Rio (Redcars Book 3), page 3
Someone had found me.
I was going to die.
“Stop moving!” someone shouted, rough and urgent. It wasn’t Lucy. It wasn’t anyone I knew. The words slammed into me, and panic surged. My chest heaved, but I couldn’t get enough air.
I was scared. Terrified.
The harder I fought, the more tangled I became.
And all I could see above me was dark eyes and a scowling expression full of anger.
There were moments when I thought I was waking up. I could feel the edge of it—the soft weight of a blanket, the faint pressure of something warm pressed against me. For a breath or two, the pain faded, and I floated. I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t.
But then the cloud shifted.
A harsh realization cracked through the fog. I had to move. I had to get away. That instinct hit hard—loud, panicked, blaring like a siren in the back of my head.
I tried to move. I tried. My body jerked, or I thought it did, but my hand… my hand wouldn’t move.
Why wouldn’t it move?
A thick bolt of fear ripped through me as I tugged harder—and felt the resistance. My hand was stuck. Restrained. Bound to something I couldn’t see. Why? Why was it stuck?
Was he here?
Had the latest contract been a success? Had they taken the contract and handed me over?
I needed more time.
I twisted harder, pulse thudding in my ears. I needed to move. I needed to fight. I needed—
Then it shifted.
The cloud vanished, and I plummeted into the dark, back into the blood and the cold and the weight on my chest. I dreamed again—no, not dreams. Nightmares of silver monsters chasing me, always one step behind. I ran through Montana, through smoke and flame, Button screaming somewhere in the dark.
Voices called my name. Over and over. Louder. Closer. Some I recognized. Some I didn’t.
And I couldn’t tell anymore what was real and what wasn’t.
Until everything stilled.
No running. No wolves. No fire. Just a soft sound. Breathing. Slow. Measured. Not mine.
A pressure tugged at the fog in my head, as though someone was peeling back the layers one by one. My body ached, heavy and raw, but the pain was distant this time—not gone, but softened, dulled around the edges.
I blinked.
The light hurt. Not sunlight. Bulbs. Overhead. Harsh. My hand was still fastened to something, and the other hand was painful and linked to a long wire or something.
I blinked again, and something came into view. A ceiling I didn’t recognize. Faint shadows moving. The scrape of a chair. Leather.
“About time you woke up,” someone said. A low voice. Not unkind. Not familiar either.
I tried to turn my head, but everything felt slow, as if I were swimming through glue.
Then, someone leaned into my line of sight. The same dark eyes as in my dream. Was he real? I blinked up at him. He’d held me—pressed me up against the wall—and I’d fought to get free. I’d kicked, twisted, shoved with everything I had in me, but it hadn’t been enough. He was big. Strong. I couldn’t move him off me, no matter how hard I struggled. And yet, every desperate, hopeless attempt still clawed its way out of me. I’d fought him, and he’d held on anyway… hurt me… dropped me…
Fuck. I remembered where I was.
I’d tracked down DaemonRaze using tech I’d nearly forgotten, after following a trail of old handles and encrypted whispers until I hit something I wasn’t supposed to find. DaemonRaze was attached to deep web queries filled with names I recognized. Names I feared.
He’d been a good guy, right? But now? Lying here, trapped in someone else’s bed, that certainty was gone. Where was he? Had he brought me here to save me? Or was he calling Kessler right now, handing over coordinates with a quiet voice and blood money in his pocket?
Panic surged.
How long did I have?
I tried to move. My arm wouldn’t lift. My chest hurt, the pain all-consuming. My left hand wouldn’t move. My legs were immobile. I was tied down.
Why was I tied down?
I thrashed harder, my heart pounding, desperate to flee.
A hand slammed against my chest, solid and unyielding.
“Settle the fuck down,” someone snapped.
I flinched. The pressure of a hand held me, and it wasn’t a gentle touch. It warned me. He wasn’t going to let me break loose. He wasn’t going to let me run.
“You’re safe,” the man said.
My head throbbed as I blinked up at him, trying to make sense of the world as it fell into place around me. The smell hit me first—oil, dust, and sweat.
Then a voice. Low. A little rough.
“You’re safe.”
My lashes dragged open. The room blurred, then steadied. He was crouched beside the bed, all shadows and bulk, one arm braced on his knee.
Dark eyes, unreadable. I didn’t know why I looked at his mouth. Full lips, a little chapped. Not smiling.
He wasn’t holding me down.
He could’ve. Easily.
And he hadn’t.
The man exhaled and worked on the restraints. The ties on my legs loosened one by one, and though my muscles screamed, the weight of them lifting brought a shaky breath to my lungs. The ties were soft, worn, cut from an old T-shirt maybe—but they’d held fast.
I tugged at my left hand. It didn’t move. I was cuffed. He’d taken off the ties, but he hadn’t let me out of that one. That was staying. A silent message I couldn’t miss—and it sank deep in my gut.
He didn’t say anything else as he stood and strode to the door.
Then he shouted. “Get your ass up here, Jamie!”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs somewhere below.
And I braced myself all over again.
I was still alive.
But for how long?
The door swung open fast, and another man appeared—tall, wiry, a suspicious gaze fixed on me. Jamie? That was who the scary guy had called for. DaemonRaze. I think.
His eyes scanned me, assessing, then narrowed as if confirming something. “RootNightJar?” he asked, voice edged with expectation, as if he wanted me to give him proof that I was who he thought I was.
I swallowed and gave a tiny nod. It fucking hurt.
“Get the cuff off me,” I demanded, though it came out weak, croaky, as though the air had been scraped from my throat. I didn’t do weak.
Weak got you killed.
“Not happening,” a deep voice said to my left, and I glanced that way, wincing. The big man who’d pinned me to the wall was snarling and snapping like a rabid dog.
“Your stitches were for shit,” DaemonRaze said.
I swallowed. My throat hurt. “I d-did…. my-myself.” I was choking, couldn’t catch my breath, then winced when the scary big guy held water and a straw, still with the snarl on his granite features.
“Well, you fucked them up,” DaemonRaze said, then sighed. “I’m Jamie,” he said as he straightened, then crossed his arms. “And you are?”
I didn’t know what to say or who to trust. I’d survived this far by running and hiding, and I wasn’t going to break that now.
“Talk to him,” Scary Dude ordered, curling his hands into fists, every inch of him radiating tension. I tried to curl my uncuffed hand into a fist, but a jolt of pain as the catheter there tugged stopped me cold. I had no choice but to lie still, heart racing, pinned as some half-dead offering waiting to be sacrificed.
“Fuck Rio, what do you want me to say?” Jamie snapped.
Jamie had to be different. If anyone could get me a shot at living, it’d be him.
Maybe it was the way he didn’t flinch when I spoke. Or the way he didn’t rush to fill silences with threats like the big guy—Rio, I assumed. Jamie looked at me as if I were a puzzle worth solving, not a problem to eliminate. I wasn’t sure I trusted him—not fully—but the fact that I wanted to, terrified me. Trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford, but hope? Hope was worse. Hope meant there was something to lose.
Still, when he was in the room, I didn’t feel as if I was already dead. If anyone could convince these men that I wasn’t a threat, it was the guy I’d spent years watching from the shadows. I didn’t need Rio—I needed Jamie. Needed him to believe me before the rest of them decided I wasn’t worth the risk.
“RootNightJar,” I blurted, my voice hoarse. Then, I added the full string of letters, numbers, and symbols that marked me online. An identity I hadn’t used in years.
Jamie stared at me. “Blast from the past.”
I didn’t even know what I’d say—just that if anyone could help me, it was him. If anyone could stop this before it turned lethal… it had to be Jamie. I wasn’t here to mess with them. I just didn’t want to die. “I was looking for DaemonRaze.”
He exchanged glances with the scary dude, who rolled his eyes, and then, sighed.
“You found him,” he said, “and this is Rio.”
Rio growled at his name being offered.
Jamie didn’t seem fazed by that at all. “You’ve been off-grid since before I did time. People thought you were dead.”
All I could focus on there was that he’d done time. Fuck. Did I have to add him to the list of people I needed to outrun?
“I was,” I said, meaning it more than he could know. “I am.”
Jamie didn’t reply.
Out there, the plaything of the richest man on the planet was creating contracts for people to hunt me. Bounties and whispers were traded across dark-nets and message boards. I couldn’t breathe in the open without wondering who had been paid to put a bullet in my back.
And in here? In this strange room with two men I didn’t know? If I said the wrong thing, I knew Rio would break me in half. I saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands never stopped curling into fists as if he needed somewhere to put all that fury.
But between death at the door or the devil in front of me, I chose the one that hadn’t pulled the trigger—yet.
“I need to sit up,” I muttered. I shifted, trying to scramble upright, but the movement lit a fire along my ribs, and I couldn’t hold back the groan that tore out of me. Pain radiated from my side, hot and sharp, and just when I thought I might pass out from it, strong arms caught me. They didn’t lift so much as guide, firm but careful, easing me upright and propping me against a pillow. I let out a shaky breath, muscles trembling as I leaned into the support, too exhausted to care whose arms they were.
“Fuck’s sake,” Rio growled in my ear, as he settled me, then backed away.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“Don’t get fucking comfortable,” he snarled. “We haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
“Latest contract I found on him, thirty million. Dead or alive,” Jamie said, all matter-of-fact. “Could be more since I last checked.”
Rio’s mouth dropped. “The fuck?”
What? Dead? And thirty million. My chest ached, every inhale thin and strained. How was I supposed to survive with that kind of bounty hanging over me? It was way more than was normally posted on the forums.
I sank deeper into the pillow, skin clammy, heartbeat erratic. It wasn’t a bounty anymore—it was a death sentence. A target branded on my back that would never fade.
My gaze shifted from Jamie, to Rio, and the room that wasn’t mine, and my fighting voice grew quiet in my head, smothered by the swell of dread crawling up my spine. My skin buzzed with raw panic. Something colder than fear slid into my gut. I couldn’t breathe right. Every sound felt too loud, every glance too much. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but I couldn’t make myself speak—couldn’t make my brain string the right words together. My body remembered too much. I flinched when Rio shifted beside me, his presence too big, too close, and I couldn’t stop the tremor tearing through me as sudden desperation took over. Who in their right mind would turn down a million-dollar payout? My voice cracked as I whispered, “Help me.”
Two other men entered the room: a large man with tattoos and a smaller man who pushed everyone aside to reach the front. These three scary guys melted to one side as this fourth perched on the side of my bed.
“Hi,” he said, voice warm and open, as if none of the tension in the room touched him. “I’m Robbie.”
I looked at Robbie again. Really looked at him. The way he moved, cautious, his shoulders a little too tight, every glance flicking back toward the big, tattooed guy. He wasn’t even as big as me, but there was something hard-edged in the way he held himself. Dark hair, eyes full of wariness mixed with grit. As a man who’d seen enough to know when to be afraid—and enough to stand his ground anyway.
“Root… Nightjar… I’m Lyric,” I replied, my voice rough and uncertain. Somewhere to my left, I heard Rio mutter something under his breath—too low to catch, but it didn’t sound friendly.
“This is my partner, Enzo,” Robbie continued, gesturing to the tattooed man behind him. I met his gaze and gave a nod. Enzo returned it after a beat, sharp-eyed and silent, as if he were still deciding if I was a threat.
“Do you need pain relief? A blanket? A drink? Something to eat?”
“Not a fucking hotel,” Enzo said, but quietened when Robbie threw him a glance that spoke volumes.
“I’m okay,” I lied. My eyes drifted past the looming presence of the others and settled on Robbie, who radiated a softer quality. He didn’t flinch, didn’t scowl, just met my gaze with steady warmth. Something in me unclenched.
“Start from the beginning,” Robbie said. He must’ve seen the wariness written all over my face. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My throat locked up, and I felt Rio shift somewhere to my left, the weight of his glare like a noose. My skin crawled, every cell screaming not to trust him, not to speak—not when the man who’d pinned me to a wall seemed ready to do it again.
“Talk,” Rio snapped. A command, not a request. I flinched as he leaned over me, his presence a thundercloud, and his hand circled my throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. But he might as well have been. “You want to keep holding secrets? Keep lying?” His voice dropped to a hiss, harsh enough to flay skin. “Then, I’ll squeeze the fucking truth out of you myself.”
Terror stole my breath. My vision blurred. I tried to speak, to form words, but my voice caught, useless. I shook my head.
“He’s hurt! Stop!” Robbie pleaded, but Rio didn’t back off until Robbie shoved himself between us. “You’re not helping. He’s terrified. He’s not gonna talk.”
And he was right. I couldn’t. I was shaking too hard; my mind was blank, overwhelmed by the weight of that fury. I didn’t know if I could talk to anyone anymore.
“Yet,” Rio snapped.
“Rio…” Robbie warned. “Lyric? Look, you’re not the first one to end up here bleeding. And you probably won’t be the last.”
His voice grounded me in a way the others hadn’t. As though he meant to be kind.
“I need… help… a game.” Words were failing me; I felt as if my head was stuffed with cotton, every part of me throbbing with pain.
“Huh?” Robbie asked, eyes wide, tone soaked in sincerity—too much of it. My defenses spiked, fear curling in my gut. So many millions. That was what I was worth to the system. These four men could turn me in, take the money, and never look back.
I wouldn’t let the system win. I was frantic and desperate, and my gaze darted around the room—searching for something, anything. God, what was I searching for? A readily available scalpel? Fuck, I’m not in any hospital. A way out?
“What game, Lyric?” Robbie asked again, softer now, pulling my attention back to him. “You can trust us.”
No, I couldn’t. But I’d learned things over the years—the hard way. The times someone had managed to catch me, I’d learned how to survive. I’d survived before. Crawled my way out of places I shouldn’t have. I could survive this too. I had to because I wasn’t going back to him. Not now. Not ever.
“Need… Talk… Jamie.”
Rio growled low under his breath, Jamie huffed as if he didn’t have the patience, but it was Enzo who moved. He placed a hand on Robbie’s shoulder, grounding him—or maybe it was the other way around. The two of them shared a glance so full of quiet understanding, of love, that it almost broke something in me. It felt too soft for this world, too gentle to be real.
Or were the meds still warping everything around the edges?
“Try us,” Robbie said, voice steady.
I hesitated, then forced the words out. “Marcus Kessler.” I braced for the reaction. Marcus Kessler? The billionaire philanthropist? The media darling with the trillion-dollar tech empire?
Yeah. That Kessler.
But no one asked the questions. Robbie sighed, Enzo tensed, Jamie cursed, and Rio? He frowned and clenched his fists again.
I understood immediately—they knew. The way the air changed, the shift in their postures. The tension wasn’t confusion. It was recognition. They weren’t shocked because the name held significance for them.
What had he done to them?
FOUR
Rio
“I’m trying Killian again,” Jamie said, already halfway to the door. “He was in court, but I’ll get him to head straight here.” He was on edge, his lighter in his hand, flicking it, and I thought about following him, but if Killian was on his way, he didn’t need me grounding him anymore.
Still, I hesitated. There was a strange sensation in my chest I didn’t know how to name. If I wasn’t useful to Jamie in this moment—if I wasn’t holding someone together or watching the door—then what the hell was I here for?
I shook it off. Intrusive, fucked-up thought. Not the time. Not the place.
Still, it lingered.
“Lyric?” Lyric glanced at Robbie. “Can I get you anything?”
