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He grunts as he looks at the crumpled form of the woman the Invicta soldier was holding hostage.
“What do we do with her?” He jerks a thumb in her direction.
I approach the girl’s lifeless form and study her. Long, curly brown hair is splayed against the road and her short, nearly indecent dress is hiked up to her upper thighs. One high heel dangles off her foot and the other is a few feet away.
Is she a hooker or something? She must be. Who the fuck wears clothes like that if you aren’t selling yourself?
But then why would Invicta be holding her at gunpoint?
I take a closer look at her. She looks oddly familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen her.
I don’t normally bring home strays, but I know Invicta will be crawling around soon once they figure out there was a fight—and from the lights turning on in the nearby houses, it’ll be soon—and I can’t justify leaving this girl unconscious on the ground, especially in front of an Invicta gang member.
Nat’s going to kill me for this.
I lift her limp body into my arms and head back to the car, sliding into the backseat. She’s ridiculously light and her head lolls sideways, pressing into my chest.
“She’s coming with us. We’re in Invicta territory. She might know something.”
4
ALEXIS
Adull throbbing pounds behind my eyes as I slowly regain consciousness. My mouth is as dry as a desert, my tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth.
I blink slowly, finally managing to crack my eyelids open a slit. Moonlight pours through white curtains, bathing an unfamiliar room in a soft glow. This isn’t my room. My heart rate spikes as I take in my strange surroundings.
Cream colored walls with framed landscape photos. An ornate wooden dresser on one wall. Rumpled navy sheets tangled around my legs.
Panic seizes me as I struggle to figure out how I ended up here. I try to push myself upright, but a searing pain rips through my head, forcing me back onto the pillows with a muffled groan.
I’m still wearing that stupid dress and it’s hiked all the way to my waist, exposing my ass. My cheeks burn. I hope that happened while I was unconscious in bed. I couldn’t bear the thought of whoever rescued me seeing me in such an indecent state.
But, where am I?
Fragmented memories start stitching themselves back together. Emma and Mark having sex… the Carters wanting to sell me to some Brotherhood organization… being locked in the basement… escaping and being attacked as gunfire rang out. The feeling of someone pushing me before the ground swallowed me whole. Then blackness.
I swallow as I lift a leaden arm to cautiously probe at my head. There’s a large, raised lump at the crown of my head. I hiss at the blossom of pain from the slightest touch.
Okay, so I have a head injury.
I must have been kidnapped after falling unconscious. I can’t believe I’ve been abducted again, but this time, there’s no Dennis Carter to save me.
Fear grips my chest as I struggle to stamp down my hysteria. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. I need to look at this situation logically as soon as my muddled mind allows me to do so.
This can’t be a kidnapping situation because I seem to be reasonably safe, tucked in a bed and by myself in a room.
But I need to get out of here. Wherever “here” is. Sucking in a sharp breath, I push myself upright, fighting back nausea as the room spins violently. My bare feet sink into the plush cream carpet, and I clutch the edge of the nightstand for support.
My eyes land on the door across the room. My first thought is to bolt through it and figure out the rest later. But what if I end up stumbling right into another dangerous situation? I nibble my lip anxiously as I debate my options.
With a resigned sigh, I realize I need more information before I can make any hasty decisions. Steadying myself, I start poking around the bedroom, keeping an ear pricked for any sounds beyond the door.
I rifle through the top drawers of the wooden dresser, freezing when my fingers brush against a woman’s fitted shirt. So this is at least a woman’s bedroom. Or at least a woman lives here. At least that’s mildly reassuring. I withdraw my hand, frustrated that I am not able to unearth any other clues about whose room this is.
Muffled voices drift down the hallway outside the door. I hold my breath, ears straining.
“You have her locked in the guest room?” a female voice asks, dismay evident in her tone.
