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“I did learn a few things while Julian held us captive. I know how he’s making it. It’s—”

My cell rings at the same moment the room phone jangles to life. Adrenaline surges through my body at the warning. It’s a signal. We’re being attacked.

Layla’s brows dip. “Somebody really wants your attention.”

I push back my chair and stand up, walking casually toward the bed, when I’m feeling anything but relaxed. I find the bag Katie sent me, removing the sedative. I’d planned to warn Layla before I gave her the drug, but there isn’t time. The Renegades can’t protect her if she lays them flat on their asses.

Before I can turn around, the bag is in the air, as are the pillows on the bed. I curse. Layla’s emotions. She senses danger, maybe even senses I’m up to something. I turn to find Layla standing a foot away.

“What’s going on?” Her body is stiff with tension, her voice quavers with anxiety.

I reach for her, pulling her close. “Easy, baby,” I coo softly, burying my fingers in the silky strands of her hair, my lips by her ear. She tries to pull back from me, but I hold her easily. “I’m sorry, Layla,” I whisper. “There’s no way around this.” I inject her arm.

She yelps and then goes limp against me. So much for trust, I think grimly. I lift her into my arms and head for the door.

Chapter eleven

Jensen

Seconds tick by like hours as I hold Layla’s limp body against me, waiting for the second coded call from Caleb with emergency extraction instructions, knowing I’m once again about to carry Layla into who knows what hell.

Those seconds give me time to think, and damn if an unfathomable emotion doesn’t surface—fear. What the fuck? Why am I thinking in the first place? Thinking gets you in trouble. And fear is simply not an option. A good soldier saves lives and stays emotionally detached. He acts. He does not think. He does not allow fear to come into play.

But I’m not emotionally detached—not where Layla is concerned. These damnable, repeated circumstances keep thrusting her unconscious body into my arms, completely reliant on me to keep her safe. And though I wouldn’t trust her with anyone else—hell no, not by a long shot—one of the two prior occasions didn’t turn out so hot. In fact, it turned out pretty damn crappy. Not this time.

My cell rings. It’s already in my hand, and I quickly answer.

“Car,” Caleb shouts. “Front door. Now!”

I don’t ask questions, and thank the good Lord above I don’t do any of that damn thinking from seconds before. I charge toward the door, and kick it open. Wood splinters against hinges as I exit the room to find a nondescript black sedan—the same kind used as high-end taxis all over Vegas—sitting there, the back door flung open.

I take a step forward, when bullets suddenly splatter the vehicle. With a curse, I charge toward the car door. At the same moment, the wind lifts. Two Zodius soldiers boldly materialize on either side of me. Suddenly, Maddox leans out of the car, Glock in hand, and unloads two rounds into the foreheads of the attackers.

“Give her to me!” Maddox yells, reaching for Layla.

“Hell no,” I say and then reconsider when a Z materializes on top of the damn car. Don’t think—just do, I tell myself, and ride on instinct.

I hand off Layla and snag Maddox’s guns at the same time. Not a second too soon as bullets spray near my feet, one slicing along the side of my calf and way too close to Layla.

No way that this is a kidnapping attempt. It rings more like an assassination mission. I point my gun at the Z guy on top of the car, but Caleb appears on the roof and does the dirty work for me.

“Go!” Caleb yells, as Creed and a squadron of Renegades appear all around the car.

I don’t have to be told twice. I’m in the car in seconds flat, yanking the door shut behind me.

“Drive!” I yell, damn glad to see Casar Alegra, the best damn driver we have in the Renegades, before turning my attention back to Maddox. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Maddox has Layla sprawled out over the seat, running a handheld scanner that resembles a retail price checker over her body. He glances up at me. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to find out how they found her.” The scanner buzzes over Layla’s right shoulder. “Bingo. Tracking implant.” He drops the scanner and snatches a knife from his pants.

I grab Maddox’s wrist, the eight-inch blade hovering in the air. “Don’t even think about it,” I warn between clenched teeth. Maddox, knife, and Layla do not go together.

Abruptly, Layla jerks, her lashes fluttering. Oh shit! She’s waking up. The sedative isn’t working.

“Stop the car!” I yell.

“Are you nuts?” Maddox asks. “We can’t stop or—”

“Stop now!” I order. “Put it in park.”