Page 19 of Unchained

“Just hang on. You’re going to be fine. It’s all fine. Breathe . . .” Cam’s soft, steady voice was like a lifeline in a tumultuous sea. He clung to every syllable, praying she wouldn’t stop talking.

His breastplate threatened to crack with every bang of his heart. Damn, this withdrawal was hitting him fast and hard. Probably because they’d given him the sedative too soon, while the drug was still working in his system. “Where are we?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Almost in Battle Mountain.”

“Nevada?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He grunted, but even that took too much effort. He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his neck. The symptoms would only get worse. He had to summon his strength. At least until they got to the motel and he could let his body push the drug from his system.

The vehicle slowed. The car hit a bump, tossing him into the window.

“Sorry,” Cam said on a squeak. She lurched to a stop in the parking lot, throwing him forward.

“You trying to make me puke?”

“No, I’m trying to hurry so you can rest,” she said, her tone sharp enough to impale him.

An apology burned his tongue. If she hadn’t taken him in, he’d be suffering in a park right now.

“Stay here.” She leaped out of the car and ran toward the front entrance.

A low buzz started behind his ears and worked its way through his senses. He dropped his hand to the button for the window. As it rolled down, he gulped a breath of cool desert air. Sweat droplets rolled into his mouth, and the taste of salt hit his tongue.

This is the last time.

Never again would he go through withdrawal because from here on out, he wasn’t taking the drug—or any drug—ever again. He’d rather die. The door opened and Camryn dropped into the seat.

“We’re at the end. Hold on.” She whipped the car backward, making him jiggle in the seat. The nausea seized his gag reflex. The vehicle lurched to a stop outside the door marked 110.

Slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Had he put it on? No. Cam must have while he was out of it. The passenger door opened, and Cam’s slight hands wiggled under his arm as if she could actually pull him to his feet.

“C’mon,” she coaxed. “One foot at a time.”

He followed her direction. As soon as his feet were under him, she slithered her much smaller body under his arm, bearing a portion of his weight. And hell if admiration didn’t flow through him as she kept him upright until they reached the unit. Leaning against the doorframe, he waited for her to unlock the door. She returned to her position against his side, aided him into the room, and lowered him to the bed.

“I’ll be right back. Just getting the stuff from the car.”

Brooks knelt and folded his body so his face lay on a pillow. The musty scent of the hotel’s unwashed comforter made him cringe, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

The click of the lock told him Camryn had returned. “Listen,” she said, her voice strong and confident. “I swiped a vial of the drug from the twelfth floor. I wanted to keep it for evidence, but maybe you can use it to wean—”

“No,” he growled. He didn’t look at her.

“It could help with the effects. We only have one, so it won’t do much. But if it makes it more tolerable—”

“Dammit, I said no!” he yelled. He turned to face her. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving only her lips pink. Regret twisted inside his chest like a knife. “No. Okay?” he said, more softly. “It—it makes me dangerous. I could . . . hurt you or anyone else who’s within miles of this place. I can’t do that again.” Guilt exploded inside of him, making the agony burning beneath his skin almost unbearable.

“I understand. I’m sorry. I just hate to see you go through this.” She pulled a white bottle from the bag at her feet. “How about Advil? Might take the edge off?”

He shook his head again. Advil. Christ. What did she think—he’d had a few too many beers? He bit back the snarky comment that would only hurt her feelings and swallowed the rage that expanded in his throat. It wasn’t her fault he was in this. Actually, he owed her his life. And as soon as he was on his feet, he’d be sure she knew how grateful he was. But until then, he could only do what was required to stay alive. Keeping manners and feelings in check wasn’t one of those things.

The screeching sound of a whistle ringing in his head made him cry out and cover his ears.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Cam’s panicked voice broke through the waxy fog closing in around him.

He couldn’t explain the surges in his body. The level to which he was tuned in to his energy crackling, his blood flowing, his veins expanding. Every thought was as loud as a gunshot. He closed his eyes and rocked himself back and forth, hanging onto the little thread of Brooks that was still inside him. If he didn’t succumb to the rising panic and rage, he—and Cam—just might survive this.

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