Was there anything better than waking up tangled in the arms and legs of the woman you love? Talon didn’t think so. No matter how many days in a row it happened, he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. Ever.

As soon as he opened his eyes in the morning, as soon as he was aware enough to sense Olivia’s presence next to him, euphoria started to pump through his veins. He would do anything to keep her in his life. Anything.

So far, he was optimistic. But Talon was also grounded enough to realize that Olivia could be leading him on, waiting for another opportunity to try and get away from him…not that she’d succeed. He did not think she hated him, though, not completely. There were certain things someone like Olivia, someone untrained, just could not fake. At least some of her affection and reactions to him were genuine.

So, Talon let himself be happy. He allowed himself to pretend they were a normal couple. He’d keep all the skeletons in his closet and Olivia would be none the wiser—she’d never have to know about the chip in her arm if she never ran away. And he’d never tell her about the guys he’d…taken care of that one time when they’d followed her without her knowing. Those kinds of secrets did not weigh on his conscience when it came to protecting his most precious person.

There was one thing he did worry about from time to time, but he had put adequate safety measures into his house and property to prevent it from becoming a threat. That reminds me, Talon thought, absentmindedly stroking Olivia’s arm as she slept next to him, it’s time for another check.

Tomorrow. He’d do it tomorrow. That should be soon enough.

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By the time Talon recognized the scent, it was too late. He and Olivia had inhaled too much of it—-she’d likely be completely out based on his condition. His limbs felt ten times heavier and they wouldn’t cooperate as the bedroom light turned on. Three men in gas masks entered the room and Talon could only watch in slow motion as one of them wrapped Olivia’s limp body in a sheet and carried her out in his arms.

“No!” he tried to yell, but his mouth wouldn’t work correctly; a string of drool dripped out of the corner of his mouth instead.

“Long time, no see, T,” a mask said in a tinny voice, looming over him. Talon’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, louder and louder. The last thing he saw was a fist flying towards his face.

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As soon as they’d got him down to his basement, they woke him with a nice bucket of ice water. It’d been a few years since he’d undergone such treatment, but he remembered it well. One grew accustomed to it in the line of work he’d had the privilege of experiencing. “Private military.” There was a lot of “training.”

So. They’d found him. “Only three of you?” Talon asked, mostly bravado. With a flick of his eyes, he could see Olivia was also tied to a chair, in a corner, her head slumped down. She was still unconscious. “Where’s Hedge?”

The three men had taken off their masks. Marky, Jefe, and Bait. With Hedge, the five of them had been part of an elite cadre hired for a private military contract with a well-known global corporation.

“You remember how this works, T,” Jefe smacked him across the face, backhand. “We ask the questions, bro.”

“And what am I supposed to know?” Talon replied, spitting to the side. Judging from the fact he could still get a little airflow through his nose, it probably wasn't broken from the fist to the face upstairs. It would stay that way as long as they stuck to the backhands. “I’ve been out for a few years now. You should know that if you did your homework.”

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Smack. “Shut your mouth until we tell you to open it.” Jefe pointed a finger into Talon’s face, inches from his eyes. But Talon wasn’t looking at the finger. He was looking at Jefe, and Jefe wasn’t looking so good. Talon relaxed his face to hide his surprise—Jefe looked ill.

Behind Jefe, Marky pulled out a back duffle bag and Talon swallowed. He knew what was in there—the tools.

Shit. He had to think and think fast if he was going to get himself and Olivia out of there with everything still attached.

Olivia.

Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Thankfully, he’d already worked out a couple of years ahead of time why the guys would hunt him down, if and when they ever did. It had always been a possibility. A job hazard, so to speak. You don’t do what he and the other four did and walk away to live happily ever after…not without serious prep and maintenance. Even then, you also needed some luck.

Assess. He needed to assess the situation. They’d used one of his chairs for restraint, which meant there was a way out for him. All five of them were in the “wet room,” the one with the cement floor and the drain, the one where an ordinary family might keep laundry and the water heater. Talon had set it up to look like a potential torture room—there were some sturdy-looking chairs in one corner, some conveniently placed eye bolts in the ceiling beams, and a utility sink with a counter along one wall. Fortunately, the guys had taken the bait.

What wasn’t easily visible were the sprinklers installed in the ceiling, along with some special cables in what looked like a breaker box.

He could get out of the chair, but that honestly wouldn’t be great for Olivia. They'd immediately use her against him and it would work. Talon needed her awake and somewhat unbound for his quickly-forming plan to have a chance at success. For now, he just needed to stall long enough for her to wake up.

“Heeeeey, T,” Marky said, sauntering up to Talon. The filet knife in his hand flashed in the fluorescent lights. “Listen, don’t take this personally. You understand, right? By the way, who’s the girl? She’s…cute.” Marky looked up from the knife and met Talon’s eyes.

His stomach sank—he knew that look. The look that said, "When we're done with you, we're going to have a good, good time with her before we put her out of her misery."

Without warning, Marky drew the knife down Talon’s chest, leaving a long, shallow cut behind. He hissed involuntarily.

“Pretty,” Marky said, eying the thin stream of blood that trickled down Talon's chest and abdomen.

“What’s your name?” Bait called from across the room. He had a laptop open on the counter.

When Talon just stared at him, Marky drew the knife down Talon’s chest again, leaving another shallow cut.

“Talon,” he spat behind clenched teeth.

Bait nodded at Marky, who moved to Talon’s side and slowly sliced down his ribs. Again, it was a long, shallow cut, like a long paper cut. Marky was good. Talon knew that—he was stalling on purpose. He'd end up with dozens of shallow cuts, but the blood loss wouldn't be too bad, knowing Marky.

Come on, Olivia. Wake up, sweetheart. I need you.

“Theodore Alan Lawrence.” He spat out each name. “Need me to spell it for you, too?”

Marky smiled, and backhanded Talon. This time, his vision blurred a bit before refocusing. He could also feel parts of his face swelling.

It doesn’t matter, he thought. I can take it. So long as they don’t touch Olivia, I can take anything.

Despite the shallowness of the cuts, Talon’s blood was already pooling around him on the floor, and a slim river of red was making its way toward the drain.