Page 23 of Oliver (The Golden Team #7)

Emery

T his was the longest month in history.

I honestly didn’t want to be here—not because I didn’t want to swim or win another gold medal. I still did. But every time I closed my eyes, I remembered Olly’s little arms around my neck, whispering that he loved me.

I hadn’t wanted to leave that sweet boy. I promised I’d come back—and I would, as soon as this was over. At least I knew Oliver was home with him, so that Olly would have his Daddy.

My trainer is as clueless as ever and still thinks shouting will motivate me. He tried once. I looked him dead in the eye and said, “If you yell at me one more time, I’ll walk out that door and never come back.”

I was hoping he’d yell.

A week later, I got a text from Oliver—a picture of him and Olly at a restaurant, both grinning, with large bowls of ice cream. I laughed out loud and instantly missed them even more.

I called. They answered on the first ring.

“I miss you guys,” I said. “I don’t want to compete anymore. I wish I’d never signed that contract. I’ll be there Wednesday—we get a five-day break.”

“We can’t wait to see you. We miss you too,” Oliver said.

Then Olly took the phone. “I can’t wait to see you! I have more stories Faron told me—about his grandfather. You’re gonna love them!”

“I bet I will,” I said, trying to hold back tears. “I miss you, sweetie.”

We talked for another twenty minutes before I forced myself to hang up and get ready for bed. But I didn’t sleep. I lay there wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

That’s when I heard the door open.

No. Hell no. Not again.

I sat straight up in bed, gun already in my hand, and aimed. Whoever stepped through that door was going to get dropped.

“You better stop right there or I’ll blow a hole in your head,” I shouted. “I will not be taken again!”

A blinding flash went off—then I shot.

I pulled the trigger and heard a body hit the floor.

I was already on my feet when something slammed into the side of my head, and the world disappeared.

I woke up one arm tied to the leg of a bed. I was in a different room. My head pounded so hard I thought it might split open.

I cried for three seconds—only three—before I remembered who I was.

I was Jason Blake’s daughter.

And I would not let him down.

I would get out of here.

Somewhere in the room, a man’s voice said, “You’re awake. I apologize. We had to take you again. What you saw on that phone wasn’t meant for anyone but Victor.”

I didn’t lift my head. I could have. But I wanted him to think I couldn’t.

“It’s a shame you shot Tobas,” the man went on. “We had to rush out of there before anyone showed up, so I left him behind. Now I’m the only one left… and I have to kill you.”

“You people never quit,” I muttered. “If I’d seen anything worth hiding, I would’ve stayed hidden.”

“We can’t take the chance,” he said. “Once things settle down, we’ll move. I won’t kill you here—it’s too risky. But try to run, and I’ll shoot you full of drugs. Understood?”

“I couldn’t fight a fly right now,” I said weakly. “I can’t even lift my head. Can I have some water? Or better yet… a cold beer?”

He gave a short, amused laugh. “I could use a beer myself. There’s a liquor store around the corner. I’ll grab us one. Don’t try anything—I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“As if I could do anything,” I said, sounding as pathetic as I could. “Did you split my head open?”

“No. Stop complaining. You’re going to die anyway. Instead of a last meal, I’ll give you your last beer.

I shut my mouth and listened for the door to shut behind him.

As soon as it did, I looked around.

I was in what appeared to be a small apartment. His apartment. He’d probably been watching me from here the entire time. I pulled at the rope that had one hand tied, testing for slack. Nothing yet—but I wasn’t done trying.

Somebody had to know. If Tobas were dead, someone would’ve found him by now. Someone would’ve called Oliver. He had to be out there, hunting for me.

I ducked my head just as I heard the front door open again.

“Hey, you awake?” the man asked casually. “I got your beer.”

“Yes,” I rasped. “Can you help me sit up so I can drink it?” My eyes must have lit up when I saw the bottle.

He chuckled. “Did you really think I’d hand you a bottle? You’d just bash my head in with it. I’m not that stupid. You’re lucky I tied only one hand.”

He poured the beer into a plastic cup and then brought it over.

I took it, my hand shaking the entire time, and I drank. God, it was cold. And delicious.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, then set the cup down on the floor beside me. My fingers brushed something near the leg of the bed. A screw? A splintered piece of wood? I was glad that I was on the floor.

Perfect.

All I needed was time.

I waited until he turned his back.

He walked to the kitchen—if you could call a dirty sink and a hot plate a kitchen—and opened a second beer. He leaned against the counter, sipping slowly, watching me like I was a documentary he’d seen before.

I shifted slightly, careful not to draw his attention. The splinter under the bedpost wasn’t much—just a jagged chip of wood—but it might be rough enough. I started rubbing the rope against it, moving in small motions timed with his gulps.

“I would like you to keep your free hand visible at all times.”

So much for getting this unusual knot loose.

“So,” he said casually, “what’s it like to be America’s sweetheart one day and a target the next?”

I didn’t answer.

He took another sip. “You know, I never really got the appeal of swimming. All that effort just to end up in the same place you started.”

Still no answer.

“You’re not very talkative,” he muttered.

“I don’t talk to trash,” I said, keeping my voice flat.

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t move. He was enjoying this. The control. The silence. The idea that I was helpless.

Why was I trying to cut a rope on this piece of wood? It wasn’t doing much at all, and I had to sneak in every move when he wasn’t looking.

I glanced down at the plastic cup. Almost empty. If I were to make a move, I’d have to time it perfectly.

“Victor was a coward,” I said, testing him.

He stiffened.

“Don’t say his name like that.”

I smirked. “What, are you mad that he finally got caught?”

He crossed the room in three strides and grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. So keep your mouth shut or I’ll slit your throat, right here.”

His breath smelled like cheap beer and rotten burritos.

“No,” I said calmly. “ You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

With a twist, I jerked my arm free and slammed the cup—plastic and all-into the side of his face. He staggered back just enough for me to dive across the floor, dragging the remaining small piece of rope. I must have worked the knot against the rope to make it come undone.

I didn’t make it far.

He recovered fast—too fast—and tackled me. We crashed into the coffee table, splintering it in two.

“You stupid—”

Before he could finish, I slammed my knee up into his ribs and rolled. He grabbed my ankle, yanking me back toward him, but I kicked hard his knee—once, twice—until I heard a satisfying crack.

He roared in pain.

I scrambled to my feet and ran—barefoot, dazed, bleeding, but moving . I didn’t know the layout, but I knew I had to find a door, a window, anything .

I turned the corner and slammed into a second man.

Fuck.

He caught me before I hit the floor, eyes wide in shock.

But then he whispered, “Emery?”

I froze. That voice.

“ Faron? ”

He held a finger to his lips, then slipped a knife into my hand. “Oliver’s outside. Let’s end this.”

A shout echoed behind us—my captor had found his feet again.

Faron pushed me behind him and stepped into the narrow hallway like he owned the building. I heard glass shatter, then the pounding of boots on stairs.

Oliver’s voice bellowed from somewhere outside, “EMERY!”

“I’m here!” I screamed, my voice cracking as I sprinted down the hallway.

“Emery!” Oliver opened the door, and I didn’t slow down.

I crashed into him at full speed, my arms wrapping around his neck, his arms locking around my waist like steel. I didn’t care that I was shaking or barefoot or bleeding. I was home —right here, in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into my hair. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

I couldn’t stop shaking. My legs were weak. My body was trembling from adrenaline, fear, rage, and relief. He held me tighter, his hand cradling the back of my head like I might shatter.

“I thought—” I gasped, burying my face into his shoulder. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You didn’t,” he said fiercely. “You didn’t, because you’re a damn warrior.”

Behind us, the door slammed open again. Faron burst through it with blood on his sleeve.

“He’s down,” Faron said breathlessly.

An SUV screeched to a stop across the alley, and more of the team poured out—weapons drawn, checking rooftops and corners. It was a full sweep. Controlled. Professional. Fast.

But I didn’t care about any of it.

All I cared about was Oliver’s arms around me and the way he was breathing like I’d just come back from the dead.

“I should’ve gotten to you sooner,” he said, his voice breaking. “I knew something was wrong the second they found that body in your room. We were already on our way before they called me.”

“You were right on time,” I whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, scanning every bruise, every scrape, every tear in my clothes. “Did he hurt you?”

“I hit him with a cup of beer,” I said with a faint smile. My head's sore where he knocked me out, but I’ll be fine.

His eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Where did you get the beer?”

“Nope, I’m not kidding. He gave me a plastic cup of cold beer. I took him by surprise.” I winced. “Then he tackled me into a table, so… we’re even.”

He let out a shaky laugh and kissed my forehead. “You are the most badass woman I’ve ever met.”

I gripped his shirt like a lifeline. “Don’t let go of me.”

“Never,” he whispered. “Not again.”

River approached, voice calm but firm. “We need to move. EMS is en route, but we can’t stay here,” he said.

“I’m not getting in a different car,” I said.

Oliver didn’t argue. He swept me up into his arms like I weighed nothing.

“Fine by me.”

He carried me to the SUV, climbed into the backseat with me still in his lap, and shut the door. River slid into the front seat and started barking orders over the radio.

I curled into Oliver’s chest, my fingers twisted in his shirt, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Safe. Alive. Free.

“I’m never leaving you again,” I murmured.

“I’ll chain you to me if I have to,” he said, his voice low, fierce. “But you’re not going anywhere if I’m not there.”

I didn’t argue.

Not this time.