Chapter 1

Chapter

One

PATCH

TWO WEEKS LATER

" C asualty reports are still incoming…"

The half-light cast by the dim lamp in the bathroom kept the murky darkness at bay. The world seemed fuzzy around the edges.

"Unexpected complications. Collateral damage within acceptable limits."

The world seemed coated in grime and my eyes watered.

"…don't you dare! Patch! Talk to me dammit!"

The last voice penetrated the haze and I shook my head a little. Were the voices real or was?—

A movement shifted the bed. A movement made by someone else . I jerked a little and turned, my gaze locking on a pair of dark eyes. Little bubbles of hysteria fizzed up through me like I was a carbonated can given too hard a shake.

The dark eyes were steady, unblinking and while I was sitting up, he remained where he was—laying down. Some distant portion of my brain still capable of rational analysis said his posture reflected a lack of threat.

Lack of threat…

That information accompanied one other pertinent nugget. Probably the important one…

"McQuade…"

Recognition bled through me and I sagged like someone had cut my strings. Fear dissolved into the sick effervescence rioting in my system.

"It's just me," he said in that rough way of his. The words had to bounce over that gravelly tone, but in some ways that was so much better than the soothing notes.

I really didn't want to be soothed.

Not while my heart jackrabbited and my stomach did flip-flops and my memory…

My fucking memory needed to be defragged so I could get rid of all the broken bits of data cluttering things up and put the rest back together again. I lifted a hand to touch my face.

Despite half-expecting bruises, all I found was a pillow impression on my cheek and some drool.

Very attractive.

"I'm going to sit up, Sugar Bear."

Sugar Bear?—

"You know," I said. "I never told you that you could call me that—" Then I hesitated. I hadn't told him that was okay, right?

The murkiness discoloring everything was like trying to stare through sooty pinholes to what happened over the last few weeks. One minute, I was in my home working, doing my job. The next I was in a clinic, with three men I'd only ever spoken to on the phone hovering over me.

It wasn't just days that were gone, it was weeks . Whole chunks of time I couldn't account for but that couldn't have been fun based on my injuries. Even more, based on how Remy, McQuade, and Locke behaved around me.

Something terrible had happened and I couldn't access it. I hated the not knowing almost more than I hated the visceral physical reactions I kept having.

"Just because you didn't tell me I could, doesn't mean I won't do it," McQuade said, a smile curving his well-formed mouth. The stubble on his face was also kind of charming, and emphasized his more rebellious side.

As interesting and handsome as he was, hadn't I gone to bed on my own the night before?

"You were having a nightmare," McQuade said, the ease with which he spoke so damn familiar.

More familiar than the flirtations on the phone. This had substance and texture. It made me want to lean on him

"I know you said you wanted to sleep on your own. I heard you last night. And I heard your nightmares. When you're having nightmares, I'm going to show up. You sleep better when I'm here." He delivered the information with all the confidence of being straight facts.

Hard to dispute facts. Even if I didn't quite remember the nightmares. I remembered… The shadows slipped away before I could get a grip on them.

It wasn't like I could argue that point. He seemed to be speaking from experience and, frankly, I had slept. So I just kind of nodded, but I couldn't go back to sleep now. He seemed to understand, because he motioned towards the bathroom. Despite the gesture, it wasn't until he kept that long stare fixed on me that I finally forced myself to get out of the bed.

A split-second's hesitation marked me pushing back the blankets. What did I go to bed in? It took a moment to register that I did have on a t-shirt and panties. It covered everything important. Relieved by that much, I headed for the bathroom.

McQuade said nothing until I flipped on the light in the bathroom and began to close the door.

"Patch," he said in a very low voice. It was the kind of cadence I couldn't ignore. No one could. He only used it when he wanted you to pay attention to him, because it was serious. He needed you to listen and believe him.

Over the past few years I'd only ever heard him use that tone a few times. Then it was only to those people he'd rescued and he still needed to get out. Hearing him use that tone with me offered both comfort and the most disquieting unease that I'd ever experienced.

Licking my very dry lips, I steeled my shoulders and lifted my chin. As much as I wanted to escape everything his voice implied, I refused.

I wasn't a child. I wouldn't run away from what went bump in the night, even if I didn't know what that bump was or who caused it. The man sitting on the bed we'd ended up sharing was no stranger. I'd known him for years, even if we'd never met in person until…

Well, I couldn't actually remember meeting him the first time at the moment, so I'd just go with recently.

McQuade continued to stare at me until our gazes locked. He raised his eyebrows, was I paying attention to him?

I nodded in response to the silent question. "I'm listening," I added while trying to infuse those two words with every bit of confidence I could. It still came out weak, but whatever.

"It's going to be fine." Five words delivered in a manner that said there were no other options. Everything would work out. It was going to be fine.

Because he said so dammit.

"That's what you know?" I asked and maybe I was daring him a little to prove it to me. "I mean, is that really what you know?"

Grinning, he flipped back the blankets revealing the rest of his very well-muscled, trim, and fit form, that was damn fine if you didn't mind all the scars. I definitely didn't mind them. Every single one was?—

He cleared his throat and I jerked my head up to meet his incredibly amused gaze.

"That's exactly what I know," he said. "And you can look at me anytime you want, Sugar Bear."

My face flamed. Choosing tactical retreat, I shut the door then turned to lean with my back against it, eyes closed while desperately trying to ignore the masculine laughter wrapping around me from the other room.

At least he wasn't completely repulsed by my involuntary gawking at him. Not that he had a damn thing to worry about, he was so ruggedly built and…

Shit, what am I doing? I rubbed a hand over my face before staring at myself in the mirror.

What the fuck am I doing?

I'd had quite a few injuries when I woke up in that clinic, head pounding, vaguely nauseated, and really out of it. The last thing I'd expected was the three of them hovering over me, varying degrees of relief on their faces.

"Fallon?"

Blurring. Heat. Light. Cold.

The world seemed to drop and nausea swept through me. Then the world darkened again.

"You're safe." The softness of that voice, the absence of the clipped tones to his British accent washed over me. "The others are on their way."

Darkness.

Light.

Splintering.

"Gentlemen, yelling will not wake her up faster. I would caution you against increasing her stress until we've gotten a coherent answer from her." The almost lyrical voice scolded in such a firm tone. It was kind of magical. Not that I'd heard any yelling.

The darkness swallowed me again.

"Hey, Fallon." Locke? Locke was here. "I know you don't necessarily like us using that name, but I think it's pretty. Patch is a badass, but Fallon—she's something special too." A chair wheel squeaked against the floor. "Fuck, sorry. We're splitting up time with you. You're never left alone. I promise. No one is going to get to you here. You're safe."

The stress on that last word stirred something inside of me. Safe. Safety, like time, was relative. An illusion. An all too brief respite.

Even if I kind of wanted to believe him.

A hand flexed over mine, the gentlest stroke of fingers slotting with mine, until they were interlocked. It was like he reached into the darkened pool and dragged me toward the surface.

"It's okay, Sugar Bear. You take as long as you need. The fact you can sleep with all this beeping is impressive."

McQuade.

"Doctor said you needed time. No stressing that sexy fucking brain of yours. So, pick one thing and just focus on that." Silence lingered, but not absence. I wasn't alone in the dark.

They were all here.

McQuade.

Locke.

Remy.

I squeezed the hand holding mine.

"Hello, luv. There you are. That's it. Hold on to me."

Blink.

Brightness.

Darkness.

Cold.

Hot.

Blink.

Blurs moving around.

The world swayed.

Darkness again.

Another blur.

The light sharpened gradually, forming a frame around a set of red-rimmed blue eyes that stared back at me. I blinked slowly, adding more clarity to the image. It was so real…

"Hi," Locke whispered. A smile softened the corners of his mouth. His usually perfect hair was mussed, his face unshaven, and his clothes wrinkled. Something was wrong for him to be in such an unkempt state. "You still with me?"

Was he here? For real? Or was this some kind of dream? Why was he here? Maybe I was imagining it. Focus was so damn hard at the moment. Arm trembling, I tried to lift my hand. It was like it was totally disconnected from me.

He ducked his head, meeting my touch. The roughness of his whiskers scraped at my skin. Locke was real.

He was real and I was touching him.

Why—how had he found me? Were the others real too?

His smile deepened and he covered my hand on his cheek, keeping it pressed to his face. "It's really me. We're really here. Been waiting for you to open those gorgeous eyes."

Movement behind him. The others? But even as I raised my eyes to focus, they were already closing. Dammit.

Blink.

"There you are." Remy had replaced Locke. Maybe I was hallucinating. These two didn't even know each other. But the shadows under his eyes and the paleness to his face suggested more than worry. "The doctor is actually here this time."

Irritation ruffled beneath those words.

"Mr. Remington." Oh, the doctor was the lyrical voice. "I've told you that just telling her off is not going to work."

"Yet, she is looking at me and she can hear me," he retorted, before glancing back at me. His cooler demeanor softened. "Can't you, luv?"

I squeezed his hand. Even as I searched for the words to say, a woman entered my line of sight. Her darker skin and eyes seemed so warm in contrast to the violent white of the room. Was it really that white? I couldn't really see much past either Remy or ? —

I had no idea what the doctor's name was. The room seemed to swim again, then there were two fingers moving back and forth right in front of me. Oh, that helped. Easier to focus on what was closer.

"Can you follow this motion?" Her tone had turned brisk, direct. "Excellent. That's good tracking. I need to test your pupil response."

The only warning she gave me before she pierced my brain with a too bright pin light. It flooded my eyes, fading everything around me. Eventually, it left a corona effect around Remy, then Locke, and McQuade as they crowded in behind him.

They were all there.

Exhaustion had marked them, but it was worry that stamped their features. I'd seen them in a lot of situations.

This one was new.

They were here and terrified.

For the first time since I woke up, fear pierced me.

Maybe I imagined it? But that didn't seem likely. No, they'd been incredibly relieved. I'd also been shot. With trembling fingers, I traced the thin pink line right along my hairline. I could feel it, but it wasn't visible unless I pulled my hair back tight.

A furrow where the skin had split open after a bullet creased me. They'd used these little butterfly bandages on it and skin glue after it kept reopening for a couple of days after. The blinding headache had been insane.

The pain had been off the charts. The pain and my completely obliterated memory.

The physician said it would come back. Eventually. He assured me that it was a trauma reaction, probably not anything to do with my brain. Or maybe just my brain protecting me. Great. I didn't like maybes and shoulds.

I liked concrete facts. For example, between my physical condition and everything the guys hadn't said, I'd definitely experienced the trauma to have this kind of reaction.

Specific type of trauma?

I could guess. My last memories before waking up in the clinic had been being in my house in Estes Park, and working in my safe room.

Someone had to have taken me. Taken me. Tortured me.

But where? And who?

Had I told them anything? Was it already too late?

The guys didn't think so, or so they insisted the spare once or twice I'd actually managed to get Locke or Remy to answer a question regarding it.

Dammit.

I wanted to push. The first few days, I let them call the shots, but the headache was better. More manageable.

I needed answers.

Remy insisted I needed to let them worry about things right now while I took it easy. My brain needed the time to heal. He reminded me what the doctor had said about trying to force it could make it worse.

What he'd actually said was forcing it could exacerbate the trauma and hurt me more than help. The minute he said those words, the guys dug in, McQuade, in particular. We wouldn't be pushing. End of story.

Hating every part of this, I shoved away from the door. I used the facilities, then washed my hands before staring at myself in the mirror again. There were new scars in addition to the thin one along my hair line. A couple on my chin, and another on my throat.

Scars I didn't recognize, from injuries I couldn't really remember.

Stripping off the t-shirt and panties, I braced to study the scars on my chest and the ones along my arms.

Cigarette burns were hard to think of as anything else. They were stained pink, the skin waxy, and the circles kind of oblong. It made me think whoever had inflicted them had moved the cigarette in circles to extinguish it on my flesh.

There was evidence of more burns over my breasts and abdomen down to my thighs. These looked more electrical than cigarette. The lines thin, almost ribboning over each other.

A crop? A whip? Hot wire?

No matter how much I studied them, the marks only gave me more questions, not answers. The thud in my head increased, as though the pound of my heart echoed in my brain.

After twisting the shower on, I didn't wait for it to heat up all the way and just ducked under the water. The chill in the water braced me, the spray washing away the fog and the cobwebs. Gradually, it heated before I could get too cold. McQuade might still be in my room, but if he heard the shower come on, he wouldn't bother me.

So far the guys had all been good about respecting my privacy unless I called for help. Something I'd ceased the moment I could stand and walk on my own. My feet still hurt, the wounds there mostly healed, but it made my arches tight and I didn't think the ball of my right foot would ever not be bruised.

It had been my nightmares that pulled him into the room. Had I cried out? Screamed? What were they about? But no matter how hard I tried, the dreams were no more substantial than wisps on the air.

Showering relaxed some of the tension out of me, even as it washed away the cobwebs. By the time I finished and toweled off, I was ready for coffee. What I wanted was coffee and my computer.

The guys weren't exactly forthcoming with the latter. That needed to change. Dressed in my t-shirt and panties once more, I opened the door to the bedroom. It was empty. McQuade had also pulled up the bedcovers and made it.

It was kind of sweet. It only took me a few minutes to pull out a pair of leggings, some thick socks, and a sweater I could pull on over the t-shirt. I didn't bother with a bra.

Some of the wounds on my back had left the skin there very sensitive and I hadn't had time to figure out a solution for it. Later, I promised myself.

Later, I would get all of this sorted out. I would also get all the answers I wanted and needed. First, I needed to persuade my erstwhile guardians that I could handle the tough stuff. That meant I needed my computer back and some straight answers.

They could give them to me or I would figure it out on my own. Healing meant I was more mobile and independent. My computer had to be in this house somewhere.

Second, figure out where here was so I could plan accordingly. Squaring my shoulders, I took another deep breath. The guys needed to understand that no matter what, I wasn't letting this go.

I couldn't.