Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(92)

“I’ll find her,” Isaiah said.

Dash nodded. “I need to get Bryce out of here.”

“Go.” Draven jerked his chin toward Leo and Emmett and the three of them began creeping through the trees, their guns extended and ready to fire.

I lost sight of them in seconds.

Dash ducked behind me, bringing his teeth to my wrist and tearing a slit in the tape. He ripped it all free, probably taking some hair along with it, but I was so cold, I didn’t feel the sting. Then he scooped me into his arms and carried me away.

I curled into his warm chest. “H-how did you find us?”

I knew the man had left enough clues for him to get to us, but he must have come faster than expected. Otherwise, I’d be dead and they’d be hunting Genevieve.

“Talk later.”

“Okay,” I whispered, closing my eyes as he walked.

He stopped only once to shift my weight in his arms on the long walk to where he’d parked his bike. It was no wonder we hadn’t heard their engines. And now it made sense why Dash was so warm and his T-shirt slightly damp. They must have sprinted through the woods.

“Here.” He set me down next to his bike, running his hands up and down my bare arms. Then he dug into a compartment on the bike, pulling out a sweatshirt and yanking it over my head.

“Thanks.” My muscles were convulsing from the cold, adrenaline leaving my system.

“Kick off your flip-flops.”

“Huh?” I asked as he began toeing off his boots. “W-what are you doing?”

Dash didn’t answer. He took off his socks and guided me to the bike’s seat. Then he put his socks on my feet, stowing my flip-flops away. “Just an hour. Hold on for an hour, baby, and we’ll be home. Can you make it?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed my forehead. “Goddamn, you’re tough. Strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

I had a lot to live for.

I settled behind him on the bike’s seat, wrapping myself around his broad back and pressing my cheek to his shoulder. The smell of his shirt—the fabric softener, the wind, the spice of his sweat—filled my nose and chased away the forest stink.

“You found me,” I whispered in a voice I didn’t think he’d hear over the engine.

Dash twisted, taking my face in his hands and dropping his forehead to mine. “And I’m never letting you go.”





Chapter Twenty-Five





Dash





“Hold on, baby.” I pinned Bryce’s hand to my chest, driving whenever I could with one hand. “We’re almost there.”

Bryce nodded against my shoulder. Her entire body was shaking. It had been like that for the last thirty miles into Clifton Forge and I was worried that she might be on the edge of getting hypothermia. Or worse, that the stress that bastard had put her through had hurt the baby.

Damn it. The bike was a habit and had been faster, but I should have stopped and taken my truck.

We were close to my house, so close that I wanted to gun it and just get there. But I was nervous she’d fall. Except for the few times when I’d had to use both hands to get us around a tight corner or a rough patch on the mountain, I’d been holding her to me for most of the ride. A few times, her weight had gotten so heavy on my back, I’d looked over my shoulder to see she was nearly asleep, so I’d woken her up.

She was exhausted.

When my house came into view, I exhaled. Finally. I pulled into the driveway and onto the grass, parking next to the front porch. I shut off the bike and slowly unwrapped Bryce’s arms from around me, then I stood, making sure to keep a grip on her hand.

“Where are we?” Her gaze was slow and heavy as she took in the house.

“My place.” I scooped her up and walked to the door. Her forehead felt like ice when she burrowed it into my neck.

Walking straight for the master bathroom, I didn’t set her down as I turned on the shower to lukewarm. We’d slowly crank the temperature until the steam seeped into her bones and chased away the cold.

Should I have taken her to the hospital?

Carefully, I set her on the vanity between the double sinks. As she glanced around, her lips nearly blue, I began to pull off her clothing.

The chattering in her teeth was gone. Either she had warmed up a little or things were much worse.

“This is nice,” she whispered. “Not what I expected.”

I was too focused on getting off her clothes to respond.

She’d probably expected a bachelor’s bathroom with towels tossed on the floor and toothpaste splatters on the sinks and mirrors. But I’d spent a lot of time and money designing this place. I had a heated marble tile floor and coordinating countertops. The tiled, walk-in shower could hold five people with room to spare. There were double spouts and a rainfall head in the center.

The socks I’d put on her were on the floor, the sweatshirt gone. When I stripped off her shirt and bra, she pulled her arms in tight. Her skin wasn’t its normal smooth, creamy color. It was dotted with purple and covered in tight, angry goose bumps.

“Can you stand?” When she nodded, I picked her up and set her gently on her feet. Then I went to work on her jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down her legs, taking her panties along with them.