Passing His Guard

“Maybe not, but I’m helping you anyway.”

She pulled him up and he stood this time. Sweet. Progress.

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” he snapped with all the arrogant confidence of any drunk worth his salt, but the feat took a hell of a lot more effort than it should have. Crissake, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this wasted. Rya

“Key. Grab my pocket,” he told her.

At least that was what he thought he said until Rya

Another round of dizziness rolled through him. This time his knees buckled and his vision went from fuzzy to black. Rya

“Damn, Aiden, you weigh a ton,” she complained.

He did his best to help her, but his body was simply refusing to obey commands at this point. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been this sauced before. Not even when he and Cole rented out the penthouse of the Mirage and threw the largest after-fight party in CFA history after he’d won his first televised fight. Aiden was busy making a mental note never to drink tequila again when a serious bout of light-headedness rolled through him, and this time when the darkness came, it didn’t let him go.

CHAPTER

9

Shit! Shit . . . shit . . . shit!” Rya

She shot a quick glance at Aiden, slumped against the passenger door. He was fully unconscious now. Thank God he hadn’t gone down sooner or there was no way she would have gotten him into her rental. This guy was a beast. She continued to watch him, waiting for the reassuring rise and fall of his shoulders. When she saw no movement, she slapped two fingers against his neck. Feeling the slow bounding pulse, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and tipped his head back. As she unkinked his airway, Rya

“Aiden.” She shook his shoulder and his head slumped forward again. “Frick!” Rya

Anxious to get on the road, she typed her address into Google Maps on her cell. Great, eighteen hours to Brooklyn. Glancing at the unconscious man beside her, Rya

“Take a right onto Thirty-Fourth Avenue South,” the computerized voice politely instructed.

Rya

Of all the many questions surrounding this man, one thing was for certain—this was going to be one hell of a long road trip.

Holy. Hell. His head hurt. Every beat of Aiden’s heart drove the invisible spike deeper into his brain. A cloud of disorientation fogged his mind. This wasn’t a hangover. It was so much worse. Nausea rolled his stomach, threatening to revolt as the cacophony of his heartbeat thundered in his ears. His shoulders ached, arms bent at an awkward angle. Why were his arms behind his back?

Aiden shifted his weight and tried to pull them out from behind him. He only got an inch or two before he heard a metal chink and something sharp bit into his wrists. What the fuck? Was he . . . restrained? Where was he? Straining to hear over his crashing heartbeat, the hum of road noise told him nowhere good. Thinking back, he tried to recall the last thing he could remember before passing out, but processing thoughts was like trying to run through quicksand. That shit just wasn’t happening.

Cracking open an eye, his blurry vision met the green glow of dash lights. A car. Okay, he was in a car. And it was still dark out, so less than eight hours had passed. He tried once again to remember where he’d been before he passed out, but the effort intensified the pain. Exhaling a groan, he forced open his other eye and rolled his head to the left. The sight of the fiery-haired beauty sitting beside him flipped the switch of his memories and they all came crashing back with the speed of a tsunami—a tsunami named Rya

She shot him a nervous glance from the driver’s seat, guilt written all over her beautiful face. “You’re awake.”

No shit.

Directing her eyes back to the road, she mumbled to herself, “Well, that was fast.”

Despite the truth staring him in the face, he still didn’t want to believe it—didn’t want to believe this sweet, i

Shoving his shoulder against the door, he used the momentum to force himself upright, biting back a pained groan. The adrenaline flooding his veins quickly muted the pounding in his head. In a burst of Herculean rage, he yanked against the bonds shackling his wrists. The chain rattled, and the edge of his cuffs bit deeper into his flesh. He welcomed the pain that helped ground him, clearing the foggy haze that blanketed his mind.

“What the fuck did you give me, Rya

She shot him a nervous glance, trapping that full, lush bottom lip between her teeth. He would not notice how beautiful she looked with that blush of shame and guilt staining her cheeks, nor would he think about the sweet flavor of those lips or how perfect they once felt against his. No, this woman was a wolf in sheep’s clothing—a viper coiled and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. He’d underestimated Rya

“Answer me,” he growled.

“Rohypnol . . .” Her whispered response was spoken so softly, he barely heard her.