Page 54 of Boxed In

Chapter 8

Somehow Luke managed to reach out and catch himself against the wall before he toppled to the floor.

Olivia gasped and jumped forward. He knew her hand was on his arm, but he could barely feel it.

Or barely hear her voice as she asked anxiously, “Luke? Luke, what happened?”

He wasn’t able to answer her. He was too busy fighting the dizzy feeling, the pain and the knowledge that it was all coming from within himself.

Stop! he screamed as iron bands circled his body, like a boa constrictor cutting off his air.

He would have asked if the Big Z was planning to kill himself. But he was beyond questions.

Finally, when he was going down for the count, the pressure eased, and he took a cautious breath. It hurt, but not so much. Exerting the barest pressure, he let the air trickle out of his lungs.

“Luke? I’m going to call 911 if you can’t answer me.”

“Don’t,” he gasped out, then closed his eyes, praying for strength.

She knelt beside him. “What happened to you?”

He summoned enough breath to say, “Zabastian’s angry with me.”

She swore as she stared at him.

“Zabastian? I . . . I don’t understand.”

“He’s angry . . . because I wasn’t . . . going straight to the computer.”

Her eyes narrowed as she kept her gaze on his face. And when she spoke, it was a warning to the warrior. “Zabastian, don’t you ever do that to Luke again. He was trying to talk to me. You can’t just control the two of us.”

He heard his own voice grow more firm as Zabastian answered Olivia. “Getting the box back to its rightful owners is more important than your relationship.”

“To you.”

“To the world,” the warrior bit out.

She scowled at him.

“I must do this job or die trying. Step out of my way.”

“If you die, you won’t be able to do it!” she shouted.

Luke felt Zabastian absorb that assessment. Maybe it would give the warrior a better grasp on reality.

Olivia kept her eyes on him as she stepped aside so that he could continue toward the home office.

He walked slowly, carefully, like he was suddenly a hundred years old.

What the hell did you do to me?

I squeezed your lungs.

And it doesn’t hurt you?

Of course it does. But I have the discipline to withstand it, the warrior’s voice rang haughtily inside Luke’s head. And I applied only enough pressure to cause pain—not permanent damage.

Thanks a bunch.

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