Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Motherfucker.
A motorcycle sat around the side of the house. Not the sporty, rubber-burning kind that Luke rode. No, this beast was throaty and heavy, made for long hauls on desolate roads. He only knew one guy who was arrogant enough to take an iconic Harley off-road in the desert.
As he parked the truck, the front door opened. Cole Hartman stepped out and leaned against the door frame, tattooed arms folded across his chest and eyes stony in the twilight.
Every time Tomas saw him, the man had more ink on his skin and hair on his face. He looked hard around the edges, fearsome even, like a one-percenter in an outlaw motorcycle club.
“I turned on the air-conditioning in the house.” Cole stalked toward him. “I don’t know how you can stand this fucking heat.”
“I told you not to come.” He rolled up the windows and stepped out.
Cole tilted his head, and when he caught a glimpse of the unconscious cargo, his nostrils stiffened. The cords in his neck protruded, and his face turned red above the beard. “What the fuck did you do?
“Tested her.” He strode around to the other side and dragged her out.
“Tested her how exactly? She looks more dead now than she did in the photo you sent.”
“Here’s an idea. Instead of standing around like a smacked ass, make yourself useful.” He cradled her against his chest and shoved past Cole. “Grab a couple of bags of sodium chloride from the bunker.”
“She’s covered in blood.”
“Hadn’t noticed.” He carried her into the house, and the sudden cold air shot a chill through him. Pausing at the control box on the wall, he raised the temperature. “Don’t fuck with the thermostat.”
“You’ve gone off the fucking rails, Tomas.”
“The IV drip, Cole. I need it yesterday.”
The bunker beneath the house maintained a mild temperature year-round. It was where they kept all the medical supplies and anything that might perish in the heat.
Cole grunted and treaded toward the interior door that led underground. Tomas headed to his old bedroom.
The bed was narrow like the room, but he had everything he needed to bring her back to life. Settling her on the mattress, he gave her limp body a quick perusal, probing for injuries he might’ve missed.
Minor scratches and bruises marred her fair skin. No deep gashes or burns. She’d used the sunscreen and kept to the shade when she could.
Blood streaked her face and arms, her shirt soaked and clinging to her firm little tits.
She needed a bath. But fluids first.
Using the supplies he’d already laid out, he cleaned her arm, washed his hands, and prepped the IV tubing and equipment.
When the sound of heavy boots entered the room, Tomas kept his gaze on his task. “What did you find on Paul Kissinger?”
“Nothing yet.” Cole handed over two bags of sodium chloride. “He returned to her house yesterday morning, snooping around. Then he left Eldorado and dropped out of signal range. Did he show up here?”
“He tried to rape her.”
“What? When?”
“An hour ago.” Tomas bent over her arm, hunting for a vein for the IV drip. Hard to do when her little vessels were deprived of fluid. “Goddammit.”
“The vein collapsed.” Cole crouched beside him, taking up too much room in the small space. “Slow down and try another one.”
Neither of them had gone to school to study medicine. They’d learned basic shit in the field, jumping in whenever the cartel’s medical staff needed help.
Knowing how to stitch a wound and insert a peripheral IV proved invaluable in their job. Tomas and Kate had taken the most interest in it. Kate wanted to be a doctor and help people. But not him. He just wanted to mend his wounds without depending on others to do it.
He finally accessed a vein, and once the drip started delivering fluid, he sat on the bed and blew out a breath. The intravenous route was the fastest way to rehydrate her body. She would recover quickly. Physically.
In other ways, she might never fully heal.
He knew the feeling.
“That’s not her blood.” Cole leaned over her, picking at the sticky gunk on her throat. “Tell me what happened.”
“I found Paul Kissinger lurking on my property. You were right. He put the tracker on her truck.”
“What did you do to him?
“Tied him up. Smacked him around.”
“And he confessed? Just like that?”
“No. He told her.”
Cole’s brows knitted, his gaze shifting from Rylee to the doorway. “Where is he?”
“In the desert.”
“Idiot. I have a million methods to make a man talk.”
“So do I.” Tomas grabbed the container of soap and water and gently ran a wet cloth over her face. “Before he showed up, I bugged her pack and dumped her in the desert, too.”
“What part of stay put and keep her restrained did you not understand?”
“I did restrain her. The scrubland is inescapable to anyone who doesn’t know its secrets. I was monitoring her. Watching and listening.”