Chapter Fifteen #2
The word barely makes it out. It’s not a plea. More like a calculation of how little time we have left.
Raine
He’s too close. His scent doesn’t belong in this place. It’s clean. Woodsy. Soap. Maybe shampoo. Normal in a place where nothing is normal.
That contrast cuts through the exhaustion. It’s so wrong, for a beat, it’s all I can focus on.
Then the pain in my hand recedes into numbness. I notice the change without reacting. File it away. Numb is better than loud.
My body is failing me in pieces. My brain is still trying to organize them.
“Do you need a breath?” he asks when both my wrists are free.
No. The word fractures before it finishes forming. I don’t need air.
I need…something to aim at.
Asher
The heavy shackles around her ankles cost us seconds we don’t have. Metal on metal. Too loud in a room that feels like it’s listening.
When they finally give, I pause. “I’m going to unstrap you now, then help you up.”
“No!” The word breaks loose, so sharp and panicked, I think she’s about to hyperventilate. “Wait—”
I freeze with my hand on the thick nylon band still binding her to the chair.
She draws in a breath from somewhere deep and ugly. Bracing herself. “I need to…stand…on my own.”
If I hadn’t started my career working kidnap and ransom cases, I’d stop her. But I’ve seen what long-term abuse can do to a person. Not just their body—their sense of control.
“I’ll remove the restraint, then take a step back. I won’t touch you unless you’re about to fall.” I unlock it, wait a single second to make sure she’s not about to collapse, and retreat.
Raine curls forward, then hisses as her bare feet touch the concrete. I’m sure she’s going down. Her legs shake hard enough the chair skids back.
But she stays upright.
Not steady. Not safe. Upright. It’s something.
She locks her knees, then eases off them in tiny increments. Her face is still hidden under the hood, but I can hear the nausea in the way she breathes through her nose.
“I’m up,” she says, though I’m not sure even she believes it.
“You’re in charge, Raine. Tell me what’s next.”
Raine
Every swallow drags against fabric. Warm, stale air, the fuzz on my teeth, the sour, artificial taste of whatever they forced me to eat—it’s all too much.
Stand. That’s the whole job. Just…stand.
“Can I remove the hood?” he asks.
“N-no. I think…I know where to go. Turns. Steps. Sixty…seconds.” My voice sounds far away. Not…mine anymore.
“Fifty-three,” Asher says.
He’s counting. Maybe I don’t have to.
I take my first step. My body lags, then catches up. Lags again. It doesn’t get to decide things for me. Not now.
“I’d feel better if you could see,” he says.
“No one ever…moved me without it. We’d draw attention.”
The space starts to open. I hear it. Wider. Louder. My skin prickles, every nerve lighting up and pulling back at the same time.
Asher
I take a quick glance into the corridor. Three contractors—relaxed, shooting the shit, with cups of coffee in their hands. If we’re lucky, we’ll pass them before the alarms go off.
“There’s a group of them. Twenty-five feet away. Keep your head down, shoulders hunched if you can.”
Raine adjusts, but her body can hardly handle the strain. Her balance wavers, then locks again.
“I have to touch you to sell it. Tell me where I won’t hurt you.”
Her breathing slows even more. If she lasts another few minutes, it’ll be a miracle. But she doesn’t stop her slow, unsteady shuffle.
“Elbow.” The word is thin, barely more than a breath, but still enough.
My hand closes gently around her arm. Guiding rather than pulling or steering her.
I angle my body between her and the open space, turning us so she’s half-hidden at my side.
One of the contractors glances over. “Transfer?” he asks.
“Late stage,” I say without breaking stride. “Medical signed off. I’m taking her up now.”
He snorts. “She doesn’t look happy about it.”
“They never are.”
That earns a shrug, and he steps aside, leaving a wide berth between us. Like the results of neglect and torture are contagious.
Asshole.
I keep my grip steady until we’re clear, then loosen it without letting go completely. Her weight wavers once. I compensate, a small, almost invisible shift that still causes her entire body to go rigid.
“You’re doing great,” I murmur. “There’s a T-junction up ahead. Left or right?”
“Right,” she says.
Raine
His hand doesn’t stray. The pressure is wrong and necessary at the same time. My body reacts before I can stop it. Every muscles locks, then the panic settles into something brittle but usable.
I keep my head down because I don’t have the strength to lift it.
My legs lag again. A half-beat. I catch it late. He compensates before I fall, keeping me upright with gentle pressure that doesn’t entirely hurt. The adjustment sends a shock through me anyway, heat and panic tangling in my chest.
I breathe through it. Don’t count. Don’t think. Move.
Asher’s too close. Also the only reason I’m still vertical.
Right should get us to an elevator. I hold onto that. Steps. Turns.
Don’t stop.
If I stop, everything catches up.
“Okay,” I say finally. My voice shakes despite my effort. “Okay. You can let go.”
He does. Immediately.
The absence of his touch is almost worse.
Almost.
Asher
Two steps after I let go of her elbow, she sways. Her knee buckles, and momentum tips her forward before she can compensate.
I’m already moving. “I’ve got you,” I say, one hand grazing her waist in the lightest touch I can manage.
Her whole body reacts. Not a stumble. A full, involuntary flinch. This contact has hit somewhere deeper than pain.
“I know,” I add, my voice low and steady. “And I’m sorry. But we have to keep moving.”
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t thank me. She stays upright, and that’s al that matters.
We make another turn into some sort of loading bay. I scan the space for cameras and guide her to the corner, where we should be safe in a blind spot.
“We’re clear,” I say. “Only one camera, and it can’t see us. You can take the hood off now. Or I can. You tell me when.”
Raine
Not yet. The words won’t come. I have to make him understand.
“I need…one more breath.”
“Take it,” Asher says.
I do. It doesn’t help.
“Okay,” I manage. “Okay. Loosen it. My fingers—I don’t have control.”
He doesn’t move right away.
“Tell me where to touch,” he says quietly.
Relief hits so hard it makes my eyes sting.
“The tie. At the back. Just enough so I can try.”
His hands come up slowly, and I feel the shift in the air before the pressure at my throat eases. The fabric loosens—not removed, but not choking me anymore.
I lift my hands. Or try to. My left arm barely responds. The right moves, then stops halfway up as my shoulder flares white-hot, sharp enough to steal what little breath remains.
I hiss, nausea rolling through me. If I’m sick now…I won’t come back from it.
“Shoulder?” Asher asks.
I nod once. Carefully this time.
“I can’t.” The admission costs more than it should. “I need you to do it.”
“All right.” He keeps his voice even. “I’ll lift the hood forward and up. I won’t touch your face unless I have to.”
Cool, clean air hits first. I drag it in like I’ve been underwater too long.
Darkness gives way to gray. Then lighter gray.
Then light.
Too much.
My eyes burn instantly, tears blurring everything into shape and color without edges. I try to focus and fail.
Asher leans closer. Not touching. Just…there.
“Easy,” he says. “Breathe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, then force them open a fraction.
Concrete. Pale lines. A tall shape beside me. Solid. Still.
I don’t get his face before my body gives out, and gravity wins.
Asher
I feel it as it happens. The moment her strength just…leaves.
“Raine,” I say, sharper now. “We’re almost clear.”
There’s no warning. No drama. Just the quiet failure of a body that’s been running on stubbornness long after it should have given up.
I catch her before she hits the floor, one arm under her knees, the other braced at her back. I angle automatically to avoid her injured shoulder.
“You’re safe,” I say. “Stay with me.”
She tries. I can feel it in the way she tenses, fights to stay present.
Then she’s gone.
Her weight settles fully into my arms as someone shouts from down the hall. I move without thinking, racing over to the service elevator, jabbing the button with my elbow, and praying the doors close before anyone finds us.