Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Fury tried to take hold, and Noah shoved it away. Wait a minute. “Wh—”
In a blur of motion, Petersen pressed a button on the side of the desk.
The ground fell out beneath Noah and he dropped several yards, landing solid on both feet, his knees buckling and rippling pain up to his hips. A couple of his foot bones might’ve broken. He looked frantically around the hole. Pure, smooth concrete lined the round room. “What the holy fuck?” he bellowed.
Petersen leaned over and looked down at least fifteen feet, a black box in his hand. “Did anybody tell you this was a grenade factory?” His smile was fierce. “Say your prayers, Siosal. You’re about to see Clyde again. Tell him hello.” The shifter quickly disappeared from sight.
Shit. Double shit. So much for a fair fight. Noah roamed the wide circle, looking for any toehold. The walls were smooth. Damn it. Gathering his strength, he punched as hard as he could, cracking the side. Good. Fury lancing him, he pounded the concrete like an animal, causing fissures all the way up. The unused branding on his hand propelled him faster, urging him on. Finally, taking a deep breath, he scrambled up, using each toehold the second before it fell back down. He reached the top and rolled over, leaping and running through the doorway.
The sound of a helicopter pounded into the distance.
Damn it. He only had moments. An image of Abby’s sweet face flashed across his vision the second before the entire world blew up.
CHAPTER 9
Abby tried to toss and turn, all snug in Noah’s bed, but the thing was too damn hard. It wouldn’t surprise her if the mattress was made of blocks of wood. What was wrong with him? She curled on her side again, her ribs aching now that she wasn’t aroused beyond belief. A pounding on the outside door drew her upright. Oh God. Had Monte found her?
She slid from the bed and padded into the spacious living room, tiptoeing toward the door. If he was on the other side, she’d need to get a knife from the kitchen. Her palms grew sweaty, and her knees started to wobble.
The pounding increased and jarred the entire wall. “Abs? Let us in. It’s Raine.”
Oh. Thank goodness. She rushed forward and unlocked the door, opening it wide. Then her heart stopped.
Noah leaned heavily on Raine, blood matted across his face, his clothes burned and still smoking. He smiled. “Got blown up.” The smell of bourbon came off him like he’d bathed in it.
Raine grimaced and hauled him inside, pushing him onto the sofa. “Had to give him a few drinks to help while he, ah, healed a little bit.” He leaned over to look at the deep purple bruise covering Noah’s left temple. “Well, it was more like a few bottles, I guess.”
Abby’s breath heated as she forced down panic. “We have to get him to a hospital. Do you have a phone?”
“Don’t need a hospital,” Noah slurred, smiling through cracked lips. “I’ll be okay in a little while.” He frowned, making the bruises across his forehead jumble into one large ugly mass. “Hey. You’re only wearing a shirt. My shirt. Go away, Raine.”
This wasn’t good. Not at all. “He needs a doctor,” Abby said urgently. “Please let me use your phone.” Why the hell didn’t she have a phone? Oh yeah. No money.
“No.” Noah grasped her hand and drew her toward him. His knuckles were bruised and cut. “I just need a shower and some care.” He tilted his head to see Raine. “We walked into a trap, and that’s on you.” When Abby tried to pull away, he tugged her closer until she landed on his smoking lap. “Get it fixed.”
“I will.” Raine backed toward the door, taking out his phone and reading the face. “I’ll have a location to you by late tomorrow, no matter what. I owe you.” He disappeared quickly outside.
Abby’s stomach rolled over. “How were you blown up?” She wanted to help Noah, but she wasn’t a doctor. Not even close.
“A lot of grenades,” he mumbled, shoving to his feet and swaying.
She jumped up and settled her shoulder beneath his arm. “Please let me take you to the emergency room.”
“Nah. A shower will suffice,” he slurred, stumbling around the sofa toward the master bedroom and bath, pulling her along easily. He smelled like burned cotton and blood. “Wanna help?”
“Yes,” she muttered, trying to help him along. If she saw one open wound or broken bone, she was stealing his phone and calling an ambulance. Period. They reached the palatial bathroom, and he stood calmly while she removed his clothing, wincing at each bruise and cut. After she’d gotten him undressed, she had to admit his injuries weren’t as bad as she’d expected from his clothing. She tried, she really did, not to look lower than his waist.