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Wade recovered first.

His fist closed in the back of my shirt and ripped me away from Ben hard enough that my teeth clicked together. His other arm locked across me again before I could get my feet beneath me.

Ben came after us.

Wade jammed the gun into my ribs.

Ben stopped.

His hand was still wrapped around my wrist.

His eyes found mine. Close. Terrified.

“Hazel, listen to me.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Ben’s grip tightened. “Don’t let yourself get taken again. No matter what. I don’t think the plan is to let you survive this time.”

Again.

That was the word that broke me.

I had spent nine years terrified of a thing I couldn’t remember, and now it had an arm around my body and a gun jammed beneath my ribs.

This was it.

This was the nightmare.

Wade tore my wrist out of Ben’s hand and dragged me backward along the far side of the car.

Riot’s radio crackled. “Fourth position is another rig.”

Wade dragged me farther toward the rear of the car. Dad came back into view around the opposite edge, already moving for an angle.

Wade turned me with him.

Dad stopped.

Dad’s face hollowed out, went stark and almost feral.

He was starting to put things together.

And Wade had me anyway. A competent man gone helpless was a horrible thing to watch.

Ben was still standing beside the car.

Wade looked at him. “Drive.”

Ben didn’t move.

Wade pressed the gun into me again. He dragged the muzzle against me like a caress. I had to fight not to retch.

Ben’s face hardened.

“Get in the car, Ben.”

He looked at Dad.