I pour every ounce of energy I have left into my hand, willing it to move, to press against his skin. It’s agonizingly slow, my muscles straining against the drugs that hold them captive, but I keep pushing. I must. I must reach him.
Finally, after an eternity, I feel it. A twitch in my fingers. Just the tiniest movement, but it’s enough.
I press harder, trying to feel over his hand, searching for anything that might help.
My thumb brushes against his wrist.
There.
The sticky edge of a plastic dressing holding something in place. The IV line. It’s right there. So close.
I pick at the tape, my movements clumsy and weak, but I keep at it, scratching and pulling until I free one side.
My heart bangs so hard I’m afraid it’ll stop, but I don’t care. I have to save him.
But when I try to pull the line free, my fingers refuse to cooperate. I can’t grip it hard enough, can’t close my hand around it.
Panic spikes again, but I push it down.
Focus, Frankie. Keep trying.
Just as I’m about to lose hope, his wrist flicks beneath my fingers.
Oh, God, he’s helping me. He’s fighting, too.
I grip the line as best I can, and as he pulls his arm away, the IV slides free.
Holy fuck.
He’s free of the drug.
If it’s short-acting, he’ll have full consciousness soon. We might have a chance.
The sound of a plane rumbles overhead, shaking the cabin and rattling the windows.
They’re here.
My entire world.
The men Rhett plans to kill.
Maybe, just maybe, Wolf and I can stop him. Maybe we can save them, save each other, and end this nightmare once and for all.
Hope is a dangerous thing.
It crushes, darling.
Not this time, Wolf.
Hope is alive, a flicker of light in the darkness. And right now, it’s all I have.
The strength in my fingers drains as quickly as it came, and my hand falls limp.
Footsteps sound, announcing Rhett’s return.
Wolf’s arm twitches again, moving, slipping back into the sleeve where it was, hiding the dislodged IV.
Rhett stops beside Wolf and stares down at my hand on Wolf’s lap.