My stomach feels like someone grabbed it by both ends and twisted it like a rag, and my hand tightens reflexively on Theo’s shoulder. But I shake my head. “No. I want to see.”
Maybe want is the wrong word.
If Jordan comes into this house, I need to see him. In the few seconds that felt like an eternity when I ran into him at Saraven, I couldn’t form a single coherent thought. The whole encounter rushed by like a dream—like a nightmare.
But now I have a chance to truly face him.
And as terrifying as it is, I have to take it.
Theo’s grip on me tightens a little, pulling me closer on his lap. “You’re the strongest fucking woman I know, Rose. I wish my mom was more like you.”
I don’t quite know what to say to that. I know watching his mother slowly fall under the control of his uncle is torture for Theo, and that he’s doing everything he can to stop it. He seems to care for her—more than Marcus and Ryland, who both have distant relationships with their parents—but I can’t help but hate her a little for signing her son up to play in Luca D’Addario’s fucked up game.
If it means he wouldn’t have gotten roped into all of this, then fuck, I wish she was stronger too.
Before I have to come up with a response to Theo’s words, the door to the safe house bangs open. Marcus and Ryland step inside, holding Jordan McCabe between them. He sags a bit in their grip, and blood drips from his left nostril. His hands are bound roughly behind his back with duct tape, and his feet drag across the floor a little as they haul him inside, kicking the door shut behind them.
My heart kicks against my ribs as I scramble off Theo’s lap, and the blond man stands a second after I do, positioning his body close to mine protectively. It’s not the threat of violence he’s trying to protect me from this time though. There’s nothing Jordan can do to me right now. Instead, I get the feeling Theo’s trying to make sure I really can handle this, his body tensed and ready to come between me and my ex-foster father if he sees any sign that I’m about to lose it.
I watch, unable to look away, as Marcus and Ryland drag Jordan deeper into the house. They open a door halfway down the hall that leads to the back, and half carry, half shove him down a flight of stairs.
My pulse is an angry ache in my chest as Theo and I follow after them, and we arrive in the basement just as Marcus secures Jordan to a chair. I have another vivid flashback of the day I was kidnapped by Carson and Dominic, of waking up taped to a chair as the drugs slowly faded from my system.
Does Jordan feel the same rising terror I felt then?
Maybe it’s sick of me to hope he does, but I do.
When the older man is secured to the chair, Marcus kicks one of the legs, shoving the wooden chair back a foot and making it rock precariously. Jordan grunts, his dazed eyes rolling wildly. There’s a strip of duct tape over his mouth, and the blood that’s dripping from his nose coats the shiny silver of the tape.
“Look at me, you son of a bitch.”
Marcus’s voice is cool, almost unrecognizable. When Jordan is too slow to respond, Marcus grabs his chin and yanks his head up, forcing him to look at the man towering above him. Jordan grunts, raising his voice as he shouts profanities against the barrier of the tape covering his lips.
Balling his hand up, Marcus hits him with a broad punch to his temple that makes Jordan’s head whip to the side. The muffled curses cut off as the man groans.
“I said look, don’t talk.”
Marcus grabs his face again as Theo takes a step forward, bringing me with him. Jordan’s gaze darts to me, and I see the same flash of recognition in his eyes that I saw back at the club.
He knows who I am.
His expression shifts as he realizes why he’s here. Why these men dragged him away from wherever the fuck they found him and tied him up in a basement. Because of me.
Because they know what he did to me.
His light brown eyes widen, and he starts talking in a rush behind the barrier of the gag. His eyes are bloodshot, and one cheek is swollen, making me certain that the punch I saw isn’t the only one Marcus landed on him.
Good.
My hand clenches tightly as I catch Marcus’s eye and nod, licking suddenly dry lips. His intense gaze burns into mine for a second before he reaches out and rips the tape away from Jordan’s mouth.
The bound man roars in pain, and Ryland pulls a gun from his waistband as Marcus kicks the chair again. His foot catches the seat of the chair this time, right between Jordan’s legs. It must catch his balls too, because he hunches over, his arms yanking at the binds restraining him as he groans and retches.
When he looks up, spit and blood are trailing from the corner of his mouth and he’s breathing heavily. His gaze lands on me, and his features contort slightly as he takes in my appearance.
“Jesus, Ayla. What the fuck happened to you?”
I don’t know if he’s talking about my tattoo, my amputation, or the company I keep, but it doesn’t really matter. I don’t care what he thinks about any of it.
“I survived,” I tell him, stepping forward again.
My hand is still curled into a fist, and although the scrapes and bruises from when I hit Natalie have faded to faint pink marks, I can still feel the echoes of
