Page 15 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

He knew me.

I was going after the nanny, and hell, I would try to retrieve August.

Frustration made him stop, but then, he spun and, holding the wriggling girl still, he left.

“Three, get out,” Cain urged in our ears. I spun to follow Luca but my foot snagged, pain radiating out from my thigh, yanking at a knife there, and spinning to face whatever had caused me to half fall into the doorjamb. Clara. Eyes wide, lips pulled back in a snarl, a gun in her hand. She lunged at me, startling ferocity in her actions. She was no trained fighter, but desperation lent her strength. She could be an innocent, and I dodged, trying to avoid harm, to both her and me. “We’re not going to hurt you,” I tried to explain, but the words were lost in the scuffle.

“You’re not taking my daughter! She’s mine!”

“Stay back,” I ordered.

“He got her for me!” she screamed.

I tried to cover her mouth, but she was a wildcat, all flailing limbs and raw panic. She clawed at my face, her screams piercing the early morning quiet. I caught her wrists, pinning them with one hand while my other went to her neck, applying enough pressure to send her into unconsciousness without causing lasting harm. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, even as her body went limp. I’d come back for her because the damage was done. The noise had broken the heavy hush, and I could hear the compound stirring to life. I watched Luca vanish over the wall as boots hit gravel, and I heard shouting.

Cain was in my ear, his voice tense. “You’ve been made, Ryder. Move!”

“August,” I snapped.

“No. That’s a no, Ryder.”

Fuck that. I was finding August. Then, we were getting the nanny out. I headed outside, keeping to the wall, hiding in the dark, trying to find a way into the main building, watching as three men burst out of the door, heading left for the wall.

Run, Luca. Run.

Alone now, I pushed through the door that was swinging shut, gun high, moving deeper into the hostile territory. At least Luca had gotten away with Annie.

The corridors were a labyrinth, lit by soft light, but I headed down them with purpose, guided by instinct and training. Each corner turned, every door checked, was a step closer to finding August. I avoided the guards whenever possible, sticking to the shadows, a ghost shifting unseen through their ranks.

When avoidance wasn’t an option, I resorted to swift, silent takedowns. Three crew members I encountered were subdued, rendered unconscious with precise strikes before being secured with zip ties.

My heart pounded, adrenaline pumping as I searched for any sign of where August might be. Every room I cleared, every empty room I checked, ratcheted up the tension. Time was of the essence, and with every passing minute, the risk of discovery grew.

Despite the odds, I couldn’t allow doubt to creep in. If August was alive, then we needed to get him out of here. No man left behind.

At last, I opened the right door, finding August strung up in a dim, bare room, his wrists bound above his head, his body bearing the marks of brutal treatment. Blood seeped from multiple wounds, staining his clothes. Despite his obvious pain and exhaustion, he was snarling, struggling against the ropes with a fierce determination.

I rushed to his side, drawing my knife to cut him down. The ropes were thick, but my blade was sharp, and soon they fell away, releasing him. As August’s weight shifted, I caught him, holding him upright. His legs were unsteady, weakened from the ordeal and the loss of blood.

“Easy, August,” I said, steadying him. “I’ve got you.”

He leaned against me, his breathing ragged, then he straightened, and with the unmistakable fire of a soldier not yet defeated, he rallied. Even in this state, he was ready to go as he shook his hands.

“Annie?”

“Safe.”

“Why did you?—”

“I’m Sanctuary.”

As he processed the information, I could see a flicker of recognition, then a nod. Despite the pain, there was determination in his eyes. But we weren’t safe yet; we still needed to get out of there. He stumbled for a moment, then took a breath.

“I need to talk to the nanny,” I whispered and gestured the way to go. He frowned but followed. I wanted to ask her what she meant by how he’d got Annie for her, about why she thought Annie was her daughter. This was insane. Maybe this had been a kidnap to order?

We found Clara sprawled in the dirt. A bullet in her head, the gun at her side.

“Not me,” August confirmed, as if I’d asked.

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