Page 67 of Talk to Me

“I’ll find you something.” He didn’t pause in the bedroom, instead he carried me right out into what looked like an open concept living room in a log cabin.

Where the hell was I?

This was definitely not where they’d been holding me.

Remington left the kitchen as we came out, his expression fierce. “What happened?”

“Why the fuck is she bleeding again?” McQuade charged over from wherever he’d been. Locke answered neither of them, carrying me right into the kitchen and setting me on the counter.

Holy shit that was cold, but it was also bracing and sent a pulse of wakefulness to my exhausted brain.

“She’s opened the cuts on her feet.” Locke was already returning with a first aid box.

“Let me look,” McQuade ordered, then wrapped his huge hand around my ankle and raised my leg. At this rate, I was going to be giving all of them a free show. “We can’t stitch these,” he said.

“Skin glue,” Remington said, his tone firm and unyielding. While Locke and McQuade dug into the bag, Remington claimed my right hand and lifted it. “It’s lovely to meet you finally, Patch.”

The surreality of it all swarmed me. “How the hell do you guys even know each other?”

“Well,” Locke said as he dragged a stool over to begin gluing the wounds on my foot closed. “That’s a bit of a story.”

“Care for tea?” Remy offered.

“She prefers coffee,” McQuade argued.

“The right coffee,” Locke said. “Which we don’t have here. But the brewed stuff will do in a pinch. Right?”

“I can get that started,” Remy offered, then kissed my hand gently. “You must be hungry.”

I couldn’t quite process all of it. They were all in action. Remy moved to brew a fresh pot of coffee, taking the warmth of his nearness away.

McQuade stood like a great big thundercloud, arms folded as he glared down at Locke as though he were ready to end him should he make the wrong move.

Locke ignored him, treating my foot with absolute care like he’d shown when handling priceless, precious objects. I’d seen him in action, I recognized it.

They really were all here. Their presence filled the entirety of the space, electric and intoxicating. There was no escaping them.

“Please,” I said.

“What do you need to know, Sugar Bear?” The smirk on McQuade’s face was firmly in place, but his eyes—the honey color of them almost a promise—were intense and focused. He seemed to latch onto me with his gaze, an anchor in the turbulent storm I found myself in.

I was Alice, I’d fallen into the looking glass and plunged all the way through the depths of hell and now I was—where?

Wonderland?

Purgatory?

So many questions.

Too many.

“I need to know what’s going on… How do you know each other? How did you find me? What…fuck, what day is it?”

Chapter

Twenty-One

MCQUADE