“Drive faster.”
RAyNe’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. His hand gripped Nirvana’s cold fingers tightly as she lay in the backseat, her head against his chest, bruised, bleeding, but conscious.
“I’m fine,” she muttered weakly.
“No, you’re not.”
“You don’t get to say that.”
His jaw clenched. “I just dragged you out of hell.”
“You threw me in it first.”
Lucian, seated in the front, didn’t dare breathe too loud.
Gianni kept his eyes on the road, foot pressed to the pedal. “ETA: ten minutes.”
RAyNe looked down at her face. Her cheek was swollen, her lip cut. The dried blood on her temple made something in him twist violently.
“I didn’t know they took you,” he said quietly. “If I had…”
“You bought me,” she whispered. “What difference would it make?”
RAyNe didn’t reply.
