Chapter 20

Twenty

“You’re a special kind of irritating,” McQuade groused. “How has someone not shot you yet?”

“I assure you, some have tried. They missed.” Locke sounded almost bored.

“You realize I don’t miss, right? I could just as easily shoot you right now.” The complaint in McQuade’s voice was all bluster. As irked as he sounded, there was a kind of gruff amusement present too. I’d heard it often enough when he’d been in the middle of some firefight he actually enjoyed.

Odd man.

“I’m sure you know a wide variety of ways to injure me, Mr. McQuade.” Locke’s retort was all him, sass intact. “That doesn’t excuse bad table manners or the fact you made a huge mess in the kitchen and didn’t clean it up.”

“The pair of you resemble one of those old married couples on television.” Remy…

He’s with them, too?

How?

“Married couples?” McQuade snapped. “What are you talking about, mate?”

“I’m talking about those old sitcoms where the couple bickers constantly.” Remy didn’t bother to hide his amusement, it filled every crisp syllable. “I told you, don’t call me mate.”

Surfacing from under dark water, I had to shove myself upward. I wasn’t sure what hurt more, my arms or my legs. Why was I even swimming? I could just sink back below the waves…

“I think he means Odd Couple,” Locke suggested. “Though for the record, they weren’t married.”

McQuade actually snorted. “The old black and white with Jack Klugman? Yeah, they acted married.”

“Black and white?” Locke sounded puzzled. “How old are you?— Ow.”

“Behave gentlemen,” Remy said, his tone casual. “I don’t want to have to separate you.”

Their voices filled the darkness, chasing away some of the pain. If I woke fully, would I still hear them? Were these snippets of memories merely relics left behind to taunt me, a bait and switch as it were. When I opened my eyes, would I be right back in my cell awaiting a new day’s torture?

I didn’t want to wake up if that were the truth. It might be better if I were dead. They’d never get what they were looking for if I died.

“Tell you what, Your Lordship, we gave the Brits the boot a few centuries ago.” You could practically hear the smirk in Locke’s voice.

“Clearly,” Remy stated. “It’s why you Americans cannot consume enough media about the royals and crave all things James Bond.”

“It’s the accent,” McQuade deadpanned.

“I’d think it was the gadgets,” Locke countered.

The dangerous notes had dropped out of their voices, the humor and familiarity rushing in to replace them. The oddness didn’t fit. They didn’t know each other at all as far as I knew. They didn’t know who my other clients were and I never shared information about them with the others.

So how the hell did they know each other…

Were they now in the cells too?

Fear galvanized me, yanking the shroud of sleep away as I burst upward and opened my eyes. The room around me was dark, though there were nightlights on at two different points adding a dim bluish-tinged glow that didn’t bother my eyes.

I was in a bed. An actual bed and the air smelled like pine and lemon cleaner. There was that detergent scent you got from fresh sheets—like the one laying over me.

“The gadgets were cool,” McQuade admitted. “Though the idea of a watch laser is fucking stupid. He had a gun, most of the time, he only needed the gun.”

“I could think of times that a laser would be useful.” Locke’s musing aloud was him. “Still, I preferred Pierce Brosnan to Timothy Dalton.”

“Brosnan was fine,” McQuade said. “He did smarmy Brit real well.”

“He’s Irish,” Remy corrected.

“Well, you’d know—Remington.” Locke sounded downright gleeful.

“My name is amusing because of a character that Brosnan played. Well done,” Remy said. “I would applaud you, but it wasn’t that funny.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Locke exhaled. “Should we check on her again?”

They were here and I was in a bedroom of some kind. Was this some new torture? I pushed back the sheet and had to halt at the pinch and pull on my right hand. Peering in the darkness, I could just make out the glow of the lights reflecting on the hint of tape.

As my eyes adjusted rapidly, I explored the spot with the fingers of my left hand. It was an IV. They’d put an IV in. There was tubing stretching out into the darkness.

Moving in that direction, slowly, I found a metal stand that seemed to be serving as something to hang the IV on. As I traced my fingers up. I located the bag. Okay, so IV in, and there was a bag attached.

My bladder protested after a prolonged moment and I gripped the tape carefully. Then in one movement pealed it back and took the IV out. My hand ached from the contact and I needed to put pressure on it for blood.

Shit, there was nothing handy so I just pushed off the bed and studied the room around me.

Please have an ensuite bathroom.

Please have an ensuite bathroom.

The mental chant went up like a prayer, but there was a hint of blue light reflecting back at me and I almost collapsed as I let go of the bed. It was like every ache and pain in my body rushed in to lodge their complaints all at once.

Irritation shivered through me like a colony of ants spilling out of their hill. I half-stumbled, half-walked into the bathroom and pushed the door closed.

I flipped on a light and winced at the brightness. The image that greeted me in the mirror looked like a horror story. Not that my bladder gave a damn.

Right, I needed to pee.

I had on an oversized shirt that hit me mid-thigh. It was clean and soft. I also didn’t have on any panties. I flipped the toilet lid up, semi-marveling that the toilet had a lid and then sat down a lot harder than I meant to as my legs gave out.

I winced when I hit the seat but then I was peeing and the relief…

Well that was next level.

Eyes closed, I bowed my head and tried to make sense of my thoughts. Wherever I was, it was not that cell or the one I’d been in before. This place felt like a house or a residence.

I glanced around. The towels were too thick and plush to be a random hotel. Didn’t—smell like one either. Business finished, I flushed and then went to wash my hands. The feeling of water sluicing over my skin ignited an itch everywhere.

I needed a shower so bad. I stared at myself in the mirror again. Dark bruises overlaid faded ones. The mottled coloring of blue and black couldn’t hide the green and yellow.

Hands washed, I reached for a toothbrush that was sealed in its packet. Opening it took a minute. My nails were a wreck of jagged pieces and missing altogether on two of them. Right, I couldn’t think about that. There was toothpaste and a toothbrush.

Getting my mouth clean had never felt so good. I leaned heavily against the counter by the time I was done, but I wanted to shower. I’d just gotten the water started when there was a knock at the door.

I damn near jumped out of my skin. The sudden slam of my heart against my ribs hurt. Thankfully, I didn’t scream.

“Yes?” I said. Oh good, my voice didn’t quiver.

“Hey, Patch.” Locke. “You’re up.”

“So it seems.”

“How you doing, Sugar Bear?”

McQuade.

“TBD,” I said. “I need a shower. Bad.”

“You steady enough to do that?” Remy. All three of them right there on the other side of the door.

“I don’t know,” I said, deciding against a lie or a quip. “But I need one and before this all turns into a nightmare again, I want to have one.”

“You’re safe,” Locke said. “There’s a shower chair in there. Use it. One of us will stay right out here and if you need help, just call.”

Reasonable even. I traced my fingers up over my face to my scalp. Everything was too sensitive. It either hurt, pinched, felt like a sunburn, or throbbed.

I was alive.

It hurt too damn much to not be.

But I was alive. I survived.

The shock of it rippled through me. Then before I could let anything distract me again, I stripped off the shirt and moved to climb into the shower.

There was indeed a chair and I wasn’t too proud to not use it. I lingered under the hot water until I’d scrubbed my hair and conditioned it. There were knots everywhere. Some of it was missing in places—they’d yanked out whole hunks at times.

When my hair was done, I went to work running soap over my arms and legs. I had bruises everywhere. I could feel them too. The burns on my arms stung when the soap hit them. A blister had burst near my wrist, but I just kept washing.

I lifted my right leg to brace my ankle against my left knee to wash my foot and grimaced. The bottom of my foot looked like it had been hit with a meat tenderizer. It took more than a minute to wash cause everything stung.

Eventually, though, I had to have achieved clean skin, but I just sat there under the water, letting it rinse over me. Even though it looked clear, I didn’t feel clean.

I wasn’t even sure I felt better.

I couldn’t hide in here forever. Drying off proved a whole new challenge. I’d opened up some cuts on my feet when I’d cleaned them and there was actually a bandage on my ass.

While I needed to ask about that, it would be later. There was a brush and comb in with the other toiletries awaiting me. I perched on the toilet lid wrapped in towel while I worked out the snarled ends. Not all of them came free but the conditioner had helped a lot.

Maybe it would work if I combed it with the conditioner next time.

I’d worry about that later.

There were no more clothes for me to change into except the shirt so I tugged it on and then had to grip the counter to get the towel hung up. Every step was fresh fire to my feet.

Dammit.

“Who’s out there?”

“Just me,” Locke said. “Told you I’d wait.”

“Won the coin toss?” I swiped at the nonexistent tears on my face.

“Something like that. You okay?” Then he paused. “You know, that was a stupid question.”

“No,” I said softly. “It wasn’t. It was a kind question. And no, I’m not okay.”

As much as I wanted to walk out there under my own steam, I couldn’t. I’d end up collapsing or maybe I’d do even more damage to my feet.

“Can you help me?”

The door opened and nudged inward before I’d even finished asking. Locke filled the doorway and I stared up at him. Knowing his stats and seeing him via surveillance cameras really didn’t do him justice.

Justus. Justice.

I almost laughed at my inadvertent pun.

He frowned as he gave me a once over, then he narrowed his eyes. “You’re bleeding again.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Arms around my neck,” he ordered, and while it came out a little gruff, he didn’t wait for me to comply as he picked me up.

Warm amber and musk with hints of citrus filled my nostrils. It was pure seduction to my senses after too long in the filth, the blood, and the pain. I wanted to roll in him and just wrap myself up in that sweetness.

The bridal hold was almost sweet except now my naked ass was hanging out. With care, I held onto him. Even my fingers hurt. Every inch did.

“Please tell me there are panties somewhere.”

“I’ll find you something.” He didn’t pause in the bedroom, instead he carried me right out into what looked like an open concept living room in a log cabin.

Where the hell was I?

This was definitely not where they’d been holding me.

Remington left the kitchen as we came out, his expression fierce. “What happened?”

“Why the fuck is she bleeding again?” McQuade charged over from wherever he’d been. Locke answered neither of them, carrying me right into the kitchen and setting me on the counter.

Holy shit that was cold, but it was also bracing and sent a pulse of wakefulness to my exhausted brain.

“She’s opened the cuts on her feet.” Locke was already returning with a first aid box.

“Let me look,” McQuade ordered, then wrapped his huge hand around my ankle and raised my leg. At this rate, I was going to be giving all of them a free show. “We can’t stitch these,” he said.

“Skin glue,” Remington said, his tone firm and unyielding. While Locke and McQuade dug into the bag, Remington claimed my right hand and lifted it. “It’s lovely to meet you finally, Patch.”

The surreality of it all swarmed me. “How the hell do you guys even know each other?”

“Well,” Locke said as he dragged a stool over to begin gluing the wounds on my foot closed. “That’s a bit of a story.”

“Care for tea?” Remy offered.

“She prefers coffee,” McQuade argued.

“The right coffee,” Locke said. “Which we don’t have here. But the brewed stuff will do in a pinch. Right?”

“I can get that started,” Remy offered, then kissed my hand gently. “You must be hungry.”

I couldn’t quite process all of it. They were all in action. Remy moved to brew a fresh pot of coffee, taking the warmth of his nearness away.

McQuade stood like a great big thundercloud, arms folded as he glared down at Locke as though he were ready to end him should he make the wrong move.

Locke ignored him, treating my foot with absolute care like he’d shown when handling priceless, precious objects. I’d seen him in action, I recognized it.

They really were all here. Their presence filled the entirety of the space, electric and intoxicating. There was no escaping them.

“Please,” I said.

“What do you need to know, Sugar Bear?” The smirk on McQuade’s face was firmly in place, but his eyes—the honey color of them almost a promise—were intense and focused. He seemed to latch onto me with his gaze, an anchor in the turbulent storm I found myself in.

I was Alice, I’d fallen into the looking glass and plunged all the way through the depths of hell and now I was—where?

Wonderland?

Purgatory?

So many questions.

Too many.

“I need to know what’s going on… How do you know each other? How did you find me? What…fuck, what day is it?”