Page 19 of Saving Meri

Bear’s grip tightened again. Foster fought hard, his legs kicking out, his face going purple, his body convulsing until he began to die. Bear let go, letting the bastard’s limp body sag in his restraints.

DeLuca thought Meri belonged to him—that she was his to sell. Thought he could take what wasn’t his. Bear’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

"No one is taking her."

Fitz nodded slowly, his expression dark. "Then we need to get to DeLuca before he gets to her."

Bear didn’t respond. He was already planning. Already seeing the end of this fight before it even started. Meri wasn’t just his to protect. She was his, and anyone who tried to take her again would die.

Foster’s body still hung from the ceiling, his head slumped forward, blood dripping sluggishly from his broken nose. His breath came in uneven, wheezing bursts, but he was once again conscious. Barely.

Bear still had more to do.

The name DeLuca had already sent his blood running cold, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think rescuing Meri would be the end. DeLuca was the kind of monster who only operated in shadows, letting others do his dirty work. And he was the only trafficker in the city with the kind of reach to facilitate something like this.

Bear leaned in, gripping Foster’s chin and forcing his swollen face up. "Who handled the logistics?"

Foster gave a wet chuckle, his tongue sliding over bloodied teeth. "He handled them himself. He doesn’t trust anyone elseenough to do it for him. After the last auction you broke up, he’s even more paranoid."

Bear’s vision narrowed.

Fitz swore under his breath. "Sonofabitch."

Bear forced Foster’s head back farther, watching the pain ripple through the man’s swollen features. "Where is he?"

Foster let out a choked sound, something between a laugh and a cough. "You think DeLuca's just gonna sit around waiting for you to find him? He knows you're coming. He’s already moving pieces into place." He wheezed another breath, his voice rasping. "And you’re running out of time."

Bear dropped his grip, letting Foster’s head fall forward again. "That so?"

Fitz exhaled sharply. "We need to move. If DeLuca's involved, Meri is still in play."

Bear already knew that. He had known it the second Foster had said DeLuca’s name. But hearing it confirmed sent something lethal curling through his gut.

He grabbed Foster’s wrist, yanking out a tactical knife from the sheath on his thigh. He sliced through the zip ties in one swift motion. Foster’s body crumpled to the floor in a bloody heap.

The man groaned, coughing violently, his breath hitching in pain. "You’re making a mistake," he rasped. "You think you’ve saved her, but she was never yours to save. She was never yours at all."

Bear barely even heard the words before he drove his boot into Foster’s ribs, sending him sprawling. The man let out a gurgled cry, his body convulsing.

Bear crouched next to him, his voice a quiet promise of death. "That’s where you’re wrong. She belongs to no one but herself. You didn’t break her, and you never would have. If any of you ever come near her again, I will end you."

Foster’s bloody lips twisted, but this time, it wasn’t a grin. It was fear. Bear didn’t bother with another word. He stood, grabbed a cloth from the nearby table, and wiped the blood from his hands before turning toward Fitz.

"Find DeLuca."

Fitz nodded, already pulling out his phone as Bear strode out of the room. He needed to get back to Meri.

The moment Bear stepped inside the warehouse; he felt it. The shift.

The air was warmer, quieter. The tension—the real, physical tightness that had lived in Meri’s body since he’d found her—had dulled slightly. She wasn’t comfortable, not yet, but something was different. He moved through the space soundlessly, scanning the dimly lit interior until his eyes landed on her.

She stood by the couch, wrapped in one of his shirts, her fingers loosely gripping the hem, her head tilted slightly as she stared at the blank screen of the TV.

Bear stopped, watching her. She hadn’t chosen a blanket. Hadn’t wrapped herself in something impersonal. She’d put on his damn shirt. A primal, possessive feeling settled deep in his gut.

She had no idea what it meant, no idea what she was showing him—the small, unconscious act of submission, of seeking security in something that belonged to him. She shifted, as if sensing him, and turned.

Their eyes met. Her fingers tightened in the fabric, like she had just realized what she’d done, but she didn’t take it off. Didn’t cover herself.

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