Page 163 of The Wild Charge

Their little robot boy who was finally becoming a person.

He had to pull his hands out of his pockets then to crack his knuckles, anticipation a snapping whipcord inside him. He wanted to do something. Wanted to do itnow.

The tilt of Ghost’s head said he knew it. “Get Walsh,” he said, counting off on lifted fingers, “a truck. Maddox. And get Luis.

“Oh,” he added, before Mercy could sayyes, boss. “And your hammer.”

~*~

Evan was going to puke.

The one drink from the club and the few hits from the joint in the car had long since worn off, but he was in a cold sweat, shaking and swallowing back bile as he stumbled out into the hallway and through the door the guard had indicated.

Every time he blinked, he saw that poor girl, Kaylie, on her knees in front of him, stroking and licking at his soft cock, her jaw trembling in terror even as she did as she’d been told. She’d been shaking, her breath unsteady across his tongue-dampened skin.

Jensen had barked a nasty laugh. “Whassa matter? You drink too much?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel sick.” It hadn’t been a lie. He’d managed to tuck himself away and stand.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He braced a hand against a cool wall and bent forward at the waist, swallowing again and again. He’d shot people for money before. He’dkilledpeople. And yet nothing had ever been as bad as having a terrified, kidnapped girl kneel before him and open his pants with shaking fingers.

He gagged, but managed to keep from throwing up all over his shoes. He wiped his eyes, and then his mouth with the back of his hand. He had to get it together. He was in the belly of the beast and he couldn’t fall apart now.

With a few deep breaths, and a gathering of all his resolve, he managed to straighten, and look at his surroundings.

In comparison to the hallway he’d just left, this one was spartan, the carpet replaced with white tile, the walls utilitarian gray, the lighting low and sinister: a few dull overhead tubes leading on and on into the distance. To his left was a door marked as a men’s room, and across from it a ladies’ room. Because the people coming here tohave sex with slaveswanted to observe separate bathrooms, apparently.

At the end of the hall, an open doorway intersected another hall, equally dull.

Evan pushed off the wall and moved that direction. Sweat continued to slide down his spine, and his stomach twinged on every step, reminding him that it was all too ready to give up its contents to the floor. That poor girl…

Don’t think about her. Don’t think about anything.

He had to call Fox. Like,right now.

A bulb was out at the end of the hall, right where it intersected the other. Emboldened by that pool of shadows, he braced a hand on the doorframe and looked up and down the adjoining hall. White door to the right, gray door to the left: the heavy, industrial kind with chicken-wire mesh in the narrow windows. This didn’t feel like a part of the space where moneyed guests were supposed to wander. There was also not a soul in sight.

Maybe there were cameras on him – probably – but hopefully they didn’t have audio. He tucked himself back against a dark part of the wall, deep in the shadows, and dug out his phone.

Fox’s cell rang, and rang, and rang.

“Come on, come on,” he chanted under his breath. “Pick up, you bastard.”

“This is Fox,” the lazy voicemail prompt finally answered. “I might call you back.”

“Asshole.” He redialed, and got the same response.

Sweat prickled along his hairline, now, and his foot – braced back against the wall – started to bounce, his whole leg shaking. He couldn’t stay here – he couldn’t! He had to–

Noise. The opening of a heavy, metal door.

Evan sucked in a breath and froze, listening.

Boots scuffed over the tile, and someone cursed softly under their breath.

“Don’t drop him, you idiot,” a smoke-roughened male voice barked.

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