Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Stale air hits me first, thick with cheap soap and the coppery bite of blood. Then the warehouse light pours in and I see her.
Enley sits zip-tied to a metal chair in the middle of the space. Her wrists are pinned behind her back and her ankles are secured to the legs. The plastic has cut deep. Pink hair sticks to her forehead with sweat and a nasty bruise spreads across her jaw toward her eye. Her lip is split and crusted. She wears the same gray hoodie and jeans from the photo Knight showed me, though they look filthy now.
But her eyes, those moss-green ones I’ve avoided for years, lock onto mine. Recognition flashes first, then disbelief, and finally something closer to anger than thanks.
My chest squeezes tight. She’s alive. Breathing. Looking at me like I might be her salvation or the start of even more trouble.
I’ve watched her from across rooms for years, in crowded lofts after jobs and at that little diner where she would steal my fries and grin like she knew exactly what it did to my stupid heart. Poe’s little sister. That was always my line. The one solid rule that kept my hands to myself and my eyes mostly safe.
The line feels paper-thin tonight.
“Render?” Her voice cracks. She tries to stand and the chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “What the hell…”
I cross the space in three strides, drop to a knee, and cut the ties. Wrists first. She hisses as blood rushes back. Then the ankles. She stands but her legs give out immediately. Days in a chair will do that to anyone.
I catch her with an arm around her waist. The contact hits me like a live wire. She feels warm and alive, shaking so hard her teeth click together.
I should say something smart and reassuring. Instead I blurt, “I’ve got you.”
Her fists twist into my shirt. She’s not pushing me away. She’s holding on like I’m the only steady thing left in her world right now.
“Poe,” she says against my chest. “They’ve got Poe. The whole crew. Serafina…”
“I know. We’ll handle it. Right now we move.”
She pulls back. Blood lingers at the corner of her mouth and the bruise looks even worse up close. I fight the urge to march back and make extra sure those bodies stay down for good.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
“Yeah. I think.” She takes a step, wobbles, and nearly drops again.
There’s no time for nearly.
I scoop her up, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. She’s lighter than she should be. They didn’t feed her. That fact burns into me for later.
“Put me down,” she says, her voice gaining strength. That familiar fire sparks in her eyes, the one I’ve always been a little too fond of. “I can walk, Render.”
“You can walk when we’re in the car.”
“That isn’t your call.”
“Tonight it is.”
She makes a sound that’s half annoyance and half something warmer. She stops fighting and wraps her arms around my neck. She holds on because it’s smart, not because she wants to. But her breath against my collarbone cracks something open inside me anyway, sending warmth spreading through my chest.
We get out fast. Outside the air feels cleaner and the wet pavement reflects the streetlight in silvery streaks. The sedan waits two blocks south, black with clean plates and the engine already warm. I set her down by the passenger door. She grabs the roof to steady herself while her legs slowly come back. Good.
I open the door. She glances at me, then the car, then the dark street, clearly calculating whether this ride beats the chair.
“Get in,” I say. “Please.”
The please slips out raw. She hears it and slides inside.
I close her door, circle around, and drop into the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life. I check the mirrors and pull out with no headlights for the first four blocks. We glide through the streets like a shadow that’s lost its owner.
I keep my eyes forward. If I look at her I’ll see the bruise and the split lip and the raw wrists, and I’ll want to turn the car around.
Five blocks pass. Then six. We hit the highway ramp and I finally flip the lights on. The city fades behind us in neon smears.
Enley stays still. I hear her breathing, controlled and deliberate, while her hands flex in her lap as circulation returns.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Safehouse. Ten miles out. One nobody knows about.”
She remains quiet for another minute. “How did you find me?”
“Serafina’s crew sucks at cameras. I grabbed the heat feed they left wide open and matched it to the van’s path. It wasn’t too hard once I knew where to look.”
“Wasn’t hard,” she repeats flatly, testing the words.
“I’ve been watching her feeds for three weeks, since before they grabbed Poe.” I keep my eyes on the road. “Knight asked me to stay off the books as backup. If things went bad, I was the unknown.”