Page 18 of Fractured Future
“Yet you’re still alive.”
My stomach flips and twists. “I suppose so.”
“Well that doesn’t sound like dying to me. In fact, I think that makes you a survivor.”
He shifts to let Raye slide closer, the blade poised in her hand. Blaine moves to my head, yelling at his men to drive carefully while we work. We’re careening along at breakneck speed.
“Hold still,” Raye instructs.
She offers no further warning before pushing the scalpel into my forearm, slicing through my skin to access the device. If I wasn’t physically spent, I could probably hold my cry inside.
Instead, it rips out of me, ricocheting around the van’s hollow interior. The blade feels like a scorching laser point, carving into my flesh. Sweat quickly breaks out on my forehead.
“Shut her up, Blaine. I need to concentrate.”
A large, calloused hand moves to cover my mouth, clamping down on my whimpering. The faint scent of spicy peppercorns and citrusy bergamot emanates from Blaine’s wrist.
Trust this smooth talker to wear expensive aftershave on some kind of fucked up kidnapping mission. I know a fine cologne when I smell one. My brother’s lifestyle used to demand no less.
“Not the way I usually like to make a stunning woman like yourself scream.” Blaine’s smirk hangs over me. “In an ideal world, I’d buy you a drink first.”
“Stop flirting,” Raye mutters.
“Ignore her.” His night-sky eyes seem to sparkle good-humouredly. “She’s just jealous because a chick broke her heart. Now something tells me you’re a wine drinker on a date.”
Knocking his hand aside, I pant raggedly. “The last m-man I dated had me kidnapped and trafficked.”
Lines arch around his mouth when he laughs. “I’m not opposed to kidnapping, though I’d prefer it to be consensual.”
Is he for real or just insane?
“I suppose the cliche is for people like me to swirl whiskey in their crystal glasses and smoke a cigar, right?” he continues. “In reality, I’m partial to a fine pinot noir.”
“People like you?” I repeat shakily. “Who are you?”
Blaine winks at me. “Spoilers, sweetheart.”
With a sudden stab of pain, I feel something in my arm pop. The rapidly spreading heat feels like I’ve been branded all over again, joining the medley of injuries sapping my strength.
“Gotcha.” Raye lifts her head, a metal chip caught between her wet fingers. “Slippery little bugger.”
“Undamaged?”
“Do I look like an amateur to you?” she barks.
“Don’t bite my fucking head off. Put it somewhere safe, it’s coming with us. We need to throw Gael’s men off the scent until she’s clear.”
Nodding at Blaine’s command, Raye deposits the tracker into the foam-packed case. “I need to stitch her up.”
“I’ve got this,” Blaine intervenes. “Your sutures are shit.”
“You’ve never complained before.”
“Look at my damn face. Your fault I look like this.”
Rolling her eyes, she clambers out of the way to clean up her supplies. “Whatever, pretty boy.”
Blaine swipes the suture kit then shuffles to pull my bloodied arm into his lap. With his head lowered, he preps the suture needle then moves to apply pressure to my forearm.
