Page 17 of He Is Jensen: Part Two

Or so I think. We take a couple sharp turns. Jensen pulls behind a closed nightclub and parks behind the dumpster before turning to face me.

“We have to get the tracking device out of your arm.”

“Right. I assumed it—”

“Now, Layla.”

I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat. “Now? As in right here, in the car? Behind this dumpster?”

He nods, and I ask, “Is there a laser to remove it?”

Grimly, his lips thin, and he reaches to his hip pocket and pulls out a slender blade folded inside a casing. “Not here. And there is nowhere safe I can take you until it’s out.”

My heart thunders in my chest and vibrates in my ears. “Which arm?” I ask, managing to keep a steady voice, trying not to think about how much this is going to hurt.

His hands press to my offending shoulder. The right shoulder.

“Do it,” I say, and when his hand lifts, I turn and pull my sleeve up, offering him my bare skin. “Get it out of me.”

I grab the door handle, my eyes prickling with tears I refuse to shed. I made it through cancer and Zodius City. I’ll make it through this. I’ve barely finished the thought when a piercing pain shoots through my shoulder, and I see stars.

Chapter thirteen

Jensen

I’ve been a soldier long enough to know there’s only one way to dish out pain. Hard and fast. I slice my shirt for a bandage and slice her shoulder before she ever knows what’s happening. My stomach clenches at the sound of her whimpers as I work. Within seconds, I toss the tiny device from her shoulder into the dumpster and tie off her arm. The instant I’m done, I pull her close and hold her.

I bury my face in her hair. “I’m so sorry, Layla,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I…know,” she says, her voice hoarse, the pain she feels rasping through every syllable.

I lean back to look at her and stroke her hair. Her eyes are red, tears streaming down her face. I use my knuckles to wipe them away. Damn it, I’m always hurting her. “Hang in there. We’ll get you some pain medicine pronto, baby. Lie down, and I’ll get us where we’re going fast, so you can get some relief.”

She barely nods, and I ease her down on the cushion. I waste no time putting the car into gear. That tracking device puts us in this location—exactly why we need to be out of here and out of here now.

Less than five minutes after removing the tracking device from Layla’s shoulder, I pull the vehicle I “borrowed” into the parking garage of the Renegades’ inner-city headquarters and hit the security remote I carry with me. Steel, high-tech, electronic doors open to the basement level, where the Renegades lease nearly ten thousand square feet beneath the Neonopolis. An unlikely place for our operation, the nearly one-hundred-thousand-square-foot entertainment facility—complete with games, gambling, and a movie theater—offers concealment we’re careful to maintain.

With my windwalking skills not as developed for long distance travel as most GTECHs, I stay close to home base. “Neon,” as I call it, is my baby, and the two dozen men who report here, under my command, my responsibility. Together, my men and I make it a point to know every move the Zs make within the city before they make it—to protect unknowing humans from their predators—Julian’s Z followers.

Beside me, lying on the seat, her head near my legs, Layla moans as if she’s biting back a sob. Before I can stop myself, I run my hand over her hair. I’m not what most would call the warm, fuzzy type, but something about this woman makes me want to comfort her.

“We’re pulling into the facility now,” I comfort softly. “Hang in there.”

“I’m okay,” she whispers, pushing herself upright to check her surroundings. And then as if trying to convince herself it’s true, she repeats it louder. “I’m okay. My arm is getting better. I guess that’s a perk of the ICE. But my head is killing me.” She glances over her shoulder as the silver doors slide shut. “I feel like I’m back in NASA.” She grimaces. “Or Zodius City.”

“Other than technology,” I assure, “there are very few similarities between us and Zodius.” I pull the car into a parking spot by the elevator and snatch my cell phone from my belt. “I need to find out where Caleb wants us.”

Her chin lifts with a hint of pride. “You mean where I’m to be confined? That is what’s going to happen, right?”

I hear the uncertainty in her voice, and remarkably I would delve into more of that unfamiliar comfort stuff, if Caleb doesn’t answer right then. “Protected,” I correct. “I’m protecting you, Layla.”

“I see you on the security camera,” Caleb confirms into the phone without a hello.

Feeling Layla’s stare, I recognize this conversation might not be one best heard by her. “Hold on, Caleb,” I say and reach for the door, speaking to Layla. “Stay here a minute.”

She gives me a short nod, her body tense, her expression apprehensive. I actually have to force myself to get out of the car and leave her feeling like crap—worried, unsure what comes next. Not that I really know either. This is all unfamiliar territory.

The minute I shut the door, I ask, “Any word on Maddox and Casar?”