Page 141 of Lethal Abduction

God, what I’d give for Mickey, Roman’s tech genius son. Or Pavel, his head of cyber security. Or Mak.

Going into this without the kind of backup Roman and I spent years assembling is infuriating. I was the one who recruited most of Roman’s tech crew. I screened them, trained them in security, and virtually raised the little tech geek fuckers by hand.

And now, the one time I actually need the keyboard warriors, they’re completely unavailable to me.

Just like Roman.

Don’t think about it.

I push away the unwelcome reminders of all that’s been lost and broken and hold the only thing that actually matters.

Abby feels so tiny against me, so fucking fragile. Even the thought of sending her back into that place turns my guts to water. She’s made light of the miles the triad fuckers made her run around their damned Loop when she didn’t make target. But nothing can disguise how lean her body has become, howmuch weight she’s lost. All I want to do is lock her inside a villa like this, surrounded by luxury and security, and care for her properly until she’s soft and glowing again and the last of the fucking bruises have faded altogether.

The bruises.

Fuck.

I think of what Rodrigo said, about how his story would never hold up if the triads saw how much Abby’s bruises have faded.

I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding her until Abby speaks again. “Hey, muscle boy. I love you too, but right now I’m about to suffocate.”

I force myself to relinquish my grip, and she steps back, frowning up at me. “What?” she says, studying my face. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, hard.

Fuck, I don’t want to raise this.

But that’s the shitty thing about an analytical mind. You can’t switch the fucker off.

“Your bruises,” I say reluctantly. “They’re . . . faded.”

Her eyes flare briefly, then flit away from mine.

“Oh, Christ.” I tilt her face back toward me, the sick feeling suddenly getting a whole lot worse. “You’ve already thought about it.”

Abby gives the faintest nod. Her guilty expression only makes me feel more hollow.

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” I stare down at her, anger, guilt, and pain twisting inside me. “What exactlywereyou planning to do, Abby?”

She swallows. “Don’t,” she whispers, dropping her eyes. “Please don’t ask me that.”

She steps away from me, and it takes a physical effort to restrain myself from pulling her back in, by force if necessary.

“No.” The word is rough and rips through my chest more painfully than any bullet could. “There’s no fucking chance I’m letting that Cardeñas fuck put hands on you again. It’s not happening.”

Abby shakes her head slowly. “Then what?” she says dully. “Areyougoing to beat me up, Dimitry?”

Christ.

We stare at each other for a long, tension-filled moment.

I can’t.

I know it in the pit of my stomach.

I can’t put my fist into Abby’s face. Not for any plot and no matter how necessary. I just can’t fucking do it.

I won’t.

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