16. Potential Help

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So there's likely not going to be another update this week because I have final exams. Sorry.

Enjoy!

Nicky's POV 

Ryder suddenly comes to a stop and swears as he stares at an empty spot on the street next to the curb.

"Are you kidding me?" I hear him grumble in frustration. "What else could possibly go wrong?"

"I don't believe you actually want an answer to that question."

He turns and glares at me. I turn and look at the spot on the street he was previously staring at. "I take it this is where you parked the car."

This earns another string of curses from him. "Out of all the times to get a car stolen-" He cuts off abruptly and clenches his hands into fists, glaring murderously at the empty spot as if sheer willpower will make the car reappear.

I look around at the other cars parked on the street. "I could hotwire another car." I don't have to look at him to know his stare's burning a hole in the side of my head as I continue to survey the cars on the street.

"As an FBI agent, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," He says as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

I shrug. "Do you have a better idea?"

"I'm not helping you steal a car."

"Well, what if you didn't help and I did all the work?"

"Please, for the love of everything, just shut up. I'm revoking your talking privileges."

I choose to ignore that comment. "Could you call Damien?"

"Yeah, but it wouldn't do us any good. He's too far away to get here any time soon. He got called for another assignment. Apparently, my father believes I can handle you by myself. He doesn't know what a walking disaster you are." He swears some more and his gaze begins to dart all over the street, looking for some kind of a solution.

I open my mouth to make a comment on his "walking disaster" assessment of me but before I get the chance, I'm yanked back from him by the collar of the jacket. I let out a shout as an arm is snaked around my neck and the barrel of a gun is pressed flush against the side of my head.

Ryder whirls around to face me and his gun is out and aimed in my direction, at whoever's holding me-or at least, I hope that's where it's aimed-in seconds. His expression is alarmed mixed with a cool kind of determination.

The arm around my neck tightens and my hands fly up to try and pull it away. It does no good.

"You make any wrong moves and I kill her," An unfamiliar voice growls right next to my ear.

I see the hesitation, the anger flash through Ryder's eyes. So, I speak up.

"He's bluffing," I tell Ryder. "Volkov will kill him if he kills me. Don't listen to him."

The arm around my neck tightens to the point I'm having trouble sucking in a breath. I claw at his arm, trying to get his grip to loosen.

"I may not be able to kill her," He starts again. "But there are all kinds of other . . . fun things I could do. Drop the gun," He orders Ryder.

Ryder glares murderously back at him but slowly starts to lower his gun to the floor.

I shake my head. "Don't-" I'm cut off as he slams the gun into the side of my head. It's not hard enough to do any serious damage, but hard enough for me to bite back a cry of pain and slightly disorient me.

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