Bastian's Storm (Surviving Raine 2)

Twenty minutes later, we were in Landon’s Range Rover and heading down the snowy back roads to highway 391. The trek to Thompson was long and uneventful, which made it seem even longer. Knowing Raine was going to be on the other side of the journey didn’t help with the perceived passage of time at all.

I’m going to see her—really see her, talk to her, touch her.

We hadn’t spent more than a few hours apart since the night I pulled her onto the raft and away from my sinking ship. Being without her was physically painful.

We drove past the airport, into the city from the north side, and then headed south all the way through town. Landon maneuvered the vehicle off the main road and headed towards a cluster of buildings near a quarry.

I rubbed my hands on my pants nervously. I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so jittery except out of a desire to see Raine. Maybe it was because I’d only spoken to her once since Landon had hauled her out of our condo. I didn’t really know how I was going to be received or what she had been through since I last saw her.

My skin prickled at the thought. If there was a scratch on her, someone would end up paying for it in blood.

Landon drove around the main building and parked in the back near a cluster of smaller sheds. I jumped out of the car and followed him across the gravel to one of the doors. It appeared unguarded, but when I looked around, I could see several people around the area with weapons. They were watching us as we approached the door.

Landon knocked, and I shuffled the gravel around with the toe of my boot until someone opened the door and let us in.

“Mister Stark,” the man behind the door said.

I looked up but realized he was talking to Landon.

“Hello, Roger,” Landon said politely. “Where’s Franks?”

“In the back,” the man indicated with a pointed thumb over his shoulder. “He’s expecting you.”

“Do me a favor,” Landon said, “and take Sebastian here over to the other building. He’s going to visit with Miss Gayle.”

“Sure thing.” Roger held out his hand, shook mine, and then took me over to the slightly smaller building behind the one Landon had entered. My heart started beating faster as we approached.

She’s in there.

Despite the cold, my palms were beginning to sweat. I watched as Roger took out a key and unlocked the padlock on the outside of the door. I wondered if the lock was more to keep her in or others out.

He opened the door.

The inside of the building was set up like a small apartment. There was a couch, loveseat, coffee table, and television on one side and an eat-in kitchen off to the left. A short hallway led directly away from the door, and I could see four openings into other rooms, presumably bedrooms and a bathroom.

Raine was sitting on the couch, dressed in jeans and wrapped up in a long, blue sweater. She looked up as the door opened, and her eyes went wide.

“Bastian!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Roger said quietly as he took a backwards step to remove himself from the shed and shut the door behind me.

Raine nearly tackled me as she wrapped her arms underneath mine and grabbed me in a death-grip. I tightened my arms around her and tucked my face into her hair. I’d almost forgotten what she smelled like, and the scent of her hair and skin was overpowering. I squeezed my eyes shut and held her to my chest as her arms came up around my shoulders, anchoring me to her.

“I’m here, baby,” I told her. “I’ve got you.”

Just the words coming out of my mouth drove red-hot anger through my body. My teeth clenched as my hands gripped her back. Like the sacred promise I had vowed to her in the life raft when there was no fucking hope for survival, I’d held her to me and said, “I’ve got you.” But I hadn’t been there for her. When she really needed me, I wasn’t there.

“I’m so fucking sorry for all of this,” I said.

She shook her head against my chest.

“Not your fault,” she claimed.

“I’m hardly blameless,” I countered. “I never should have told you anything about my life. If I hadn’t, maybe they would have left you alone.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “They very well could have come after me anyway. You know they could have.”

She was right. Even if she knew nothing about my connections to organized crime or the death-match tournaments I’d completed to entertain the far-too-rich-for-their-own-good sycophants of the underworld, Franks and his group still could have decided it was best to get her out of the way.