Page 79 of Stricken

I'm out of the car in an instant, my legs carrying me to Nico's side. I drop to my knees, my hands hovering over his chest for a fraction of a moment, afraid to touch him, afraid to make it real.

"Nico," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Nico, can you hear me?"

He doesn't react but as I place my finger on his artery, the pulse is still there.

Fuck.

I get to my feet and ease him off the ground and into the front seat. His head lolls to the side.

"Stay with me," I mutter while I fasten the seatbelt around his waist, securing him in place. I'm not certain he can hear me but I talk to him anyway. "Just hold on. We're going to get you out of here."

Then I slide behind the wheel and I slam my foot on the accelerator.

The car surges forward, not as powerful as what I'm used to driving, but it's moving. And that's all that really matters.

The approaching city lights blur into a meteor shower of colors as I push the Corolla to its limits. The engine whines in protest, but I refuse to let up. Every second counts, every heartbeat a precious commodity.

A sudden realization hits me. All those years spent collecting fast cars, pouring over engine specs and horsepower ratings—it was all for this moment. To save the man I love.

CHAPTER27

NICO

My head throbs like a jackhammer on concrete as I pry my eyes open. Strange patterns swirl on an ornate ceiling above me. Where the hell am I? The rest of my body is heavy like lead and I'm feeling the first sign of panic rising.

Immediately, I try to sit up, to bring myself to a less powerless position, but a wave of dizziness crashes over me. My stomach lurches. Groaning, I sink back into the sheets that smell faintly of lavender and... smoke?

Memories flicker through my mind. The warehouse. Vlad's crew. Drugs. Fire licking at my heels as I try to escape it through the small window. But after that, nothing except darkness.

A soft snore draws my attention. I turn my head and my eyes lock onto a figure slumped in a nearby armchair. Vlad.

He looks... different. Disheveled. The man's typically pristine suit has been replaced with a wrinkled blazer and jeans, a style deviation from his dress slacks. A livid scratch marks his cheek. How did that happen? His wrists are bandaged too.

"Vlad?" My voice comes out as a croak, foreign and rough. Shit.

His eyes snap open, meeting mine instantly. Relief floods his steel-gray gaze, quickly chased by concern.

"You're finally awake, Romeo." He straightens up and leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "How do you feel?"

"Like shit warmed over," I hoarse out. "What happened? Where are we?"

Vlad's lips quirk in a half-smile. "Eloquent as always, my dear."

The endearment—although part sarcasm—sends an unexpected surge of heat through me. I push it aside, focusing on the matter at hand. "What. The. Hell. Happened?"

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "You don't remember, do you?"

I close my eyes, trying to piece together the fragments. "We were inside the warehouse, ready to leave after your crew got all the coke out. There was a fire. A lot of smoke. I remember I found a window. Then... nothing."

"You inhaled too much smoke," Vlad says quietly, rising to his feet and stepping toward the edge of the bed. "I got you out just in time."

My eyes fly open as the realization finally hits me. "The fire wasn't an accident."

Vlad's expression darkens. "Correct. We can talk about it. I know you have questions. However, keep in mind, you're still weak and you need rest. I had a doctor look at you. You'll be fine in a couple of days, but can you take it easy for a bit?"

"Rest? I need answers, dammit." I try to sit up again, ignoring the pounding in my skull.

Vlad's hand on my chest stops me. "Nico, please. You nearly died last night. Give yourself time to recover."

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