Page 70 of Iron Heart

I find Rogue in the back office of the garage, taking care of some paperwork. He tells me Tori came in because her A/C wasn’t working. “Compressor belt was gone. But it was fucked up. I couldn’t figure out how the belt was in that bad a shape that it would have just fallen off, when the rest of the car was in pretty good condition.”

Fuck. I don’t like this. Tori sure as hell doesn’t seem like some crazy stalker. I’d be inclined to just let this go, except for what Ranger said about her being her when Dom was.

“Thanks, brother.” I leave the garage and go out into the courtyard. I try to call Tori but get no answer. A text to her goes unread.

I’m on my bike again before I can second-guess myself. In minutes, I’m at Tori’s place, pounding on the door. Moments later, her roommate Savannah opens the door.

“Do you know where Tori is?” she asks me breathlessly before I can say anything. “I’ve been trying to get hold of her, but she doesn’t answer her phone! I don’t think she slept here last night, either! This isn’t like her!”

Fuck. There’s something wrong. Really wrong. I don’t know what the fuck it is.

But something tells me that wherever Dom is, Tori’s involved in it, too.

28

Tori

“Tori!” a voice whispers at me urgently. “Tori! Wake up!”

My head is pounding so hard it takes a few seconds for me to realize there’s not actually someone hitting it with a hammer. I shut my eyes tight against the pain, trying to breathe through it and not cry out.

“Tori!” the man rasps again. “Talk to me. Come on!”

I don’t recognize the voice at first, though it sounds somehow familiar. I can’t remember where I am, or why my head hurts so much. I suck in a shaky breath and try to open my eyes, but even that sends a slice of agony through my brain.

I fight through the haze and try not to lose consciousness again. Dimly, I wonder whether my skull is broken.

“That’s it. Open your eyes,” the voice urges. “Show me you’re awake. Come on, Tori! You gotta do this!”

With more effort than I thought possible, I force open my lids just enough to see through the slits. My eyes struggle to focus on a man’s face. He’s tilted sideways, and he’s staring at me from under heavy, dark brows.

“Thank fuck,” he exhales when he sees my eyes are open. “Okay. Talk to me, babe. Tell me you can understand what I’m saying.”

I open parched lips, trying to force a word past my closed-up throat.

“Dominic?” I choke out.

He nods, his head bobbing back and forth sideways. “Good deal, you’re less out of it than I thought,” he whispers.

“Why are you…” I start to ask, and then realize he’s not sideways. I am. As my mind struggles to work around the pain, my body suddenly beings to reorient itself, and I understand I’m lying on my right side, on something hard and scratchy. My right arm is pinned underneath me, asleep from the fingers up to the elbow.

Once I notice it, the lack of sensation starts to draw my attention away from my head. I move just enough that my arm begins to become painful. Groaning, I reach across myself with my left arm and put my hand on the scratchy surface, in an attempt to push myself up to a sitting position. But as soon as I start to put force on that hand, a new explosion of pain ricochets off my skull.

“What is wrong with me?” I moan, closing my eyes against the pain again.

“Sshhh, not so loud,” Dominic hushes me. “You got hit hard on the head. You probably have a concussion.”

“My arm’s asleep,” I pant. “The one under me. Help me get off of it, it hurts.”

Dominic leans forward and takes hold of my right shoulder, lifting me slowly, gently into something like a sitting position. It makes my head pound even harder. Blinking, I struggle to make sense of my surroundings. It seems like I’m in a bedroom or something, in an old, musty house. I’m sitting on a stained, knobby-upholstered couch that’s sort of a faded teal color. It’s the only piece of furniture in the room. As my senses adjust, I catch an acrid whiff of stale urine.

My ankles are bound together with duct tape. For some reason, my hands aren’t tied.

“Where am I? Why are you here?” I grimace, peering at Dominic, who’s kneeling on the floor in front of the couch.

He purses his lips and glances away. “Things have gotten kind of out of control,” he murmurs, refusing to look at me. “I’m gonna keep you safe, though. I promise.”

“Safe from what?”