Zasha wanted the new codes into the CIA database, and Chry’s refusal to give them to her was the only thing that was keeping her alive. She heard footsteps, and her eyes barely moved when those familiar boots, a small nick in the heel, showed up. He ran a metal baton along the bars and crouched down so she could see his face.
Young and already messed up, leering at her like he wanted to not only hurt her but get off on her pain. She clenched her jaw. All she needed was five minutes…less than that to break his perverted neck.
Fear of Darko and Zasha was the only thing that kept him at bay.
She dismissed him as he rose. “One day, beautiful, then you will be fair game,” he murmured in the heavy accent of the Bosnian language, his slow footsteps retreating. She was certain she would hear them in her nightmares.
She hadn’t seen 2-Stroke since she’d been thrown in this cell, and she was sick with concern about what they were doing to him.
Zasha had wanted something from him. Chry was certain of that.
The sound of a door clanged open, then closed. The snick of the lock made her tense. Then two guards came in dragging a man between them. They opened the door in the cell adjacent to hers.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize him. But as soon as she glimpsed the line of his beautiful jaw, she realized it was 2-Stroke.
“Neo,” she croaked, shocked at the rusty sound of her own voice.
They threw him inside and he rolled. Right now, he was clothed in only a pair of pants, but the guards threw in a shirt on top of his body. She clutched at her threadbare shirt, thankful to be clothed after being nude in the preliminary days of their captivity.
“Neo,” she tried again, louder, but he was lost as he gasped and groaned, pulling into a fetal position, shaking and wrapping his arms around himself as if he were trying to hold his essence inside. Then he went limp.
“Oh, God. What have they done to you?”
She closed her eyes, so tired, so scared. She dozed off into a fitful sleep but woke with a start at the sound of anguish. Opening her eyes, she saw him in the same position, but this time his heavenly blue eyes were a bit far away, his lids closing and opening again. Drugs. They’d given him drugs. For what purpose?
She pushed up and crawled to the bars separating them. Zasha and Darko had made a grave mistake. Together they were stronger, together they could come up with an escape plan. If Zasha thought she could break them down even more, she was stupidly wrong. Her miscalculation could be their salvation.
She extended her arm through the bars. “Neo,” she said, her voice a rasp.
He tried to focus on her, but his eyes kept rolling. Then, he moved, pushing closer. She stretched, needing to touch him, make sure she wasn’t hallucinating herself. He reached out and their fingers brushed, sending an electric shock through her system.
She’d know Neo’s energy anywhere. It crackled through her, bolstering her. He was alive. She was alive. That was all that mattered right now.
He closed his eyes, then opened them, determination in every line of his big body. He pushed and shoved himself closer until finally, he wrapped his hand around hers and it was as if she’d been thrown a lifeline.
“Chry,” he whispered. “I thought…they might have killed you.” The tenderness in his voice, deep and sure, slayed her. They had so much baggage from the past, two street kids now operating in an international arena but still at the street level. The players might change, but now there was much more at stake than just their lives. “Not yet. They want what’s in my head.” She squeezed his hand. “What do they want from you?”
“To break me. Make me renounce the brotherhood and the United States. Forgo my oaths and honor. Not going to happen.” He took a gasping breath as if he were trying to stay cognizant, hold onto his sanity. “I piss her off and this is breaking her. She’s losing it. She might just kill me next time.”
“We have to get out of here,” Chry said. She was a jumble of emotions, hanging onto him. Her attraction to him hadn’t lessened one iota. But he was practically a stranger even if she had been harboring a crush on him for going on twelve years, a situation she wasn’t even close to sorting out on such short notice.
“I know. Do you have any ideas, wildcat?” Together they moved closer to the bars until their bodies were aligned.
“Yes, I do, but we’re only going to get one shot at this.” She met his gaze, and what she saw made her feel like she was on the edge of a precipice. His thumb caressed her palm and Chry found it hard to concentrate. A deep thrill coursed through her body and settled between her legs—and he just kept caressing her. He was just as aware of her. It was evident in the smoldering blue depths of his eyes.
She felt safe with Neo, with the warmth of his body so close. It didn’t make sense, not here, not now, but she couldn’t explain it. Her instincts all those years ago had been spot on. They’d slipped back into the rhythm of their friendship like an old worn sweater. Even here in this dangerous place, she felt safer than she had in her life.
After a long silent moment, when she wondered if he’d lapsed back into unconsciousness, he brought his hand up to smooth his thumb along her jaw. They were lying as close to the bars as possible, held in place by nothing short of their fierce wills. His eyes were impossibly blue in the low light, his lashes, the same gorgeous chestnut as his hair, were thicker than any man should be allowed to possess.
The memory of the first time she realized Neo was more than a teenaged boy, an old soul wise beyond his years, flashed through her mind. Tired from her babysitting job just two blocks from her rundown home, she’d been foolish—she cut through an alley, her thoughts and attention dull. It wasn’t until she heard the low whistle that she looked up to find four boys from her school surrounding her with aggressive moves.
She’d been scared then, realizing she had broken the cardinal rule of the street. Never drop your guard. They closed in, and one of them grabbed her arm, their hands pulling at her, trying to drag her down.
Then a male voice rang against the brick walls, slicing through the pain and fear. “Let her fucking go. Now!”
They turned and gave her enough of a view of Neo standing there looking tall and predatory for his thirteen years. She’d been fascinated, absolutely captivated by the heart-stopping beautiful boy who had saved her.
She was just as captivated to this day, and he was still just as beautiful. He was the most intriguing mix of street toughness and natural elegance she’d ever encountered, possessing a raw, lean power, silky chestnut hair, blazing red one moment whenever the sun played with the strands, then a sexy milk chocolate the next. He didn’t need any weapon. He was a weapon, and the guys who had attacked her recognized something untamed in him even back then and backed off. He had drawn her to her feet and into his protective embrace, then walked her home. When they got there, he had quietly cleaned her scratches, then settled on the couch and held her for a long time. There was never a time that Neo hadn’t been confident and calm with that contained wildness just under the surface.
The doors clanged and fear speared through her. “Neo,” she gasped. “Hang on. Promise me that you will hang on.”
“I will. Whatever it takes, Chry. I promise.” She could feel the steady beat of his heart through the pulse in his wrist. The rhythm was a solid echo through her fingertips and into her awareness, and she knew he was giving her more than a sensory reminder that they were both still very much alive.