Page 7 of Broken

Chapter 4

Ireland held the bracelet in her hand, the magical glow fading.

She was alone now. Free—but all she felt was desolation and grief. Riker had been a complicated man—damaged, mercenary, ruthless. But he’d also been a friend to her—almost against his will—and he’d kept his promises to her.

And now he’d died for her.

She touched his eyes gently, closing them, and murmured a few words in the Fae language. A prayer for the dead.

The other man spoke abruptly. “We have to go.” And then he knelt down and began stripping Riker of his weapons.

Ireland slapped his hand away. “Stop that!” she snapped. Once again, she felt that ripple along her skin, and that scary growl came out of her. “What kind of a mercenary ghoul are you? The man is dead!”

He faced her, his eyes flat and hard. “The man is carrying weapons and valuables. Do you want to leave behind them for the enemy? Because I don’t.”

She didn’t know if he was right about more Retrievers coming, but she knew they had to leave. Only, they couldn’t just leave Riker’s body here for them to desecrate. “We have to take him with us.”

The man shook his head. “We can’t. We have to move fast.” Before she could stop him, he’d finished searching Riker and stuffed everything valuable into his bag.

Suddenly, Ireland realized what a bad position she was in. Sure, she was free—without a Protector bound to her—but with hardly any magic, either. Her own bracelet would keep most of it locked down until some other man wore Riker’s bracelet on his wrist, or until she managed to get hers off.

She was planning on going with Option Number Two. But for that, she needed what she’d taken from the safe. And this mysterious, utterly heartless man had her duffel slung over his shoulder. With the book in it.

“Give me my bag,” she said.

“We’ll go faster if I carry it.” He reached down a hand to help her up. “Come on.”

He really thought she was going with him? And that he was going to take charge of her stuff, maybe even grab Riker’s bracelet for himself? He could just think again.

She’d dropped his knife next to her when she’d been trying to save Riker. She scooped it up as she let the man pull her to her feet, and then brought it up under his chin, the blade glinting through the blood on it.

“Give. Me. My. Stuff,” she said, enunciating each word clearly. “And I’ll let you walk away.”

Those gray eyes gazed steadily into hers, no fear in them at all. Then, quicker than a snake striking, he grabbed her wrist and dug his fingers into a particular spot between the bones. Her arm went numb, and he grabbed the knife with his other hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said with exaggerated patience, sheathing the blade. “I’m trying to get you out of here before more of those creatures arrive. Don’t you hear the helicopters heading for the top of this building?” He glanced upward as he said it.

No, she didn’t. They were in a freaking sub-basement. But… looking into his eyes, she somehow believed that he did.

“Give me my bag.” She knew she sounded desperate.

“No.” He turned away. “Because apparently, me having your stuff is the only way to get you to follow me out of here.” And he started walking.

For a second Ireland just stared after him. The sheer overbearing arrogance of the man was incredible.

And the worst part was, he was right. There was no way she was letting that bag out of her sight. She tucked Riker’s bracelet in the pocket of her jacket, touched his cheek briefly in a final farewell. And then she ran to catch up with the man she’d never asked to save her.

He led her out through a maintenance area and down a bare hallway. She had to almost trot to keep up, and her side had started to burn like fire where the Retriever’s lasso had cut into her. He stopped in front of a door set flush into the wall. After a moment’s hesitation he pressed a certain spot, and the door moved inward and started to slide to the side.

He stopped it before it was open more than a crack, and listened. Then he sniffed the air.

All Ireland could smell was damp. She touched her side, and let out a hiss of pain.

The man swung around. “Are you okay?” He reached out to her. “Do you need to lean on me?” Then he ruined the offer by saying, “If you’re injured, you’ll slow us down.”

“Thanks for your concern,” she said, letting the sarcasm shine through. “But I’m fine. Keep your hands off me.”

He just gave her an assessing look, and then turned back to the door. He sniffed the air again, then slid the door open the rest of the way and led her into some kind of tunnel.