He stared at her. His brows slanted in a V, the angle of his clenched jaw severe. She wasn’t getting through to him. He was going to kill her. It was there in his glare.
The part of her brain capable of processing her own end grasped onto a thread of optimism. He wouldn’t survive her death. She was certain of it, and the thought made her smile, as much as her contorted face would allow. Do it. Kill me. She was so fucking ready.
His eyes widened, but he wasn’t looking through them. They were glazed and far away. Had he come to the same realization?
He flung himself off her, and the sound of his footsteps marked his clumsy retreat.
She gasped for air, her throat on fire, her lungs straining. No punctured lung? Broken rib, maybe. She could no longer see through her swollen eyes.
“Everyone out. Salvador, ready my plane. I’m leaving now.”
She pulled the noose from her neck and gathered her useless arm close to her body. She cried out, miserable with pain.
“Now, Mr. Oxford? It’s two in the morning.”
A body thumped against the wall, followed by a gasp.
“I don’t give a fuck what time it is.” Roy’s voice bellowed from down the hall. “Get me the fuck out of here. She stays. No one goes in that room while I’m gone.”
The door slammed shut, and the quiet crept in. The prior minutes settled over her in a heavy fog of pain.
She made a mental perusal of her injuries. Swollen eyes. Broken arm. Possible broken ribs. She still had her teeth. She might’ve laughed at that if her throat wasn’t so damaged. Her body throbbed and burned as if on fire, and the sad thing was, the pain was beginning to feel just a little bit normal.
Maybe she should worry about her injuries being left untreated in Roy’s absence, but the buzz in her head weighted her eyelids. So fucking tired.
16
Charlee awoke to the bed jostling, lurching. How long had she slept? Darkness shrouded her vision and nausea rolled through her gut. Why couldn’t she see? She was so damned tired, drifting in a furry sort of haze. Or was it fuzz? Yeah, fuzzy.
Something pulled on her ankle and her leg felt lighter…free.
“Shhh. This might hurt.”
That voice. She knew that voice. She’d made it to heaven.
Steady hands tucked her arm next to her body. Stabs of pain skated through her shoulder, and she moaned.
Bedding wrapped around her, chin to feet. The mattress fell away and her body was lifted, cradled against a hard chest. Was she going somewhere?
“I…” She swallowed past the hurt in her throat. “Can’t…see. Book.” She jerked her chin in the vicinity of the table.
The forward motion stopped. “Got it.” He walked through the room. “We’re heading into the hall now. Don’t make a sound, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. “Noah.” She melted into the arms holding her so gently and pressed her face into his neck. “You came.”
He tightened his grip and shifted into a sprint. Just like her dream, he’d come to save her. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to bawl like a baby.
Footsteps emerged behind them. He jerked right, stopped, and pressed her mouth harder against his neck. A warning to keep quiet?
Where were they hiding? She pictured the penthouse’s layout. A closet, maybe?
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the monitoring room?” The unfamiliar voice was far enough away she was sure whoever it was couldn’t see them.
“Matthew let me step out for a smoke.” Another voice she couldn’t mark.
Her exhales were coming out so loud. She couldn’t help it. The damn injury in her chest was igniting with her panic. Could they hear her? She couldn’t stop shaking.
“Where’s Matthew now?”
“He’s still in there. It’s fine, man. Mr. Oxford put him in charge.”
The pain in her shoulder hammered. The trembling grew more violent, reaching deep in her bones. Please, leave. Shut the fuck up and leave.
“Mr. Oxford also said two guards should man the cameras at all times. And don’t forget. While you’re monitoring her, he is monitoring you. Get the fuck back there.”
The voices faded. He inhaled deeply. Then they were moving, around a corner, and…climbing? Stairs? What was up? The roof.
Metal rattled. Crisp outdoor air washed over her. In the distance, the whump, whump, whump of a helicopter approached. Fast.
“This might go to shit. Just hang on, okay?”
She tucked in, her body paralyzed with shock. Noah, the rescue, it was a dream. She was dreaming.
The wind picked up, and the whine of the helicopter’s rotor announced its descent.
He ran. She held her breath, tried not to pass out from the agony of her injuries battering against his sprinting body.
A gun fired. More followed. Behind them. In front of them. Footsteps and shouting rang out in every direction. She couldn’t see, couldn’t fight, and her consciousness ebbed and flowed with his ducking movements.