Page 6 of Striker
Fury rolled over his skin in thick waves. Had she been drugged? Trafficked? What the hell was she doing here?
Bare, rail-thin legs were folded underneath where she sat. A once-white men’s T-shirt barely covered her. Stains marred the material. Her skin was layered with grime.
Rogue knelt next to him. He kept the light pointed down. “Where’s Rex?”
She lowered her chin and her shoulders rolled forward.
Atlas reached for the piece of ceramic he’d dropped to the floor. “Were you going to kill him with this?”
Seconds ticked by. The woman wasn’t here voluntarily. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t in some kind of fucked-up relationship with their target.
She didn’t respond.
“He’s not here,” Rogue said. “We need to move.”
Striker reached for her chains. Just as he feared, she slumped toward the mattress.
“Shit.”
He caught her and lowered her weightless body to the padding. “She passed out.”
“Free her. We don’t have time for this shit. Rex got away.” Rogue was already on his feet, spitting orders to Havoc and Wraith.
Atlas stared at the willowy, half-naked woman. Rage filled his blood. Gently, he positioned her wrist away from her body and fired a round at the shackle. The metal snapped open with a ping. She didn’t stir.
Shit, shit, shit.
He should be as focused as Rogue on their target, but he couldn’t get the sight of her bruises out of his head. He wanted—no, needed—answers. How had she gotten here? Why were they keeping her here?
And what the fuck had they done to her?
Dammit, he needed to get her to safety so he could think clearly.
“Striker, you got this?” Rogue was at his back.
“Yeah, man. But look at her.” He snatched a thin blanket from the bed and wrapped her lower body. It was hotter than hell outside and the last thing she needed was to overheat, but he also wouldn’t flash her ass to the guys if he could help it.
“We’ll worry about that later.”
He bundled her into his arms and carried her against his chest. She lay limp, her body too damn light.
He nodded at Rogue.
Looking at the woman, his friend appeared wary, and for a second, Atlas feared Rogue would tell him to leave her behind.
He didn’t. Which was a good fucking thing because he would’ve fought him on it.
They went through the bedroom’s sliding door. A dead guard lay on the ground off the cement patio. Without missing a beat, Atlas followed Rogue into the foliage.
Molly’s body rocked gently, and the motion almost lulled her back to sleep. She moaned, knowing she needed to fight the darkness but wishing she could cling to it.
Her senses sparked to life even though her eyes refused to open. Pain pulsed from her temple to the back of her head. A deep ache pulled at the muscles in her neck. She curled closer to the solid man carrying her. Tremors shook her arms and legs. She hadn’t been cold in a long time. But even though her hands and feet felt almost numb, heat warmed her cheek and torso. Not the sticky heat of the jungle but something else.
Awareness shot over her nerve endings, warning fast on its heels. Strong arms cradled her against a solid chest. The faint smell of sweat mixed with a heady masculine aroma and the earthy notes of the jungle filled her nostrils.
Memories rushed back. Gunshots. Shouts. A smoke bomb. Her nasal passage still burned from whatever chemicals had leaked into the air.
Then a face rushed forth in her mind. Gentle eyes. A gentler voice thick with authority and something she couldn’t place. She shifted her wrist. No heavy metal held her down. She tilted back her head and blinked open her eyes but only darkness met her vision.
