It happened on a morning that had started ordinarily enough. Wren was accompanying Denise on a supply run to the pharmacy in town, with two guards trailing at a careful, respectful distance according to the club's new protocols. Nothing about the errand suggested anything beyond routine.
She was examining a shelf of prenatal vitamins, Denise a few aisles over, when a hand closed hard around her arm, yanking her backward with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs before she'd even registered the danger.
"Don't scream," Marcus said, low and controlled against her ear, the same calm, reasonable voice from her nightmares now horrifyingly, viscerally real. "We're just going to walk out of here together, quietly, and nobody needs to get hurt."
Old training took over before conscious
