“All right.” Marcus glances from Theo to Ryland, and when they both meet his gaze, he nods. “He’ll live. For now.”
He strides from the room and returns a moment later with a roll of duct tape. He uses it to bind Dominic’s hands and feet together. Then he pushes the man’s dark, blood-matted hair away from his face. “Gash on his forehead, and a nasty fucking lump. Probably split the skin when he hit his head. You find any other injuries, Ryland?”
“No.”
Leaving the trussed-up man on the bed, Marcus steps back and rests a hand on my lower back, steering me from the bedroom. “Come on, angel. I think there’s a bottle of whiskey in this house somewhere.”
He leads me into the living room, and I sink onto the couch, grateful to give my shaky legs a little reprieve. I’ve been standing upright by sheer force of will, and even that is starting to fade. Hiking the fabric of my dress up a little, I reach beneath the skirt and undo the thigh holster, setting it and the gun on the coffee table in front of me.
Marcus goes looking for the whiskey, and when Theo sits down next to me, I turn to face him. “How’s your arm?”
He grimaces. “Hurts, but it’s nothing that’ll kill me. We’ve got a first aid kit around here somewhere.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “You wanna nurse me back to health?”
I purse my lips to keep from smiling. He’s the only person I know who could make that joke right now and actually make me laugh.
“Yeah, I could play nurse. Where’s the kit?”
“I’ve got it.” Marcus re-enters the room, a bottle of amber liquid in one hand and a small box in the other.
He sets the box down on the worn coffee table and uncaps the booze, taking a deep drink before passing it to me. I take a drink too, letting the whiskey burn down my throat. It’s not tequila, but I’m not in a position to be picky.
With the alcohol warming my stomach, I help Theo peel his jacket off, then loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. His arm is stained red, but the bleeding from the wound already looks like it’s slowing down.
Several inches below it is the lingering scar from the last time a bullet clipped his arm, when he and the others rescued me from the house where Carson and Dominic were keeping me.
“Are you trying to start a punch card or something?” I quip, running my fingertips over his old scar. My joke falls flat. Nothing about this is remotely funny, but Theo grins at me anyway.
As I start to clean the area where the bullet grazed him, Ryland and Marcus settle in beside us, Ryland perching on the arm of the couch and Marcus on Theo’s other side.
“We may still be better off now than we were at the beginning of the night,” Marcus says slowly, gripping the bottle and taking another drink. “If we’re able to find evidence on that drive that ties Luca to the Viper. What he did tonight was already risky, and I’m sure it’s got people questioning what the fuck is going on. As long as everyone still thinks the game is legit, they won’t question it. But if we can cast doubt on that, it’ll make his actions at the party seem pretty fucking suspect.”
“It’ll make it look like what it was,” Ryland adds. “An attempt to discredit us and silence us, using other people to do his dirty work.”
I glance up from my work on Theo’s arm. “So we need to start trying to sort through and decrypt everything we got immediately.” My brows knit. “Is Zee ready to jump on unlocking the files?”
“Should be.” Marcus passes the bottle to Theo. “I’ll transfer the files to him and let him get to work trying to crack them, and I’ll have him send us what he’s got as soon as he’s got it.”
“Can we trust him with that?”
Marcus shrugs. “As much as we can trust anyone. So, not at all. But Zee’s already on Luca’s shit list, so he’s got no reason to help him, and no reason to think Luca wouldn’t kill him first if he even tried. That, combined with what we’re paying him, makes him as safe a bet as any.”
“How long do you think it will take him?” I ask.
“Depends on how heavily encrypted the files are. If he can do it at all, I’m guessing it won’t be fast.”
“We need to have him scrub security footage along our route here too,” Ryland puts in. “Dom’s car is easy to fucking spot. Have him replace any feeds that caught us so no one can track us down that way.”
I grimace as I press a piece of gauze over the gash on Theo’s arm and secure it with tape. I never imagined it would be this hard to disappear until I tried to do it.
Ironic that my little brother somehow managed to disappear without a trace, while we’re just looking to prolong the amount of time it takes for someone to find us.
Because they will find us.
Gabriel. Michael. Victoria. Even Adrian.
They’re all smart, savvy, and dangerous. Luca has made us the prize in this fucking game, and every single one of them is determined to win.
As I secure the last piece of tape on Theo’s arm, a low groan rises up from the bedroom. I glance down the hall, then press to my feet. “I’ll go deal with Dominic.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Ryland makes a move to follow, but I wave him off. “It’s fine. I can handle him. Do whatever you need to do.”
I know there’s plenty to be done, all of it in a desperate attempt to keep us all alive. The least I can do is deal with the man tied up on the bed while the others take care of security and get in touch with Zee.
Before Ryland can argue, I draw the flash drive out of my dress pocket and hand it over to Marcus.
Then I pick up the first aid kit and head down the hall.
Chapter 11
When I step into the bedroom, I find Dominic trying to sit up.
“Don’t.”
I cross to him and push him back down, and to my surprise, he does what I tell him to. He must still be groggy as fuck.
The lump on his head looks worse now. It’s grown in size and turned an ugly purple color, and it brings back unpleasant memories of my own head wound. The concussion I got when Marcus fell on top of me after Carson shot him.
As I think of Dominic’s role in all of that, my jaw clenches. No matter what Ryland says about me being a good person, I’m not a fucking saint. Part of me wants to walk back into the living room, grab my gun, and come back to put a bullet between Dom’s eyes.
The man in front of me lets out a low, pitiful groan, blinking slowly as he looks around the room and then down at himself.
“What happened to my shirt?”
I glance at his unbuttoned dress shirt, stained red with blood. “We had to make sure you weren’t bugged. That you didn’t have a tracker on you.”
He glances over at me, a confused look on his face, and I snort.
“Don’t look so fucking shocked. You put one on me when you kidnapped me, so it’s not that big of a stretch to think you might have one on you.”
He blinks again, his eyelids dragging up and down. His pupils are huge, overtaking the lighter color of his irises, and I know from personal experience how out of it he probably feels.
“I really am sorry,” he murmurs, almost to himself.