"In my defense . . ." I trail off, suddenly at a loss for words. I wished for the devil and now he's here.

"Yes?" He questions sarcastically as he stands in front of me, arms crossed over his chest and his entire body tense.

Finally, I just shake my head, which does nothing to help the pounding. "Nope. I haven't got one." I shrug. "I've got nothing."

For whatever reason, this just appears to make him angrier. My bad.

"How the hell did you find me?" I narrow my eyes at him. "And I seriously expect an answer this time. I covered my tracks better than before."

"Yes, I know," He growls out at me. "You had me running all over the damn country."

"And yet somehow you still ended up here."

Ryder just glares at me with his arms still crossed over his chest. While his expression is angry and frustrated, there's something else that he's trying to keep hidden. I narrow my eyes as I start thinking over my time with him.

Nothing's changed. Everything's stayed the same. No. That's not true.

"You bastard," I grumble as I pull the glasses off my face and raise them above my head, fully prepared to throw them to the ground and stomp on them until they're nothing but a broken heap of plastic and glass.

Ryder catches my wrist before I can throw the glasses to the ground. He takes the glasses from my hand and puts them back over my eyes. "I'd rather not have to deal with a blind you for the unforeseeable future."

I curse him out, calling him every name I can think of in both English and French. He just watches me with boredom showing on his face.

"You-"

"Pretty sure there isn't anything left for you to call me."

I glare murderously at him. If I were a cartoon character, I'd have smoke coming out of my ears. "You put a tracker in the glasses!"

"It took you longer than I thought to figure that one out. I'm disappointed. I lost a bet with Damien because of it."

"You vile little-"

"I don't care to listen to the rest of your insults," He says as he starts to pull me after him forcefully. "I'd rather get out of here before we have even more problems."

I dig my heels into the ground, making it harder for him to pull me. My anger spiking dangerously. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You're-"

"I'd stop talking if I were you," He growls as he spins around to face me, pulling his sunglasses off his face, his eyes blazing murderously down at me. "I'm barely keeping it together right now. As a matter of fact, I'm about this close," He holds his fingers up and there's a space barely big enough for a needle to slip through. "to using you as a human shield to get myself safely out of this mess you've dragged me into."

I open my mouth to protest but one more glare from him causes me to snap my mouth shut. He's really angry this time.

Personally, I don't see how it's any different than the other times I got away from him . . . I mean, except for the use of a taser and handcuffs.

Okay, maybe he has a little bit of a right to be angry. But just a little.

I stand my ground though and cross my arms over my chest. "The tracker still doesn't explain how you found me the first few times."

He continues to glare at me. "I happen to have a talent for doing that."

"Doing what? Pissing people off?"

"Don't give me credit for your talent, carrot top. I was talking about finding people."

My head continues to pound, seeming to get worse. Though I was willing to bet it was because he was giving me a migraine, rather than any actual head injury.

"What? Out of smartass replies?" Ryder questions sarcastically.

I glare at him. "You're giving me a migraine."

"Welcome to my world."

He doesn't bother to say anything else as he grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me after him through the alley and out the other side.

He comes to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to me, pulling the hood of my sweatshirt back up. And then pulling it way too low over my eyes purposely. I grumble a string of curses and adjust the hood.

I look up at him and his eyes are surveying the streets. His gaze and whole body alert and on the defensive.

He starts walking again and reaches his hand down, interlacing his fingers with mine. I try to pull away and his hand only tightens more securely around mine.

"Ryder, what the hell?" I question as I continue to try and pull my hand from his death grip.

"Shut up," He says curtly. "Right now, we're just a nice young couple out for a stroll." My gaze flies to his face but his gaze never leaves the street in front of us.

"Umm, no thanks," I tell him and his grip tightens.

"I'm not going to go chasing you down if you try to run off again," He says. "and another thing, we look less suspicious this way."

What he says makes sense, but I'm not exactly feeling all warm and fuzzy toward him right now . . . or ever for that matter.

"I'm pretty sure we'd look even less suspicious if I wasn't wearing a hood."

He glances down at me briefly. "That might be true, but your hair is red of all colors. Red. Why couldn't you be a brunette or a blonde, something that blends in more?"

"Well let me think," I start sarcastically. "Because I didn't get a say in what hair color I was born with."

"You need to invest in some hair dye or a wig."

"I might consider it, since it would get you to quit with the nicknames."

"You tell yourself that matchstick."

I glare at him and try to pull my hand from his grip once more. It only tightens.

"You're cutting off the blood circulation to my hand," I tell him.

"You'll live."

I continue to pull at his grip. "Let go of me."

"You make it sound like I want to be holding your hand. I don't. The longer I hold your hand the more concerned I get about whatever diseases you must be carrying."

Did I feel sorry for tazing him? Yes, I did. Just a little though. Do I now feel sorry for tazing him? Nope. Not one bit. In fact, I'm thinking he needs to be tazed again.

Ryder suddenly stops in his tracks. I look up at his face and follow his gaze to the people standing further down the sidewalk, blocking our path. They've all got the same tattoo.

"Shit," I mutter softly.

"Yeah," Ryder says. He slowly starts to back up as they start to walk toward us, their gaze locked on me.

"Run," He whispers as he shoves me behind him.

"What? What are you going to do?" I question as I stare at him. He doesn't turn to look at me.

"I'm going to buy you some time. Now go," He whispers, neither one of us wanting any of them to hear us.

"I'm not going to leave-"

"I said," He cuts me off as he shoves me roughly down an alleyway. "Run!"

I want to argue with him. I want to stay-don't ask me why-but I don't. I listen to him and I take off running down the alley. I can hear footsteps pounding behind me, but nowhere near me. Near Ryder. They're all running at Ryder.

I duck out of the alley and continue on down the street, not bothering to slow down or stop, ignoring the pounding in my head that's turned into nothing more than a dull ache. I halt in my tracks as I hear several sounds echo out.

Gunshots. Ryder!

I turn around, looking in the direction the shots originated from. I slowly start walking back toward the alley.

"Ryder?" I call out softly, not about to start screaming and getting people to come running after me. "Ryder?" I repeat again when I don't get a response.

Someone steps out from the shadows of the alleyway, walking confidently towards me. I feel relief flood through me as I watch the tall form continue toward me. Suddenly the relief turns to dread when he gets close enough for me to really see him. To see that he's not Ryder. Neither are the other two that come out from behind him.

I turn and run as fast as I can. I hear their footsteps pounding behind me, steadily getting closer. I turn the corner and spot a large warehouse across the street. I take off running toward it, stepping off the curb and into the street.

I hear the screeching of tires, my mind barely registers the shiny black metal surface of a car, my feet push on harder, trying to get out of the way. I succeed, but only partially.

I feel the impact on my leg as I'm thrown through the air and across the street. Pain shoots through my leg and I feel the road dig into my skin. My whole body protesting at being thrown around like a rag doll.

I hear people shouting, footsteps pounding toward me. The car barely clipped me, but the force was still enough to throw me through the air. I test out my leg, seeing if I can move it. Once I confirm that I can, I jump to my feet and start running once again toward the warehouse.

I throw open the door, thankful it's unlocked and move the boxes and crates of what appears to be canned foods. I keep going until I'm all the way at the back wall, hidden behind a stack of crates.

I take a second to catch my breath before looking down at the blood seeping through my pant leg. Great. Just great. On the bright side, the wound doesn't look like it's too deep.

I freeze when I hear the door to the warehouse open. I listen carefully as I hear the whispers of voices and the soft sounds of footsteps as they walk through the aisles of boxes and crates. I move quietly, carefully, matching their steps with some of my own as I keep away from them.

"Come on Nicky," I hear his voice call out. Suddenly I can't breathe. "I'm getting tired of this cat and mouse game."

Really? Why don't we switch places? See how you like being the mouse.

"Your friend's dead Nicky," He says and I freeze, my heart beating even louder than before. "Whoever he was, he's not going to be helping you any longer. I'm only sorry I didn't get the chance to really make him suffer."

I keep quiet. I don't make a sound from where I'm hiding. He's baiting me, trying to get me to answer. Trying to figure out exactly where I am. Of course, without answering, there's no way for me to know for sure whether or not he's lying.

Ryder.

He could be telling the truth. The only reason I can see for Ryder not being here is because something happened to him. Something bad.

"Not going to reply?" I hear his mocking voice. "Very well. You of all people know, there's more than one way to smoke out a rat."

He calls out in Russian. Calling out for everyone to clear out of the warehouse. I listen as the footsteps start to leave. He calls out something else, something I'm too far away to hear clearly.

I want to feel relief, but I don't. His words echo in my mind. There's more than one way to smoke out a rat.

Smoke out a rat.

Smoke.

It's the smoke I become aware of first. The smell of something burning. I start moving through the aisles of boxes and crates, and I start to see flames.

I turn and go down a different aisle, looking for some way out. More flames. Smoke getting thicker.

This is a problem for more reasons than one. If I stay in the warehouse, I'll die of smoke inhalation or burn to death. If I leave the warehouse, he's no doubt waiting for me. In some ways that's a fate worse than death.

Unfortunately for me, neither of these options kept me alive and unharmed in the long run.

I continue moving through the boxes and crates, looking for some way out that hopefully wouldn't lead me right into Volkov's waiting arms.

The flames continue to grow and spread throughout the warehouse. The smoke growing so thick it burns my lungs and makes it difficult to see the path in front of me.

I cough as I suck in a breath of smoke. I try to duck and stay below the smoke, but it doesn't do anything to help. The entire warehouse is filling with black smoke, fire, and ashes.

I can't find a way out. I can't even find a way back to the door I originally came through. My lungs and eyes are burning as I try to navigate through the smoke. My hands reaching out blindly in front of me as I try to feel my way through. The only thing discernable through the smoke are the glowing orange flames of the fire that continues to spread.