Page 167 of SINS & Riley
He’s hiding from me.
Who the hell is he?
He’s the man who vowed to protect you and your baby, Riley.
But… what if none of it was real?
Smoke’s hands still on a thick stack of blueprints buried at the bottom. His jaw hardens to stone.
“Motherfucker.” He spins on Dillon, crushing the papers in his fist.
“Well, this explains how Zver knew exactly which buildings to blow up.”
My stomach twists.
“We have to find Zver. Now,” Smoke barks.
Okay, yes. I wanted them to find Zver.
But to help him. Not to get all angry-mob on his ass. Torches and pitchforks optional.
Dillon shakes his head. “The men are already on it.” He checks his phone, jaw tightening. “Shit. I don’t know where he is now, but I know where he’ll be in two hours.”
Smoke plants his hands on his hips, glaring. “And how the hell do you know that?”
“He’s being auctioned off.”
My stomach lurches. “They’re auctioning… Zver?” Tears well as I shake my head. “That… makes no sense. Why? Who’s doing this?”
His gaze cuts sharp. “Our uncle. Andre D’Angelo. With the Irish syndicate backing him.”
More tears shed, and I am begging. “You have to help him. Please.”
“No.” Smoke’s growl is unyielding. “We have to help you.”
My fingers rip at the IV before I even know what I’m doing. I’m shredding my own skin just to tear it out, just to get free, just to stand.
Dillon’s weight slams me back down, iron hands pinning me as Smoke resets the line and twists the valve.
I thrash, wild, feral—kicking, clawing—but my body slows down.
I try to scream, to force the words out, but nothing comes. My lips move. My throat strains. My voice doesn’t.
Why isn’t my mouth working?
My eyelids drag, iron weights pulling them shut.
“She’ll be out for an hour at least. Enough for the transport. This will calm her down.”
Sedation.
He’s sedating me.
He can’t do that. This can't be good for a pregnant woman or her child.
He can’t?—
No.
