He held up his hand for silence, not looking at her. Cayenne sighed and stared out the window. She was either part of his team or she wasn’t. It appeared she wasn’t. He didn’t even want to hear what she had to say. She knew his team went into war zones, the hottest zones possible, but that didn’t negate the fact that she’d taken on several of Whitney’s teams of supersoldiers. She knew how they thought. What they would try. She was more familiar with them than they were.

“There’s a bend about three miles from you, the curve is sharp and the swamp closes in on either side. It’s away from traffic and a perfect place to hit you. I’m going to come to you and try to get in behind them with Joe, Diego and Rubin,” Wyatt’s voice intoned over the cell.

Cayenne didn’t know Joe or the others, but she assumed they were more of Trap’s team members. She didn’t care what Trap said, or how many times he held up his hand for silence. Her heart beat wildly, because she knew. She just knew. “You can’t do that, Wyatt,” she said, unable to help herself. “They’ll expect you to come to our aid. I can guarantee they’ve got at least four, maybe five others ready to hit your house and go after the girls. We won’t need help. We’ve got more manpower than you do.”

To her surprise, Trap didn’t try to silence her. Mordichai, driving, slowed the vehicle and pulled to the side. Immediately, Gino and Draden climbed out. Gino stood on the side step and hung on to the passenger door. Draden moved to the back and stood on the fender. Ezekiel slipped into the swamp.

“Roger that,” Wyatt said. “We’ll handle them here.”

“They have a kind of armor built into their bodies,” Cayenne continued. “Braden and Whitney tried to duplicate the webbing of a spider woven tight and injected it onto their bones. It didn’t work, so he used a liquid metal. That gave them an inside armor, but it also somewhat distorted their bodies and they don’t live long because he revved up their systems. They run on adrenaline. They’re fast, really, really fast. Don’t be deceived by their bulk. They’ll keep coming at you.”

“I’ve fought them before,” Wyatt reminded. “They were difficult to kill.”

“I remember. Go for the throat. You have to be precise when you do. There isn’t that much on them that’s vulnerable. Inside the mouth. The eyes. The throat is the best bet. Do you have a sniper?”

“Diego has one of the longest shots recorded, over a mile in a wind. He’ll do,” Wyatt said. “He thinks Ezekiel outshoots him, but they’re close.”

“Ongoing argument,” Mordichai said. “Those two don’t like it and give us the bird whenever we have it, which makes it all the more fun.”

Cayenne instantly recognized the easy camaraderie. She’d never had that. She wished she had, but then, she wasn’t certain she’d know what to do with it if she did. Being so close to so many people was difficult for a prolonged period of time, especially in the close confines of the vehicle.

“Make it a throat shot. Sometimes they use guards in their mouths, woven webs that fit in like a mouthpiece. Same with eye covers. If they’re wearing that, the throat is your only bet. They tried using shirts and wraps, but they couldn’t produce enough silk. Orb spiders working night and day, millions of them, couldn’t produce it. Braden and Whitney…” She trailed off, one hand going to her own throat in a defensive position.

She became aware of eyes on her. Every man, even those outside the SUV, was watching her. She swallowed hard, trying to push memories away. The door in her mind yawned wide and threatened to pull her into that nightmare.

Baby. Trap said it softly into her mind. Intimately.

There he was when she didn’t want him there. Not then. Not when the nightmares were pushing in. He had to stay removed from her. Remote. Not the Trap she knew. The other one. The ice-cold jerk.

Don’t. Not now.

She knew she sounded like she was choking, because she was. She couldn’t pull her hand from her throat, not even when she knew all of the men with their piercing eyes saw her fingers trembling.

Trap shifted subtly, but his bulk blocked her body from the others. His hand slipped over hers, fingers curling around her throat, over her hand, warm and strong. Whatever they did to you, baby, know that they can’t touch you now. It’s over. They won’t get their hands on you. You aren’t alone this time. You aren’t locked up.

She nodded, forcing air through her lungs. Trying to close the door in her mind that had cracked open so the nightmare could spill out. Trap was intelligent. She could weave silk. He had to know – or at least guess – what they had tried to take from her. He couldn’t know how painful those sessions had been, pinned like an insect to a table, pierced with needles while men laughed cruelly and made fun of her. She let her lashes sweep down to veil her eyes, trying to hide the terror and agony from Trap. She didn’t want him to know the things they’d said about her. What she was – not human – a monster.

They always shot her full of a drug so she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe, but they kept her aware. Always aware. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Strangely, it was Trap’s hand over hers, his large palm completely enveloping hers, so that the pads of his fingers were against her skin, his thumb sliding along her jaw.

“Thanks for the tips, Cayenne,” Wyatt said. “I want updates the moment you take out the team,” he added to the others.

“We’ll need cleaners,” Trap reminded. “We can’t have bodies lying around in the swamp. Reporter hanging around.”

“Has he followed you?”

“That he has. He’s hanging back, but he’s pulled over. Draden’s going to incapacitate him right before we move out again.”

Cayenne swung her head around, looking out the back window. She’d missed that. She didn’t miss much, but being inside the vehicle surrounded by Trap’s team was difficult for her and she hadn’t been as alert as she should have been.

Trap swept the pad of his thumb along the vulnerable line of Cayenne’s jaw. He leaned close to her, giving her his warmth. His body’s shelter and protection. You okay now, baby?

He’d seen the door in her mind, that glimpse of hell. He had his own door, his own hell, but the thought of Cayenne’s small body pinned to a table, needles holding her down in the way an entomologist would pin an insect, filled his throat with bile. His stomach churned, knotted, a terrifying rage building that needed to be kept under the glacier of ice protecting the world around him from the havoc he could wreak.