He swam through the murky haze until he emerged into the shadowy cavern of a…truck? A van, maybe? Something hard and unyielding lay beneath him, bumping him with a painful jarring sensation every few seconds. The air was hot, stale, and dark as the inside of an asshole.
He heard it again. This choked-off, wheezy, near panicked inhalation.
Stephanie.
He knew it was her; he felt it in his bones. His body registered the pain, the fear, the fact that they were totally fucked.
He groaned aloud, then forced his eyes to scan the interior of his prison. A few feet away huddled a shuddering figure, fighting for air.
Stephanie.
Suddenly the world sharpened, becoming crystal clear. His muscles kicked into gear, his brain woke the fuck up, and he jerked up to a seated position. “Baby?” he croaked.
He blinked, and his vision improved, adjusting to the dark. Steph knelt close to him with her arms bound behind her back. Her head hung down, and her shoulders heaved as she struggled to breathe. His wife was smack in the middle of a mega panic attack. He’d witnessed her suffer a few doozies in the months following their initial abduction. Her surge in anxiety had carved a chunk out of his heart each time. Therapy, time, and love had closed her wounds, but whatever happened here had sliced them wide open once again.
He forced himself to ignore the escalating headache and screaming knee as he scrambled over to her. While he wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her as tight as possible, that wouldn’t help her breathing. Instead, he crouched beside her and rubbed up and down her back in a hopefully soothing caress. “Baby, I’m here. I’m okay.” He kissed her cheek. When the salt of her tears hit his taste buds, his heart cracked. “We’re okay. We’re together. Listen to my voice. We’re gonna breathe together, okay?”
Even in the darkness, he caught the distress in her wide eyes. She nodded with frantic jerks of her head.
He stroked a hand over her head, smoothing her hair away from her eyes and mouth. Strands had slipped free from her ponytail, creating a wild mane around her face. “Okay, inhale, sweetie. One…two…three…four….” He demonstrated, sucking air into his lungs in an exaggerated, slow fashion.
Steph tried to copy him. Her breath stuttered and whistled.
God, nothing made him feel worse than watching his wife struggle. Pure misery was seeing the woman he loved above all else in agony. His protective instincts flared, and the need to relieve her suffering was imperative.
“Now out. One…two…three…four. Good baby. That’s good.” It wasn’t good. Not yet, but she’d get there. “Again.”
They breathed together for an unknown amount of time. Eventually, her breath evened until her inhalations and exhalations matched his.
He pulled her close and kissed the side of her head. “You did great, Steph.”
“I-I’m sorry.” She sagged against him, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“Shhh. You know the rule. No apologizing for that. Never.” Never would he allow her to feel shame for struggling to process the trauma she’d experienced.
“But—”
“Never,” he said, kissing her head again.
She nodded against his chest. “Are you okay? God, I was so scared when you didn’t respond to me.”
“Yeah, babe. I’m good.” A little lie, but what difference did it make if she knew his head hurt like a motherfucker and knee throbbed as though someone took a crowbar to it.
Wait…
All he’d accomplish by complaining would be making Steph worry about him more. “You hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head, then pulled away, back to her knees. “Nothing serious. Just sore.”
Mav frowned and ran a thumb across her lower lip. Now that she’d calmed and he had a chance to get a look at her, the sight of dried blood on her lip and chin had his stomach churning.
Tilting her head, she gave him a chagrined smile. “I hit my face on the wall when they cuffed me. It’s nothing. So, who are they?”
Mav didn’t push the issue. What would be the point? Any injuries they’d sustained would have to wait to be evaluated until they got free of these psychos. If they got free.
“Pretty sure I recognized the voice of the guy from the gas station the other night.”
A heavy sigh left Steph. “That’s what I was afraid of. So, this is retaliation?”
As he nodded, he gently nudged her to turn. “Either that or just a general fuck you to Curly. Let me see your hands.”
She wiggled and scooted around until her back was to him. The sight of the flexi-cuffs abrading her skin had him fucking rip-shit. “Jesus,” he said with a scowl as he ran a finger over her raw skin with a featherlight touch. “Could they have cinched this shit any tighter?”
Steph grunted. “Not without amputating my hands.”
Already, her wrists needed medical attention. The fuckers would die for this alone.