Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
“He’s going to take her down,” Blade roared to no one in particular as he watched Terry Richards rush toward Whitney.
She’d heard him call her name, and she’d turned when he issued a warning, now she was standing there, frozen in fright and he could only imagine what was running through her mind.
He knew what was running through his.
He was too far away.
There was no way he could get to her in time if she went over the edge. He was fast, but he wasn't that fast. Nobody was. Well, nobody except Thunder.
Apparently, Thunder had the same thought he did because his friend suddenly took off at his superhuman speed. There was a chance he could reach her before she hit the ground.
Voodoo also dashed off after Thunder. His near-magic ability to heal might come in handy if the worst happened.
But Blade stopped.
Raised his weapon.
Aimed it at the lunatic preparing to take Whitney over the edge, crashing down onto the concrete below.
Taking her to what could be her death. It was a survivable fall.
Potentially. But with the weight of Terry Richards’ much larger body following her down, likely landing on top of her, there was every chance she might not survive.
So he forced himself to slow down the beating of his heart, focused on his target, drew in a single, long, slow breath, then on the exhale, he pulled the trigger.
Blade heard the bullet whizz through the air, heard it connect with his target, heard the sound of breaking bone as it tore through the man’s skull, decimating his brain, and ending his life.
As much as he’d like to keep Terry Richards alive long enough to exact revenge for everything the man had put Whitney through, and to extract whatever intel they could to find Dr. Gardner, right now the man was a threat to Whitney’s life, one that had to be eliminated quickly and efficiently.
The body went down, hitting the top of the shipping container with a satisfying thud, but Blade’s joy and relief were short-lived, because Terry must have been close enough to Whitney to jostle her as his dead body dropped.
From where he was, Blade heard her gasp, watched in horror as her arms windmilled as she tried to regain her balance, but it was too late to stop gravity.
For a moment, it was like she hung in midair, not fully falling, but without steady footing on the shipping container.
But then she was falling.
Fast.
She screamed.
Or maybe he screamed.
Perhaps it was both of them.
He started running again, but he felt so far away from them, and when her body disappeared behind the rows of containers between his position and hers, Blade kept waiting for the sickening sound of her body hitting the concrete.
Instead, he heard Thunder’s oomph as he must have gotten to her in time to catch her before she could slam into the ground.
“We got her, Blade.” He heard Voodoo’s reassuring words, but nothing was going to make him believe that she was alive and in one piece until he could get eyes on her.
Seconds later, he rounded the corner, just in time to watch Thunder kneel, setting Whitney down as Voodoo knelt on her other side.
She wasn't moving, but he didn't think she could have injured herself in the fall, although there was, of course, a chance that she’d struck her head or another body part on the containers as she dropped.
Just because he hadn't heard it didn't mean it hadn't happened, because he’d been too busy focusing on each beat of her heart to process anything else.
Skidding to his knees at her side, he dragged Whitney into his lap, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Because she was.
“She’s breathing right?” he asked as Voodoo pressed fingertips to her neck.
“You can hear her breath,” his friend reminded him.
“No. I can't. What the hell?” The only thing Blade could hear right now was his own pulse rushing in his ears like a waterfall.
“You don’t need to hear, all you need to do is feel,” Voodoo said gently, reaching out to pick up his hand and place it on Whitney’s chest right above her heart.
Where he could feel each steady beat.
Each bump against his palm calmed him a little more until his own breathing slowed, and his hearing returned.
Then he could hear her measured breaths.
Slow and even. She wasn't dead, and she wasn't breathing like she was injured. She’d just passed out.
Her overloaded system was probably checking out as she plummeted toward the ground, likely with no idea that Thunder was there to catch her.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough as he looked up at Thunder, who had stood and was standing, weapon aimed, at attention, just in case there was another threat out there.
If it hadn't been for his friend using his enhanced speed, Whitney would have hit the concrete.
Could be dead right now instead of just unconscious.
“Course, man, she’s family,” Thunder said like it was no big deal, but it was a big deal.
The biggest.
“She injured?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Voodoo, whose hands were skimming across Whitney’s too still body.
“Dehydrated, hypothermic, bruising, but she’s going to be okay,” Voodoo assured him, and as Blade let out a breath of relief, his fingertips brushing across petal-soft skin, it registered.
Whitney was half-naked.
All he’d been focused on when he first saw her and then spotted her abductor rushing toward her was the fact that she was in danger.
Then all he’d cared about was whether he was still going to lose her, even though he’d eliminated the threat.
But now he realized that she wasn't wearing a top, and he remembered what Dragon had smelled.
Sex.
With Whitney in his arms, he could see that bruises weren't the only thing covering her skin. There was dried semen all over her, and a roar rumbled through his chest, bursting out into the night like a living, breathing creature.
How dare Terry Richards put his hands on her.
If he could, he’d climb up there, bring the man back to life, and then kill him all over again. The kind of death he deserved this time around. In fact, he had half a mind to ask Voodoo if he could revive Richards, even though he was pretty sure his friend’s amazing skills didn't go that far.
“Relax, B, you're scaring her,” Voodoo said gently, empathy in his eyes as he rested one hand on Blade’s shoulder, the other smoothed down Whitney’s hair.
Blinking away as much of the rage as he could, he focused instead on his girl, who was whimpering, shifting in his hold, her eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks as she slowly swam back to consciousness.
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he crooned, forcing himself to relax because it was obvious Whitney was feeding off his emotions.
“Blade?” she whispered, eyes still closed, but her body drifted closer to his, curling in against his warmth.
“Right here, darlin’,” he assured her.
“I-I’m scared.”
“He’s dead, darlin’. Can't hurt you again.”
“S-scared this is a d-dream. That y-you're not r-real,” she stammered, her voice catching, and a couple of tears leaked out, trailing down her temples.
“No dream, my sweet little genius. I’m right here. Terry Richards is dead. He’s never going to touch you again. We’re going to get you cleaned up, get some fluids in you, warm you up, and take you home.”
“You came,” she whispered.
“Nowhere on earth you could be that I wouldn't come after you, darlin’. So let that be a warning for you if you're planning on ditching me after we get you back home. Bound by blood.”
“Bound by blood,” she echoed, then slowly her eyelids lifted, obviously still worried that when she opened them, he wasn't going to be there. The relief in those wide blue eyes of hers when they met his gaze was something he would never forget.
Running his knuckles down her cheek, he then palmed it and leaned in, feathering his lips across hers.
He’d come so close to losing her, yet she was here, alive, mostly unharmed, physically at least, although she was going to have some major trauma to work through on top of what she was already attempting to handle.
“Never letting you go again,” he whispered against her lips, meaning it sincerely. She was his, she’d said she was, and he wasn't going to let her take it back.
“Okay,” she agreed, snuggling into him, exhaustion weighing her down as she let him take all of her weight.
“I’m serious, darlin’,” he warned her as he tucked her closer.
“I know.”
“And you're really good with that?”
“Already told you that I was.”
Chuckling, he shifted his hold on her as he stood, keeping her pressed against him, both to share his body warmth and to shield her half-naked body from the others. “Rest now, darlin’, I'm here to take care of you.”
There was no better feeling in the world than his girl acquiescing, allowing herself to drift off to sleep content in the knowledge that she was safe in his arms.
January 17th
10:49 P.M.
“This isn’t necessary,” Whitney told Blade, even as she curled instinctively into him. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to turn to him to seek comfort, and in his arms already felt like the safest place to be.
Maybe she’d been a little clingier than she should have been these last several hours, but after spending over a day with Terry Richards, the wealth of emotions she’d experienced, the fear and terror, her determination to remember that Blade wouldn't abandon her, then him saving her life all over again, she couldn’t seem to help it.
At Blade’s side was the only place where that storm of emotions stilled enough that she could breathe.
But she was worried about becoming a bother. A burden.
Would he grow tired of her if she didn't find a way to pull it together quickly?