Rick flew through the downstairs, gun out and ready to use. Dane followed, and they quickly determined there was no one in any of the rooms. He pressed the button on his headset. “Clear.”
“Clear. Hostage located. Upstairs bedroom, last on right. No sign of target.” Ben’s voice sent Rick’s frantic heart into his throat, the rapid beats thundering in his ears, drowning out the rest of the transmission. He scrambled to the staircase, taking the steps three at a time.
Rick burst into the room and skidded to a halt at the side of the bed. What he saw literally brought him to his knees. He ripped off his tactical helmet, tossing it to the floor with a loud clatter as he stared at the huddled figure in front of him.
“Jesus.”
Logically, Rick knew the girl on the bed was Quinn. It had to be her. But looking at this broken, bloody person, he couldn’t find a single part of her that he recognized. The tiny, curled up figure was so bruised, so swollen, so viciously attacked, that his mind couldn’t reconcile what he was seeing with the beautiful, spirited woman he fell in love with.
When Rick spoke, his voice was rough from holding back the crushing grief and regret that swelled in his chest. “Quinn?” She didn’t flinch or make any movement that made him think he could hear him.
Behind him, Rick vaguely registered that the rest of the team had arrived and someone was calling for an ambulance. When a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, he didn’t acknowledge whoever it was. He couldn’t. Rick’s entire world had collapsed into a constricted, dark tunnel, with him on one end and Quinn out of reach at the other.
“Rick!”
The hand shook him harder, but he was paralyzed, unable to make himself respond. Rick felt as if he were watching this moment from outside his body, like a bad television drama playing out in front of him while he stood on the sidelines.
“Rick!”
This time, two hands gripped his arms and yanked him to his feet. He was able to stand, barely, but still couldn’t fully focus on the man yelling in his face.
What’s happening to me? Is she going to die? Am I dying?
Rick could feel the back of his thigh beginning to tingle, the slow burn getting stronger. Flames licked up the length of his leg, spreading out, consuming him, burning him alive. It joined the blaze in his gut that was spurring him to take revenge, to get his hands on Travis Hardy and shred him to microscopic pieces. Liquid fire surged through his veins, burning him both inside and out.
If she’s dead, take me.
“Rick!”
A large hand squeezed his jaw finally dragging him from his own personal hell. Dane came into focus, his concerned brow pulled down low and his piercing eyes staring into Rick’s. Dane was upset, shouting in his face, but Rick hadn’t heard a word he said.
“Huh?” Rick shook his head, blinking rapidly.
“You with me Rick? We have to get our shit off and into the Suburban. We can’t let the paramedics come in here and see us in our tac gear with high powered rifles strapped to our backs.”
The anger Rick had for Quinn’s husband needed to come out before it ate him from the inside out. Seeing what he did to her, what a sick bastard he was, made him snap. Rick shoved Dane, wanting to lash out, needing to fight someone, craving an outlet for the overwhelming rage.
“Fuck you! I’m not leaving her!”
Before he could pull back his fist, Dane grabbed Rick’s wrists, skillfully spinning him around and pinning him in a chokehold. Rick hadn’t expected the Jiu Jitsu champ to make a move, so Dane had him subdued before he could fight against the hold. Within seconds Rick began to feel lightheaded from lack of blood to his brain.
Dane murmured evenly in Rick’s ear as he put pressure on Rick’s carotid artery. “You know that you’ll lose consciousness in about ten seconds. Calm down and get your shit together so you can ride with Quinn to the hospital, or pass out and I’ll chuck your ass in the car and you can find your own way there.”
Knowing that Dane was dead serious in his threat, Rick tapped Dane’s forearm. The only thing he needed more than a fight right now was to be with Quinn, even if it meant giving up for the moment. As soon as he tapped, the hold around his neck released, allowing blood to rush back to his head.
Without Dane holding him up, Rick collapsed to the ground, choking and gasping for air on his hands and knees.
“You fucker!” he croaked, rubbing his sore neck.
“Shut up! They’ll be here any second. We have to get this shit packed up. Give me your vest and your guns and empty your pockets.”
Grudgingly, Rick stripped off his gear, handing it over and throwing the smaller items into Dane’s backpack.
Dane hiked the bag onto his shoulder. “I’m going. Me and the other guys will go back to Sanctum, get rid of our weapons, and meet you at the hospital. You found her here like this, alone. Got it?”
Rick nodded, his attention already back on Quinn. He didn’t hear Dane leave the room, but he knew he was finally alone with her. Hesitantly, he raised a hand, gently running it over Quinn’s hair. Listening to her shallow, raspy breathing, seeing her perfect skin covered in dried blood and mottled bruises, caused the dam inside Rick to finally break. His hand shook as he continued to pet her filthy, matted hair, sobs ripping from his throat as he knelt beside the bed.
“I’m so sorry, doll.”
He never registered the dampness on his cheeks as he kept up a string of apologies in between hitched breaths.
“I’m so sorry. I should have been there… I—I should have protected you. I should have told you that I loved you— that I am in love with you. I’m so sorry, doll. Don’t die. Don’t leave me.”
Loud footsteps entered the house. A man yelled out and Rick answered. He listened to them thumping and banging their way up the staircase.
“These guys are going to take care of you. I’ll be with you the whole time, doll.”
Rick stood up, wiping his eyes and backing away so the medics could work on Quinn. As he watched them load her limp, battered body onto the stretcher, he could only think of two things—Quinn and revenge.
Chapter 5
Quinn was tired. So unbelievably freaking tired. Every inch of her body hurt, even her hair.
“Sleep, doll.” Rick’s warm hand slipped into hers, his thumb gently rubbing circles on her palm. “The police are coming by later to talk to you, so you’ll need your rest.”
Her heart grew heavy at the thought of rehashing those horrific twenty-four hours. Especially with Rick in the room listening. When she first regained consciousness, the doctor told her she had been in the hospital for half a day. Time had ceased to exist in her world. The fact that she didn’t know what day it was suddenly upset her more than it should.
“What day is it?”
“Just rest, doll.”
Panic fluttered in her chest. “I need to know, Rick. Tell me!” Her voice was growing agitated. Quinn could hear the heart monitor accelerating. She needed something, anything to ground her to reality. So far, all she was told was that Rick found her father’s address and drove there on a hunch. Travis wasn’t there when he arrived. Not knowing what happened, losing time, had her freaking out.
“Shhhhh.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s Tuesday.”
“What time?”
Through her swollen eyelids, Quinn saw Rick’s eyes narrow. He didn’t understand her need to clutch at the strings that still bound her to earth and hang on tight, or else she’d float away in the tidal wave of sadness threatening to crash over her.
“Two-o’clock. In the afternoon, doll.”
“Two. Okay, that’s good. Good.” She had no idea why it mattered so much, it just did. Knowing the time and day made her feel like she finally climbed out of the nightmare and back into reality. Her heart monitor began slowing down, the rapid beeping fading back into a steady pulse.
“Quinn…” Rick’s pained expression had Quinn holding her breath, waiting anxiously to hear what
came next. “What…what did he do to you? Did he—?” His voice was strangled, nearly choked-off at one point. This man. This big, rugged, macho, fighter, who saved her from being killed by her sadistic husband, was on the verge of a break down, because he cared about her.
When she realized he was asking if Travis had sexually assaulted her, Quinn’s eyes widened as much as they could considering how swollen they were. “No,” she whispered. “Not that. He didn’t, I swear Rick.”
“Jesus… thank god.” He lowered his forehead to their joined hands, then pressed a kiss to the back of hers before sitting up straight again. “I’m so sorry, doll. That he—”
“He’s a sick, twisted man, Rick. Always has been. But even I didn’t expect him to kidnap me. Not in a million years.”
“Why, Quinn? Why didn’t you tell me about him? I could have—”
“That’s why, Rick! That look, right there on your face. Pity. I didn’t want to be seen as some… some weak, pathetic victim!” After holding in her emotions, being too exhausted and hurt to feel anything but pain, Quinn broke down. She pulled her hand out from under Rick’s, using it to cover her face as she cried.
“No doll, no! You’re not weak or pathetic. Mara… she told me what he used to do to you. You’re… you’re one of the strongest people I know. You survived.”
He wrapped his hands around her wrists and gently pried them away from her face.
“Stop crying, doll. It’s killing me. It kills me that I didn’t get to you sooner—that I couldn’t protect you.”
“What? You… you did save me Rick. You found me before he could kill me. And he would have, eventually.”
“Oh god.”
Rick carefully climbed up onto the bed, holding Quinn against his chest. They clung to each other, Quinn sobbing until she was wrung out and exhausted.
“Never again, Quinn,” Rick whispered into her hair. “Never again.”
Feeling safe for the first time in a long time, Quinn huddled against Rick’s strong chest and fell asleep.
Rick stretched out on the mat, attempting to clear his mind before getting into the octagon with Dane. Rick, being a striker, needed to practice his ground game and Dane, being the Jiu-Jitsu expert, was more than happy to teach Rick a thing or two.
It had been three weeks since they had found Quinn handcuffed to a bed in her father’s house. Three weeks that Rick stayed by her side virtually every minute of every day as she healed, both physically and psychologically, from that sick bastard’s torture. Quinn was having terrible nightmares each night, making it nearly impossible for him to sleep. He was so concerned with her fragile mental state, he’d taken to staying up at night, watching Quinn sleep restlessly and attempting to soothe her when the nightmares started. Sometimes his calm petting and soft words helped and she would settle back into a deep sleep. Sometimes, the dreams progressed, and Rick would have to wake Quinn up as she screamed and clawed at the bed, covered in sweat because her fear was so real.
“Ready?”
Dane’s deep voice broke Rick’s concentration. He finished stretching and jumped to his feet, glad for the distraction. “Killer, I’m ready when you are.” Rick was a striker, which meant that he was at his best when he was on his feet, kicking and punching. Dane was a Jiu Jitsu champion, which meant he was a threat on the ground, relying on submissions to win matches.
Dane smiled, climbing the steps up into the cage. Rick followed, eager to burn off some of his stress. They never caught Quinn’s ex, the fucker. He disappeared without a trace. No credit card transactions, no sight of him in Texas, nothing. That pissed him off more than anything. Who knew the asshole would be smart enough to know how to drop off the grid?
“Ground work and holds only today, right? No kicking, no punching.” Dane raised his eyebrows, waiting for Rick to answer.
“Right.” He popped in his mouth guard and walked to the center of the ring. Grinning, Dane did the same. Rick nodded to the burly blonde man, and it was on.
They circled each other like predators, running through each potential takedown in their heads, calculating the different risks, sizing the other man up for weaknesses. Dane moved first. Quick as a snake, he grabbed Rick’s wrist and attempted to spin him around. Rick twisted out of the hold, escaping to the other side of the octagon.
Dane was immediately on him again, bent at the waist and expertly lifting Rick up then slamming to the ground. The urge to punch Dane was so instinctual that Rick had to grind his teeth together in order to stop himself.
“C’mon Ricochet! Can’t get out of a brabo choke?” Clint was laughing at the side of the cage, his fingers threaded through the vinyl-covered chain links. Rick couldn’t see him, but he had enough air to answer.
“Fuck you, Paxton!”
Using all of his strength, Rick clutched Dane around the waist and rolled them both over until he was on top of the burly blonde man and out of the hold.
“Nice!” Dane said as he squirmed out from beneath Rick.
Both men scrambled back to their feet, circling each other once more. A crowd had gathered around the ring, enjoying the fight. It wasn’t often that two of the more alpha types got in the ring together, so when they did it usually drew attention.
“Get him Ricochet!”
“Take that fucker down!”
“Finally got someone who can get out of your fucking anaconda arms, huh Dane?”
All of the fighters in the gym, regulars and newbies, had stopped their own training to watch Rick and Dane rolling. Rick knew they were only cheering him on because so far, no one had been able to beat the Dane using submission techniques. The man was lethal on the ground.
Smiling behind his mouth guard, Rick motioned for Dane to come and get him, holding up his hand and curling his fingers back towards himself.
Dane’s eyes lit up with perverse delight at the taunting. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm and edged closer. Rick jumped back, egging his friend on once more with a quick gesture, knowing that Dane would allow himself to be baited into a bad decision. Dane leapt at Rick again, but this time, Rick hopped to the side, swiftly wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. Using his own weight to aid him, Rick fell to the ground, pulling Dane with him, and was able to slide his legs around Dane’s neck. The big man thrashed, shoving at Rick’s torso. Rick grabbed Dane’s arm and went for the high arm lock.
“Go, go, go!”
“Holy shit, Rick’s got him!”
Dane kept his arm in constant motion so Rick couldn’t grab onto it. He eventually weaseled his way out of the hold, rolling across the mat out of Rick’s reach. Both men immediately jumped to their feet once more, their bare chests heaving.
“Awwww, damn! Thought Ricochet had you, Nolan!”
Rick was about to attack Dane again when he heard Xavier speaking in the background. “Quinn, you sure you’re okay to be here?”
Concerned, his eyes immediately sought out Quinn. That brief moment of lost focus gave Dane the opening he needed. Before Rick knew it, he was on the ground in a reverse arm lock, his shoulder and elbow joints screaming in protest. Knowing he wasn’t getting out of the hold anytime soon, and suddenly desperate to make sure Quinn was okay, Rick tapped Dane’s wrist in defeat.
Boos and grunts of displeasure carried across the gym. The disappointed onlookers dispersed when they realized the show was over.
“You stupid fucker,” Rick gasped after spitting out his mouth guard. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Dane smiled, tapping the side of his head. “That’s the point, Ricochet. Never lose focus.”
“I hate you.”
The big blonde man grinned and left the ring. Getting to his feet slowly, Rick followed with a grimace, shaking out the arm that had been pinned. He crossed over to where Quinn stood with an indecipherable look on her face.
Shit, what’s going on?
Quinn had been recuperating in her apartment, not leaving it in the two weeks since she was discharged fr
om her weeklong hospital stay. Most of her injuries had been superficial, but a concussion and fractured cheekbone had kept her from coming home right away. Rick hated leaving her alone, but he had to continue working. Mack promised not to send him on any missions until she was fully healed, which, from the looks of things, could be any day now.
“Hey,” he said calmly. “Why aren’t you resting?” Rick put his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her arms.
Quinn’s eyes grew large and went to his gloved hands.
Fuck, she hates fighting. Now I know why she looks freaked out.
Rick yanked his hands away and took a step back. “I didn’t mean for you to see me fight, Quinn. I’m sorry.”
To his surprise, Quinn stepped forward, closing the distance Rick had put between them. He watched as she hesitantly lifted her arms, placing her hands on his sweat-slicked chest. Her eyes met his and his breath left in a sharp huff. The fear he had expected to see wasn’t there. No… Quinn’s eyes were dark and glistening with lust.
“I didn’t know that watching you fight would be so comforting. It makes me feel safe, and… turned on,” she murmured. Rick shivered as her hands ran down his torso, moving over each defined muscle until they were resting on either side of his waist.
“Turned on?” Rick swallowed, barely able to speak with Quinn touching him like that. She was only just about healed from the attack. He figured it would be months, if not longer before she’d be interested in pursuing anything physical.
“Yes, turned on.” Quinn’s fingers dug into Rick’s waist, her thumbs making small circles on the ‘v’ shaped ridges of his lower abs. Scorching waves of pleasure rippled down his spine, instantly making his cock come to life.
“Jesus,” he muttered softly. Using every last bit of willpower he had, Rick captured Quinn’s wrists, removing her hands from his body. “Not here, doll.” He glanced around, but none of the other fighters were looking their way. Still, he’d kill them if they saw the lust in Quinn’s eyes. That was for him, and him alone.
Quinn pouted, crossing her arms and glaring like a kid denied her favorite candy.
Extraction Point (Ricochet #3) Page 4