Page 79 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“I was not planning to.” Ren kept his voice smooth and even. A pressure plate to trigger an explosive. An amateur mistake. He had been so focused on the female—Gemma—that he failed to notice the wires creating a ring about the females.
While Havik and Zalis worked on disarming the explosives, Ren focused on the tidy little trap the traffickers left.
Nine females. Three were in cages barely large enough for an adult Terran. Five had their hands and feet bound. They sat on the cold floor. One had been tied to a chair.
“How long have you been here?” Ren asked.
“Long enough,” Gemma said. “Weeks. But they left us like this for maybe half a day. I dunno. I hope you’re the good guys.”
“Emmarae sent us.”
A dry, croaking laugh tore from her throat. “Thank fuck for that. Creepy Twin Powers. I told you, Sarah.” Whoever Sarah was, she did not reply. “You don’t happen to have any water, do you?” Gemma asked.
“Yes. If I toss you a pack, will it cause trouble?” Ren asked.
“The explosive triggers make a ring around us so we can’t leave. There’s nothing to worry about inside the circle.”
“That is important information you could have shared,” Zalis said, surprising Ren for a second time. Voluntarily speaking. To a stranger.
Well, an attractive female, Ren supposed. Gemma had the same qualities as his Emmarae, but blander. Not as interesting. Too flawless.
“I did say don’t come closer. That person shouting? That was me.” She coughed, sounding dry and rasping. “Fuck. Sorry. I’m parched.”
Zalis withdrew a meal pack from a pouch at his waist. “Water and nutrition are in there. If I add a blade to the pack, will you be able to get yourself and the others free?”
“Yeah.” She wiggled her arms, and the chair wobbled. “It’s a loose knot. The ’sploding was what really kept us here.”
Zalis chuckled. Actually laughed. If Ren wasn’t so focused on not exploding himself, he’d be astounded. More astounding, Gemma smiled back.
Zalis added a small blade to the pack and tossed it into the circle, landing neatly at Gemma’s feet. “I will fetch more. Enough for everyone.”
“Do not be concerned about me,” Havik grumbled. “I will disarm the explosives. It is not a concern.”
Ren was concerned but kept his quip to himself, as he did not wish to alarm the females. Gemma worked her hands free from the binding and cut herself free from the chair. She crawled to the nearest bound female, pushing the pack before her.
“You are injured,” he said.
“Just my ankle. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“Drink this,” he said, pressing a water cube to the female’s mouth.
While Gemma worked to cut the bindings on the other females, Ren examined the wires. Visually, he traced the path as the wires twisted around the room, connecting a ring of dull gray cylinders. He had no doubt the bombs would spray deadly shrapnel in all directions. He needed to get closer, to better inspect the fuses and detonators, but he was pinned in place. If he stepped off the pressure plate, the detonator would trigger.
“Be my eyes, Havik,” he said, pointing to the nearest cylinder. “That one. Describe the wires.”
“There are wires.” Havik squatted in front of the cylinder.
“No, I know—” Ren swallowed his frustration. Havik was not to blame. He warned Ren against rushing in, and Ren failed to listen.
He could fix this. He had to. He swore he would return to his mate, and he would never break a vow to Emmarae again.
“How many wires? Two? Three? It must be connected to the pressure plate. Describe it to me.”
Ren talked Havik through the slow, arduous process of disarming the pressure plate. Cautiously, he raised his foot.
Nothing happened.
Relieved, Ren set about dismantling the rest of the bombs. Fortunately, whoever created the trap took no pride in their craft. The work was sloppy and rushed. Ren could kiss them for their slovenly work ethic.
