His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(127)
Author: Shayla Black

A definite dead end. Dread swam thick in his chest, congealed in his belly until he swore he’d throw up. He fucking couldn’t lose her now.

Without more logistics to discuss, everyone fell silent. Sean texted furiously, probably to Thorpe or Callie. Stone tapped the side of his laptop—an annoying tic that made Joaquin want to break his fingers. Hunter and Caleb both reclined their heads as if they’d closed their eyes and kicked back. He envied soldiers’ ability to catnap in most any situation. Joaquin felt too panicked and wired to try. Beside him, Kata stared out the window.

Now that Joaquin couldn’t do anything active to recover Bailey—he simply had to sit and wait until he arrived in Iowa—he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin. He hated feeling helpless and hopeless, wondering again and again if Bailey was suffering while he couldn’t be there to save her. The only bright spot was that McKeevy had tranquilized her. She’d be out for hours still. Joaquin had to believe the sick fuck wouldn’t hurt her until he had a chance to question her.

Suddenly, Kata reached for his hand. He turned to look at her, watching her unconsciously stroke her belly. Funny, a few days ago he’d had something close to contempt for Hunter and his sister setting up house and having a baby. Now he envied them like hell. What would it be like to look at Bailey every day and see her caress the growing baby bump they’d created together? To kiss her every night, hold their children, grow old together?

“I’m not going to give you platitudes,” Kata said. “You’re freaking out and you have every reason to. I can see you feel responsible—”

“I love her,” he gasped out.

“I know. I could tell at Thorpe’s party. I’ve never seen you care that much about anyone, so I’m here to help you save her. She’s good for you, and after almost two decades, I want my brother back.”

“I can’t help her and it’s killing me. What kind of protector does that make me?” And what the hell would he do if he couldn’t save her?

“Don’t think the worst,” she advised. “I know that feels impossible. But I had a psycho put a gun to my head as Hunter watched. I fell two stories out of a window. If that asshole who threatened me hadn’t unwittingly broken my fall, I’d be dead.”

Joaquin hadn’t known that. Even through his panic for Bailey, the thought disturbed him. He could have lost his sister several years ago and he hadn’t known it. Son of a bitch.

“But we got through,” she assured. “We played as smart as we could, and fate smiled on us. You can’t lose faith.”

“Bailey is unconscious. She’s defenseless.” He heard the alarm in his own voice and winced.

“But McKeevy is alone and we have every indication that he’s driving. You know his number one goal right now must be focusing on the road and not getting caught. His next order of business will be to read whatever is on that disk.”

His head knew that. His heart? He wasn’t sure it would survive.

“I can’t lose her,” he choked out.

“These guys will do everything possible to make sure you won’t. You may not know them that well, but I do. I promise, they’ll do everything humanly possible—along with some shit you might not have believed at all doable.”

Joaquin didn’t doubt that. He simply hoped it would be enough.

Chapter Nineteen

BAILEY awoke slowly, in stages. A chill settled over her skin. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. Because her muscles seemed to weigh a million pounds, moving would take superhuman effort. The dark blanket of sleep lulled her back, but her bladder protested that she had to get up.

Vaguely, she recalled trying to wake earlier and would have sworn she’d been in the back of a moving vehicle. She had a vague recollection of a man crouched over her and a needle pricking her arm . . . then nothing again. Had that been a dream? Or like everything else, a bad memory?

Mustering her strength, she tried to shift to raise herself up. But her arms wouldn’t budge. They felt glued to the table. That made no sense.

She opened her eyes wide, taking in her surroundings. What she saw made her gasp in horror. Dim lighting illuminated the small room everywhere but the dark corners. She didn’t see a single window. She lay on a cold, hard surface that gleamed like stainless steel. A surgical table? Yes, and she’d been strapped to it. Plastic covered the floor beneath. All manner of blades hung on the walls—axes, knives, scalpels, and scissors. She saw other implements she didn’t have names for, but they terrified her.

Where the hell was she?

The door opened and a vaguely familiar man strode in, wearing a light blue military uniform she remembered seeing once as a child, the last time she’d seen Viktor. It didn’t look like one that belonged to any regular branch of the military, but that garb was indelibly printed on her memory.