He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her away from the counter as he spoke into the phone. "Are you sure?" His eyes darted to her as he listened. "Yeah. Got it. I owe you."
He ended the call then pulled her closer—so close that she thought he was going to pull her into a hug and she started to push him away. Only his body was nearly as hard as Mac's, and as immoveable as a steel wall.
And then he was hugging her, one arm wrapped around her waist, his head dipped low as he spoke.
"Those emails came from the Senator's office. We're out of here."
What? What was he talking about? What emails?
TR had just enough time to realize he hadn't been talking to her—he'd been talking to Mac and Daryl—before Chaos started pulling her toward the door. "My coffee—"
"Later."
She had to quicken her pace to keep up with him, her mind trying to piece together what he'd said as he pushed through the door and led her outside.
Emails. What emails?
The emails she had received. That was the only explanation. Wasn't that what Chaos had been working on?
But how could they have come from the Senator's office? Who would have sent them? And why?
They reached the corner then stopped for traffic before they crossed. Chaos swore under his breath, his gaze darting all around them while TR caught her breath—and tried to sort her thoughts.
"The emails I received? That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"But that doesn't make any sense."
"It makes more sense than you know."
"But—" She stopped, her attention caught by something across the street. A wave, a flash, she wasn't sure. She looked over, frowning at the man walking toward the corner, walking toward them. Weaving, stumbling, the confusion creasing his lined face evident even at this distance. "That's the Senator—"
The remainder of the words died in her throat, choked back in a silent scream as the Senator stepped off the curb—
Straight into traffic.
Brakes squealed, drowning out the awful sound of a body being hit, dragged. Screams and more brakes, followed by doors opening and slamming shut, by the sound of pounding feet and people yelling for help.
TR was unable to pull her gaze from the sight of the crumpled body pinned beneath the wheels of an SUV. Bloodied. Battered. Shattered and torn.
Lifeless.
She started forward, was jerked back as Chaos pulled her to a stop. No, not a stop—as he pulled her back toward the coffee shop. Away from the accident.
Away from his car parked up the street.
She tried to pull her arm free. "We need—"
"To get out of here. Now."
"But—"
"Now." His voice left no room for argument, not that TR would have been able to. He was practically running, dragging her with him, dodging the stream of curiosity-seekers pushing past them. Pushing into them.
Chaos steered her around the people, weaving in and out of the crowd, using his size to clear a path in front of them. They were nearing the end of the block when someone jostled her from the side. She stumbled, would have fallen if not for Chaos catching her around the waist.
"Mac and Daryl are close by. They'll be here soon." Chaos must have sensed her unasked question, must have known she was going to ask where they were going, why they were running. His voice, so calm and steady, reassured her, helped fray her shattered nerves.
But it couldn't erase the horror of the Senator's mangled body, the sight of the blood or the odd angle of his head. Nothing could ever erase that.
"Stop. Don't think about it."
She looked up, focused on the deep blue eyes staring into hers. "He—he just walked into the traffic. He didn't even stop. Why...why would he do that?"
Chaos started to say something, stopped when a car slammed its brakes behind them. TR glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Mac, already pulling away from Chaos so she could run toward him, so she could feel those strong arms wrap around her, hear that rough voice tell her everything was going to be okay.
But it wasn't Mac. It was some stranger walking toward them, an odd smile twisting his features as he waved. A tourist, maybe? Someone asking for directions? TR stepped back, collided with Chaos and almost stumbled again when he tried to shove her behind him. He reached into his pocket and for a second that felt like an eternity, she wondered why he was pulling out his phone, was ready to ask him if he was calling Mac.
But it wasn't his phone, it was his weapon. And he wasn't looking at her, he was looking at the man who kept walking toward them, waving something at them.
"Run!"
Another second that felt like an eternity passed before TR's mind freed itself from the hazy muck holding her immobile. Everything happened so fast that it should have been a blur but she could see it all, one frame at a time.
Chaos, his hand closing over his weapon. Pulling it out.
The man, still smiling. Still waving something at them.
Chaos yelling at her, telling her again to run as he raised his gun.
A blinding flash. A muted pop, the sound oddly hollow. Muffled. Another one, the sound different. Louder.
A deep grunt as Chaos flew backward. Blood. Droplets flying through the air. The stain spreading across the side of Chaos's jacket.
The anger in his eyes when she met his gaze, his silent command to run before his body crumpled to the sidewalk.
Before his eyes closed and his head fell back.
TR staggered back, caught her balance and turned, already running. But it was too late. Arms closed behind her, yanking her off her feet. She kicked backward, her body thrashing as she tried to scream for help. A large hand closed over mouth, fingers roughly digging into her cheeks as she struggled and fought and clawed as something hard pressed against her throat.
And oh God, she couldn't breathe, couldn't draw air. Her lungs wouldn't work. She was drowning, choking, suffocating, her vision darkening as her struggles weakened. As she fought for breath instead of freedom.
The last thing she saw was Chaos's still body—
And the blood pooling on the sidewalk beneath him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Fuck. Goddamn fucking shit. What was that? What the fuck just happened?" Mac roared the words, forced them through a throat clogged with icy fear, a fear he'd never before known.
They'd been driving, finally making headway, listening to TR's comical demands for dinner tonight. For the next month of nights. And yeah, he was totally on board with that. Hell, he'd take her to dinner every night for the next twenty years if she wanted him to.
Then they'd heard Chaos answer his phone, heard him again, louder this time, his voice low and steady. Focused. The emails came from the Senator's office.
And what the fuck?
TR's surprised gasp, the tinkling of bells and a series of short breaths. TR's voice, a little breathless as she asked Chaos what he meant.
Her voice again, bewildered and confused. Is that the Senator?
The sound of squealing breaks. A soft thud. Screams and yells and then—fucking silence when Daryl cut the audio, transferring it to ear phones as he calmly motioned for Mac to drive.
Drive? Mac was fucking flying, forcing the SUV past traffic on the wrong side of the road, squeezing through spaces that should have been impossible to squeeze through.
They were two blocks away when he glanced over at Daryl, ready to demand an update, needing to know what the fuck was going on, now. The color drained from Daryl's face as Mac heard the echo of what could only be gunfire coming from the headset.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Daryl reached over, cut the power to the receiver and reached for his phone, already punching in numbers. "Chaos is down."
Mac's blood turned to ice. He gripped the steering wheel, forced himself to concentrate on breathing. "What the fuck do you mean, Chaos is down? What the fuck happened? Where's TR?"
<
br /> "She's been taken."
Mac slammed on the brakes. The rear of the SUV fishtailed, catching the front end of a parked car before straightening. Daryl looked over, his eyes eerily calm.
"Drive."
"Where the fuck is TR?"
"I need you to drive."
"TR—"
"The sooner we get there, the sooner we can assess. Now drive."
Mac bit back his fear, swallowed his terror, tapped into every bit of training he'd ever had then stomped on the gas. Daryl spoke into the phone, the words making no sense.
TR had been taken.
By who?
Why?
Where the fuck was she? Was she okay, or was it already—
No. No, fuck that. She was fine. He'd find her and see for himself. She was fine.
She had to be.
That was the only thing that kept him driving, moving forward, forcing a path through the congested traffic as Daryl made another call and then another. Always talking. Calm. In control. In command.
Traffic finally stopped, snarled to the point there was nowhere for Mac to go, not even the sidewalk. Daryl ended his recent call and pointed. "This is as close as we're going to get. Find a spot somewhere and park it."
Mac did just that, easing to the side as far as he could get then slamming the SUV into park. He freed his Glock from the holster and reached for the door, ready to tear it from its hinges in his search for TR, but Daryl stopped him.
"Put it away. This place is crawling with police and first responders."
"TR—"
"We'll find her. But we need to get to Chaos. Assess the situation before we go in blind.
Mac wanted to argue. To rail and scream and commit murder. He'd always heard the term berserker but had never fully understood it.
Not until now.
But Daryl was right. Assess. Come up with a plan. Find TR.
He jammed the weapon back into the holster and climbed out, pretending that his gut wasn't twisted with fear, that he wasn't ready to lean to the side and lose what little he'd had to eat before totally losing his shit altogether.
TR had been taken.
By who?
And why?
Daryl nudged him in the side, motioned for Mac to follow then weaved his way through the impatient crowd hovering along the street. Flashing lights, red and white and red and blue, came from each corner of the block they were approaching. Police officers blocked the crowd, keeping the onlookers back as a team of medics wheeled a stretcher toward a waiting ambulance.
Daryl approached one of the officers, leaned in close to say something, flashed him some kind of credentials. The officer frowned, said something into his radio, then waited.
Mac had no fucking idea what the hell Daryl had said, who he might have called before their arrival, but the officer finally nodded and motioned for the two of them to move through.
Daryl headed straight for the medic unit, flashed something else at one of the paramedics then climbed into the back. He went straight to Chaos's side, knelt down and placed a hand on his shoulder.
And fuck. The man looked close to death. Pale, shaky, blood already staining the sheet covering him. An oxygen mask covered his face and an IV bag hung suspended from the ceiling, the clear tube running to the catheter inserted into his arm.
Lids fluttered open and dark blue eyes rimmed with pain focused on Daryl—then on Mac. He reached up with a shaking hand, pushed the oxygen mask away from his face.
"Didn't...see it...coming." A deep breath, ending with a sharp piss. "Sorry."
Mac didn't say anything. He couldn't. Whatever had happened wasn't the fault of the man in front of him. It was his fault—Mac's.
TR had been taken, and there was nobody to blame but himself.
"Phone..."
Daryl leaned closer, listening to the other man's raspy words, nodded then reached under the sheet, into Chaos's jacket. Chaos said something else, the words too low for Mac to hear. Daryl nodded one last time, squeezed the man's shoulder.
"I've already arranged for someone to meet you at the hospital."
Chaos nodded, swung his gaze toward Mac one more time. "Send...the...bastard...to hell."
Mac swallowed, kept his gaze locked with Chaos's fading eyes. "I will."
The briefest smile lifted one corner of his mouth a second before his eyes drifted closed. Daryl pushed against Mac, forcing him out of the back of the medic. The door slammed shut and ten seconds later, the vehicle was racing away from them, lights flashing, siren wailing.
Mac watched it disappear, turned to Daryl, the silent question in his eyes.
"He'll make it." The other man clenched his jaw, must have seen everything else in Mac's eyes, everything he'd been trying to hide. "And so will TR. We'll track her. Find her. She'll be fine."
Mac wanted to believe him, more than he had ever wanted to believe anything else in his entire life. He looked away, trying to control the fear, the absolute terror that threatened to topple him. His voice, when he spoke, was thick with emotion. "I didn't tell her how I felt. She doesn't know—"
"Then you can tell her when we find her."
Mac tried to find hope in the reassurance.
And prayed that they wouldn't be too late.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TR jerked awake, panic ripping through her, remnants of the nightmare stealing her breath.
Suffocating. She couldn't breathe.
Drowning in the darkness.
Choking in the cold.
She forced her eyes open, searching for light. But there was no light, only darkness.
Black.
Crushing her.
A sound, high-pitched and pathetic.
Her.
The sound came from her, the whimper scraping her raw throat, trying to grow into a scream. She opened her mouth to let it out, to release the scream, to release the horror shredding her insides.
A fresh wave of terror washed over her when she realized she couldn't open her mouth. She tried to reach up but her hands were bound. Tight. Too tight. Cutting off her circulation. She couldn't feel her hands and oh God she was drowning, she couldn't breathe—
Easy, babe. I'm right here. I've got you.
Mac's voice. Calm. Steady. Reassuring.
She squinted into the darkness, searching for deep brown eyes. For an awkward smile and strong arms.
But there was nothing, just the inky darkness. Mac's voice had only been in her head.
She closed her eyes, saw him in front of her. Squatting down next to her, those warm eyes focused on her.
I'm right here, babe. I'm with you.
She nodded, knowing he couldn't see her, knowing that he wasn't really there. But it helped, thinking he was. Thinking that his gaze held hers as he told her to focus on him. To breath. Nice and easy. That was it. Nice and easy.
TR nodded, realized that she could breathe. Small, measured breaths through her nose. She needed to focus on that, on the fact that she wasn't drowning. That she wasn't choking.
Breathe.
Nice and easy.
But it was dark. So dark. Heavy, crushing her. And cold, almost as cold as the water that had washed over her when she was trapped in the car. Drowning. Fighting—
Stop it.
The command came from her this time. Her voice, sharp and strong. Yes, she needed to stop. Needed to keep the panic at bay. She could breathe. She wasn't drowning. She wasn't dying. And the darkness wasn't crushing her, it couldn't crush her, it had no weight, it was all in her head.
Don't think about it. Think about something else.
Yes. She needed to think about something else. About...
The tunnel. That night in the tunnel below Mac's house. When the darkness had freed her other senses. Her sense of touch, when she explored Mac's hard body, reveling in every inch of his masculine perfection. Her sense of taste, the tangy saltiness when she had taken him in her mouth. When he had kissed her and she'd been able to taste the
hint of basil from the pasta they'd had for dinner.
Her sense of hearing, of Mac's harsh breaths mingling with hers, of each hoarse groan and cry as their bodies came together and later, the steady beat of his heart, so solid and reassuring.
Yes. Think of that instead. Picture Mac. Remember his taste and touch and the feel of his strong arms holding her. Protecting her.
Her breathing slowed, became less anxious though it was still fast, each breath echoing around her in the dark room. Each breath holding back the panic that lurked close by, ready to claw its way inside her.
That's it, babe. Nice and easy. I'm right here.
But he wasn't. Not yet.
She just needed to keep that slight hold on herself, keep herself calmed down until he was here. Because he would be here, of that she was certain.
TR closed her eyes, leaned her head against the rough wall behind her, and kept repeating that to herself.
Mac was coming. He'll be here soon.
Mac was coming. He'll be here soon.
Over and over until she lost track of time. Minutes, hours. Did it matter? No, not when she could do nothing but wait.
And breathe.
A sound startled her and she jerked forward, cried in surprise when a sharp beam of harsh light blinded her. It was Mac. He was here—
She closed her eyes and turned her head away from the light. No, it wasn't Mac. The footsteps were all wrong. Too heavy, too loud. Mac didn't move like that, he was silent, always moving with the stealth of a predator.
"Ah, you're awake. Good." The voice moved closer, the steps coming to a stop several inches in front of her. The beam of light swept to the side as the man crouched in front of her. TR cautiously turned her head, blinking before focusing on the face only inches away.
And realized that evil looked...normal. Like a neighbor or a friend. A co-worker or a cousin.
Light brown hair, neatly trimmed.
Freshly shaved cheeks.
A light blue button-down tucked into khaki trousers, both neatly pressed.
Plain brown eyes, filled with an unnatural light that hinted not just at evil but at insanity as well.
TR slid closer to the wall, shrunk in on herself when she saw the unnatural light dancing in those eyes.
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