of the immediate threat. And anyone gunning for you is going to have to go through me, and my team. So… rest. We’ll be moving tomorrow and the ride isn’t going to be easy on all those wounds.”

All? She had more than one?

She wanted to ask, but the thought faded, nothing but Cooper’s face holding her attention. “Stay.”

He snorted. “Wild horses, sweetheart…”

She tried to motion to the couch. “With me.”

“You’re already in pain.”

“You won’t… hurt…” She pursed her lips together, the thought of lying there, alone, even if he was in the chair, sending a ripple of fear through her veins. It was new and unnerving and she didn’t know how to tell him she needed him without confessing far more. “Coop…”

He shook his head, talking to someone over his shoulder before he smiled, again. She closed her eyes, waking with him snuggled against her, her injured side propped up on some pillows. Had he shuffled her around? Changed positions while she’d been hanging in some sort of limbo? What she could only describe as a time slip. She didn’t know — didn’t care. Not with his heartbeat thrumming beneath her cheek. His arm resting against her back.

Cooper gave her a light squeeze, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. So, no more ninja moves or trying to escape, or Kian’s going to tear me a new one.”

She must have agreed or nodded because he smiled against her forehead as he gave her another kiss. She burrowed against him, trusting that, at least for this moment, she was safe.