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Chapter one
Jensen
There’s no way to fluff how fucked I am right now.
More than a few people put eyes on us as I carry Layla’s limp body across the dimly lit, highly populated parking lot behind the club directly adjacent to the main hotel. Responding to their silent, but forceful inquiries, I jokingly call out to the populace, “Told her it was more fun to have sex on the beach than to drink a sex on the beach.”
Laughter follows, thank fuck, and one male voice calls out, “Keep her on a leash, dude. That’s what I do with my woman.” The man’s grunt fills the air before he grumbles, “Ouch. Don’t hit me, woman.” I’m guessing the woman in question just proved who owns the leash in their relationship, and more power to her. Whatever the case, his loudmouth created a diversion that allows for a speedy exit and only a short walk later I’m standing next to “Carrie,” Creed’s black Ford Mustang I confiscated from the private garage of the Renegades’ inner-city headquarters. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll live. Considering bullets don’t kill that bullheaded beast of a Renegade, me driving his car won’t, either. And fuck him very much anyway. Maddox is dirty. He should have backed me up on that, but instead he pushed back.
As for his car, his pride and joy, my ass, a thought softened by wayward strands of Layla’s hair floating against my face. Holding her like this, seeing her this helpless, ripens my anger. She wouldn’t be half-dead now if it weren’t for Maddox.
I maneuver to yank the car door open and carefully ease down to one knee and settle Layla onto the leather seat, the cushion cradling her delicate body. Her lashes flutter and lift and she blinks me into focus with a pleading look. “Cold,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself.
Her teeth proceed to chatter despite the hundred-degree temperature outside and I reach into the backseat and snatch the leather jacket Creed sometimes wears to hide his weapons and place the heavy weight over her. Instantly, she huddles beneath it, teeth still chattering, her thick, dark lashes settling on her pale cheeks.
My heart is butter for this woman, and my gut is shredded. She’s beautiful and kind, and this is not what she deserves. “Hang in there, princess,” I whisper, brushing my knuckles over her cheek.
She rolls toward the driver’s seat, curling her knees to her chest, and I shut her inside, my cellphone already in hand by the time I’ve reached the driver’s side and claimed my spot behind the wheel. I hit the speed dial for Katie Stein, the lead scientist and doctor on the ICE project, only to bang the steering wheel when her voicemail answers. Layla needs help. I crank the engine, shift the car into drive, and peel out of the parking lot, determined to get her someplace safe.
Once I’m on the highway I dial Caleb, who, thank fuck, answers on the first ring. “I’ve got Layla. I found her trying to buy ICE off a couple users. And before you ask…yes, I grabbed what they had. Four more vials.”
“I wasn’t going to ask about the ICE. I was going to ask how she is.”
I glance down at her, a streetlight illuminating the car, the blue tinge to Layla’s lips as terrifying as anything I’ve ever seen in battle. “Bad. I dosed her, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
Caleb curses low and guttural, “Hold on,” and I can hear him speak to someone else, “Get Katie over here now. Tell her we’ve got Layla Walters, and she’s in ICE withdrawal.” And then Caleb is back to me. “Where are you now? I’ll send backup.”
“Don’t.” I cut to the right on a back road and shift gears to hit the three-minute highway stretch we’ll follow to Fremont Street to the Neonopolis complex. Beneath that human play place is an underground facility where we host our inner-city operation. I’m heading that direction to be close to my team, but considering what just happened back there, I’m forced to find somewhere to hole up that won’t place Layla in contact with our team, a decision Caleb will soon appreciate.
“I just had an encounter with a six-pack of Zodius operatives,” I explain. “The next thing I knew Layla and I were the only ones not taking a nap on the pavement. I think she did it.”
“Layla?”
“Yes. She got upset and everyone passed out.”
Caleb’s silent a moment. “But you’re immune?”
“Yeah. I can’t explain that part of this at all, but I also know I can’t risk bringing her there.”
“Smart call. You can’t. Where are you going now?”
I consider that a moment and make a rapid-fire decision. “I’ll hole up in that rattrap hotel, Blues Brothers, two blocks over until we can figure out what to do with her.”
“Jensen, man, I know this is an awkward topic, but should she be underground where the Trackers can’t find her?”
I grit my teeth at the question. Sex with a GTECH marks a woman with a certain psychic residue that allows her to be located if she isn’t underground. “No,” I state firmly, “she did not have sex, willingly or unwillingly, with a GTECH. I was with her the entire time.” Except when I’d passed out, and she’d been with Tad, I think, and I want to pound the steering wheel all over again.
“Except the past twenty-four hours,” he reminds me.
And then I think, damn it to hell.
Clearly reading my silence, Caleb adds, “I’ll put a team on your location and tell them to keep a safe distance. One of them will be a Tracker. We need to be sure we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Copy that,” I confirm tightly, ending the call, feeling like I’ve been kicked in the gut. The Tracker will try to get a read on Layla, and if he does, she’ll need to be underground and fast. If another GTECH touched Layla, I’m to blame. I’m the one who let her get captured in the first place.
Chapter two
Iceman
