"What's going on? Where's Ryder?"
"I'm going to take you to him."
The edginess and anxiety turned to full-blown fear. Something was wrong, very wrong. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to run. To get away from the man watching her with cold eyes. Hannah shook her head, tried to free her arm and take a step back.
"I don't think—"
"I don't care." His grip tightened and he pushed her forward, causing her to stumble. She reached out, tried to catch herself but it was too late. He used her forward momentum to shove her into the van. She rolled to her back, tried to kick out with her feet. To scream for help. Anything—
Until she saw the gun in the man's hand, aimed directly at her.
"Sit down and shut up. If you don't, your friend is going to pay."
Ryder.
Oh God, what had he done to Ryder? Where was he? Or was this nothing more than a bluff?
That wasn't a chance she could take.
She sat back and kept her mouth shut.
And prayed that Ryder was still alive.
Chapter Twenty-One
The first thing Ryder noticed was the splitting pain shooting through his skull. He shifted, tried to roll onto his back. Nausea rolled over him in cold waves and he immediately stilled. Waiting for it to pass. Waiting for the cold sweat coating his body to stop. He sucked in a deep breath but even that fucking hurt.
He lay there. Not moving. Not breathing. Not doing anything except waiting for the pain to disappear.
The sharp pain faded to a dull throb, one that didn't threaten to push his brains out through his ears. He moved again, tried to push himself to a sitting position—and promptly wished he was dead.
Because fuck. Being dead had to be better than the fucking pain bouncing around inside his skull.
Or maybe he was dead and this was his personal hell. Instead of eternal flames, he'd been sentenced to eternal cold and never-ending pain.
He must have really pissed off somebody to be sentenced to this eternal torture.
He waited again for the pain to subside then slowly opened his eyes. Or maybe he closed them because all he saw was darkness. Cold, absolute darkness. Where the fuck was he? Not Hell. At least, he didn't think so. He may have done some shit in the past that probably didn't sit well with the Man upstairs but nothing to warrant this, and nothing that hadn't been done for the greater good.
Okay, so not Hell.
But damn close to it.
Why the fuck was it so fucking black? Was he blind? Had that fucker hit him so hard he lost his vision?
Hit.
Snippets of memory flooded back, nothing more than flashes.
The shed.
The crate.
Fucking George-fucking-Miller coming up behind him and crushing his skull in. What the fuck had the man used? Whatever it was, Ryder wanted it because he was going to use it on that fucking asshole twice as hard.
As soon as he got out of here.
And to do that, he needed to fucking move.
Shit.
Ryder pulled in a deep breath, his mind finally registering the damp air. Okay, that was a clue. So was the rough ground under his cheek—which meant he was laying in his side. Another clue. They didn't make sense because hell, his head was still threatening to split open. Didn't matter. He'd file them away in the back of his scrambled brains and use them later. As soon as he sat up.
He closed his eyes—maybe—pulled in another deep breath, then tried to get his arms in front of him.
They wouldn't move.
What the fuck? They were there, he could feel them. He wiggled his fingers, just in case. Yeah, they were right there, behind his back.
He tried moving his legs but had the same problem—they were there but he couldn't move them, not the way he was supposed to. And whenever he tried, all he felt was pain in his arms. That didn't make sense. Why would his arms hurt when he moved his legs? They weren't attached. Unless his scrambled brain was sending mixed signals to the wrong limbs.
He frowned, focused on his fingers. Told them to move. Yup, they moved. So his poor brain was sending the right signals but something was getting lost in the transmission.
He tried again only he moved too fast. Searing pain shot through him, just as intense as the last time but not nearly as long. Was that a good sign? Christ, he hoped so. He could use a good sign right about now.
He waited another few minutes then tried moving his legs and his arms at the same time. It didn't work. At least, not the way it was supposed to—and it had nothing to do with scrambled brains or mixed signals.
The damn fucker had hogtied him.
He swore, long and loud, not caring that the sound bounced back at him. The pain gave him something to focus on besides the burning anger erupting inside him.
The bastard had hogtied him.
Son-of-a-bitch.
Something caught his attention and he immediately stilled, breath held as he strained to hear. There it was again, just a faint noise. A soft scraping sound, like something sliding across loose stone and sand.
Scrape-slide.
Pause.
Scrape-slide.
Pause.
Scrape-slide.
Pause. Longer this time, so long that Ryder started to wonder if he had imagined the noise to begin with. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he'd been walloped in the head so hard that he was lying in a coma somewhere and all of this was nothing more than his imagination.
No, he wasn't buying it. The pain he felt when he tried to move was too fucking real.
"Ryder?"
Or maybe he was hallucinating because that had been Hannah's voice, coming from the same direction as that odd scrape-slide sound he'd just heard. The voice had been weak, uncertain, pitched just above a whisper. That didn't make sense. Why would Hannah be here?
"Ryder?"
There it was again. And no, he wasn't hallucinating—that had definitely been Hannah's voice.
Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.
Rage tore through him, white-hot and searing, eclipsing the pain in his skull. He was going to kill the fucker for even daring to touch Hannah. And if she was hurt in any way—
Ryder pushed the fury away—for now. His first concern had to be Hannah. He'd deal with everything else later.
"Hannah? Are you okay?"
Scrape-slide.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."
"You sure? He didn't hurt you?"
Scrape-slide.
"No." Her voice was closer now, a little steadier. "Just...no, I'm fine."
Rage swept over him again when he heard the hesitation in her voice. He pulled in a deep breath, winced. Was it his imagination, or was the pain in his skull subsiding? Probably his imagination—rage had a tendency to make everything else fade a bit.
He ran his tongue across his dry lips, forced a calmness he didn't feel to his voice. "How did he hurt you, Hannah?"
"He didn't." Scrape-slide. "It—just my arm. When he grabbed me."
Was she telling the truth? Maybe. It didn't matter because he was still going to kill the fucker. Later. They had other things to do first.
Like get the hell out of here.
"Hannah, do you know where we are?"
Scrape-slide. Scrape-slide.
She was close now, close enough that he could feel her body heat. Close enough that he could smell the mingled scent of rain and soap on her skin. His soap.
Christ, now was not the time to be feeling all possessive and shit. Didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the image of Hannah in his shower, using his soap, that popped into his head.
Later. Much later.
He cleared his mind and focused, realized he had completely missed what Hannah had said.
"Where did you say we were?"
"The cave."
The cave. Of course. Those two little clues he'd latched onto earlier popped into place, finally making sense. What didn't make sense is why they were here. Why hadn't Miller just tos
sed him off the cliff or into the water? Ryder would be fish bait by now if he'd done that. And why bring Hannah here? Why grab her at all?
There could be several possibilities but Ryder had no idea what they were, not when they hovered just out of reach of his frazzled brain.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Hannah's voice, low and filled with concern.
"Yeah, fine. Just a concussion."
Her surprised gasp filled the damp air. Hands touched him, their touch awkward and fumbling as they stroked the back of his head. Ryder winced, sucked in a sharp breath and did his best to move away. Hannah gasped again, this time in horror, an apology tumbling from her mouth.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's good. I'm fine." At least, he would be. "Hannah, are you tied up?"
"What?"
"Are you tied up? Restrained at all?" He thought she must be but he wasn't going to assume anything, not when his brain was still trying to unscramble itself.
"Oh. Yeah. He, um, he put those plastic things around my hands and feet." She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was lower and laced by a touch of anger. "It's George Miller. He's the one—"
"I know. I'll deal with him later." And whoever the hell else was helping him. His wife? Maybe. The granddaughter? Maybe. Didn't matter because they'd all fucking pay. "Hannah, are your hands in front of you or behind your back?"
"In front. Why? Aren't yours?"
Ryder actually laughed, just a soft chuckle that caused another burst of pain in his skull. The son-of-a-bitch wasn't as smart as he thought he was; if he was, he would have tied Hannah's hands behind her back—not that Ryder wouldn't have been able to talk her through what needed to be done. "No, I'm hogtied."
"Why would he—"
"Doesn't matter." Ryder shifted his body, trying to move closer to where he thought Hannah was. "Sweetheart, can you reach my right boot?"
"I think so." There was a soft sliding sound as she moved closer, then her hands brushed the back of his head again. He swore and she immediately moved back, once again apologizing."
"Hannah, it's okay. I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You're hurt." Was that anger in her voice? Yeah, it was. And yeah, the fucker must have hit Ryder harder than he thought because the idea of Hannah being angry on his behalf actually made him smile.
"I'll survive. Just—slide a little closer."
"I'm afraid to touch you. What if I make it worse?"
The only thing that would make it worse was if Miller and whoever was helping him showed up before they could get out of here. He couldn't allow that to happen.
And he sure as hell couldn't tell Hannah that.
"You won't."
She muttered something under her breath then slid closer. Hands touched his thigh, gingerly moved down his leg, following the bend of his knee and moving along his calf to the top of his boot.
"Okay, I found your boot."
"My right boot, sweetheart. See if you can reach your fingers inside."
She shifted behind him, moving closer as her fingers played with the top edge of his boot. "Why do I need to reach inside your boot?"
"Because there's a knife in there." Maybe. If Miller hadn't taken it when he hogtied him.
Her fingers stilled. Ryder heard her unasked question in the damp air, gave her credit for not actually voicing it. She wedged her fingers deeper into the boot then let out a small gasp of surprised triumph.
"Got it!"
"Okay, good. Now, I want you to cut the restraints holding my hands and feet."
"You want me to what?"
"Cut the restraints."
There was a long pause, one filled with hesitation and doubt. "Ryder, it's pitch black. I can't see anything. What if I cut you?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that. I can't see—"
"Hannah, I need you to do this."
Another pause, followed by muttering he couldn't quite make out. Her hands moved from his leg, fingers gingerly touching him until they stopped at his hands. She took a deep breath, shifted, then cold metal brushed across his wrist. Ryder held himself still, barely breathing as she tried to saw through the restraints. There was brittle crack then the sound of metal hitting stone, followed by a soft oath.
"The knife broke."
Yeah, of course it did. Fuck. He knew that knife was a piece of shit.
"Not a big deal, Hannah. We can still do this."
"But it broke. I can't—"
"I need you to untie my bootlace."
"What?"
"Untie my bootlace and pull it out. Doesn't matter which one."
"Why?"
"I'll explain later."
Hands closed over his boot again, fingers fumbling to untie the laces. They were wet, which would make it harder for her, but Hannah didn't stop. A few minutes later, he felt a tug against his foot as she pulled the long length of lace free.
"Got it. Now what."
"Tie a loop at each end, one big enough to fit around the toe of your shoe."
"My shoe?"
"Yeah. Doesn't have to be any bigger than that. A small bowline will work."
"Um, Ryder?"
"Yeah sweetheart, what is it?"
"I, um, I don't know how to tie knots."
Shit. He could talk her through it but that would take too long. "Then just put the lace into my hands. I'll tie it for you."
"But your hands are behind your back! How are you—"
"Just a little trick I know. I'll teach you when we get out of here." He wiggled his fingers, caught the bootlace in his grasp when she gave it to him. He closed his eyes, slid the lace through his fingers until he reached the end.
Made a loop. Slid the running end up through the loop. Around the standing end. Back down through the loop. Pulled it tight. He checked the size of the loop by inserting two fingers and spreading them. Yes, that should be just the right size for Hannah.
He slid the lace through his fingers and tied another loop in the other end. Checked it again then nodded.
And shit. Another flash of pain exploded in his skull. Not as bad as it had been but still there. Tough shit. He'd have to deal with it. Ignore it. Push through it.
He didn't have a choice.
"Take the bootlace from my hand. I want you to put one loop around your foot, feed the lace over the restraints around your wrists, then put the second loop around your other foot."
Her fingers brushed his as she took the bootlace from him. He heard her shift, her heels kicking against the ground as she followed his directions. There was some more muttering, followed by a curse of impatience, then a feminine grunt of satisfaction.
"Okay, got it. Now what?"
"Make sure there's tension on the lace then saw through it with your feet."
"Saw? I don't understand."
"Move your feet. Pedal them back and forth."
"But won't the lace break?"
"No."
"How do you know that? It's just a shoelace. It won't—"
"It's Kevlar. Trust me, it's not going to break. Just watch your skin, you don't want to get a friction burn."
"Like I'm worried about that." He smiled at the impatience in her voice. Listened as she started pedaling her feet back and forth. There was a small snapping sound and then—
"Oh my God, it worked. It worked! How did—"
"Just another little trick I know. Now grab the loops in your hand and saw through the restraints on your feet. And when you're done that, get me the hell out of these things."
A small murmur drifted over him as Hannah quickly got to work. A few minutes later, there was another snapping sound as she cut through the restraints around her feet.
"I need to get me some of these."
Ryder chuckled, held himself still as she kneeled behind him and threaded the lace around the restraints holding him in place. One snapped, then another. One more and he was free.
Free.
Now it was time to make the
fucker pay.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Three of a kind." Allison tossed the cards on the bed between them and looked up with a wide grin that stole his breath away. "That means you owe me another hundred bucks."
Ninja tossed his own cards down then grabbed the pad and pencil they were using to keep track of their bets. Holy shit, she was robbing him blind. He would have never suggested playing poker as a way to pass the time if he had realized she was a damn card shark.
He wanted to blame it on being distracted. He hadn't seen Boomer all morning and that worried him. He hadn't been able to reach Mac or Daryl and that fucking bothered him. He was sitting with his back to the door and that just fucking freaked him out.
But most of all, he was distracted by that kiss Allison had laid on him the night before. He hadn't seen it coming at all—although in hindsight, he probably should have. He had just ignored the subtle signs—mostly for his own sense of self-preservation. Allison was Boomer's kid sister. A woman, yes, but still his buddy's sister.
Which put her squarely in the hands-off column.
It was his own damn fault, though. He should have never caressed her back when they'd been hiding in that damn cave. Should have never leaned over and whispered in her ear.
You deserve better than him. Someone who values you for the treasure you are.
It was a damn foolish thing to say and he should have kept his fucking mouth shut. But he'd sensed her upset, had felt her entire body tense with anger and hurt at the little show going on outside the cave. Had she slept with the guy? He didn't think so. It didn't matter if she had or not. She was upset and all he'd been focused on was reassuring her—
And trying to tamp down her anger so she didn't do something foolish like storm out of the cave and go after the asshole.
Didn't matter that he'd meant the words, he still shouldn't have said them. He should have done something else, like maybe sit on her.
Yeah, sure. That would have gone over really well. About as well as the hug he'd given her last night. All he'd meant to do was comfort her. She was upset over Tim's death, a perfectly reasonable reaction no matter how she may have felt about the douche.
The Defender: RYDER (Cover Six Security Book 3) Page 18