by Elise Faber
“Eyes?” he ordered, flashing his light quickly through mine.
“I’m good,” I said, my voice more rasp than smooth, starting to sit up. “How many—”
Leo’s hand dropped to my shoulder. “Stay down,” he hissed.
“Fuck off,” I rasped, shoving my elbows beneath me, dislodging the hand, but another took its place.
My eyes went to Linc’s.
“Give the agent time to work,” he murmured, expression grave and telling me just how serious the wound was. “Just a few minutes.”
I sucked in a breath that felt like barbed wire, but I nodded, leaned back against the tree. My head was swimming anyway, and I could use the time to bolster my strength.
Linc squeezed my shoulder once then crouched next to me, gun in hand, gaze tracking the targets on the far side.
How many were there?
More than one, that was for sure.
The bullets continued to collide with the trees, a rapid thunk and plink that spoke to more than a handful. They were coming from three—four?—directions.
So not quite outgunned, but close. Especially since we didn’t have an infinite amount of ammo.
I needed to help.
Leo’s eyes were sweeping back and forth through our surroundings. Linc’s following suit. I kept my gaze behind us as I swapped out my nearly empty clip for a full one, sliding a bit higher and waiting for my head to stop swimming, knowing that if I had to sit here, the least I could do was keep an eye on our backs.
“Good?” Hannah asked, her stare meeting mine for just a heartbeat after I waited the requisite few minutes for the clotting agent to work then sat up a little further.
“Good,” I repeated, despite the spinning head, the aching throat, the blood drying on my skin.
“Backup’s en route,” she said. “Ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. I could hold out for ten minutes, even as my vision swam and my hands shook, the pain continuing to creep in.
Nothing behind, bullets still raining down in front of us, but the frequency slowing.
I risked a glanced over my shoulder, ignoring the agony that tore through me with the action, squinting to try and spot whoever the fuck had decided to shoot at us on the far side of the clearing. My bleeding had slowed, the clotting agent working, but I’d lost enough blood that it was getting harder and harder to stay focused as the minutes ticked by. I could see the SUV riddled with bullet holes—or at least dents, the bulletproof metal doing its job. Behind it, across the tree line, I could see the men who were firing at us peeling off, disappearing deeper into the shadows of the tree line, as though they knew backup was coming and couldn’t afford to be captured.
They would take the chance to eliminate a team but didn’t want to be caught.
There had to be another traitor, or they had been watching us and knew this was the best place for an ambush, or the whole weapons deal had been a fucking trap, and I’d walked my team right into it.
“Stop.”
A sharp word, a tone from Leo I was becoming familiar with.
But this time, it was paired with a gentle squeeze of my shoulder, a soft murmur, “It’s not your fault.” I glanced up, saw the lines of Leo’s jaw clenched taut. Emerald eyes on mine, soft in their depths despite the gunshots still plinking around us. “It’s not,” he repeated, a muscle twitching, his lips pressed flat. Then he lifted his head, focused across the clearing.
I tore my gaze away from him, keeping watch on our backs, smelling the damp earth, feeling the sun starting to shine on my skin. The latter two sensory images weren’t helpful, didn’t bring anything except for distractions.
Woozy.
I was so damned woozy.
Shadows in my vision, this time not giving away the enemy, but rather my unconscious brain trying to yank me under.
I fought it, gripped my gun in both hands.
“Clip?” Linc asked, pulling me out of the fog.
I tore open the Velcroed pocket on my thigh, yanked one out for him.
“Thanks.”
Knowing I should be the one thanking our medic for helping me refocus, to stay conscious, to pull out energy from somewhere and stay awake, I filed my gratitude away to be given during a later time.
The minutes ticked by.
Staying conscious got increasingly difficult.
Then there was the glorious sound of SUVs, of another voice in our earpieces, one that I recognized and respected.
“Okay, Cinderellas,” Laila said. “We’re here. Get your asses to the carriages before we all turn into pumpkins.”
“Watch yourself,” Hannah warned. “Four unfriendlies at nine o’clock.”
“Roger that,” Laila said, just as a pair of black SUVs tore into the clearing kicking up rocks and glass. They spun to a sliding stop, facing out toward the exit, a bulletproof barrier between us and those on the other side. A moment later, the rear driver’s side doors flew open on both vehicles.
“Go, Jesse,” Hannah ordered.
Knowing my team wouldn’t leave until the injured—until I—was safe, I pushed up onto my feet, summoned strength from somewhere, and ran.
Even though my head spun.
Even though my legs felt like they would give out.
I clenched my gun in both hands, leaped out from the trees, and sprinted toward the SUV.
A wavering, faltering sprint, bullets pinging around me—from behind me as cover, from in front of me coming out of the opposite tree line, from the SUV as Laila and her team brought enough firepower to protect us.
I made it to the SUV, Leo behind me a moment later, shoving me inside, Linc a heartbeat after him.
The door slammed.
“Hannah,” I said. “Lily—”
“The other SUV,” Linc said.
We accelerated, more rapidly than I anticipated, and I was thrown back against the seat, hissing out a breath when the SUV shot forward. Leo’s hand came up to the back of my head, fingers threading into my ponytail.
“Easy,” he murmured, fingertips pressed gently on my scalp. “We’re safe.”
And that was the moment I lost my fight.
I slumped, unconsciousness tugging me under.
Chapter Thirteen
Leo
“She’s out,” I said to Linc.
He reached over, took her pulse, gave her a quick once-over. It probably would have been better if I had let the medic sit next to Jesse, but watching her stumble across the clearing, blood clinging to the black of her uniform, staining the porcelain of her neck crimson, seeping through the white of the bandage Linc had secured around her throat, while bullets flew all around her, had made my heart seize.
Hannah had thankfully given the order for us to peel off and follow, and not a moment too soon, because I had already been pushing off the ground, readying to run after her, to scoop her in my arms, and haul her to safety.
It hadn’t taken much to catch up.
She’d been slow and unsteady.
But also strong.
Because she’d reached the vehicle, had been readying to haul herself inside before I could help her in, help her to slide across the seat, even as she was somehow still alert, those blue eyes scanning me, scanning Linc with a weighty, concerned gaze before asking about Lily and Hannah.
Strength. Beauty.
I didn’t understand how they’d ever been separate in my head.
Because as I sat beside her, my fingers in her hair, her eyes closed, lashes dark half-moons on her cheeks, I knew I had never seen anything more beautiful.
I was sitting beside her bed in the infirmary, Lily, Hannah, and Linc beside me.
I’d carried her here from the car, watching as Linc and his woman, Olive, had checked her over, cleaning the gunshot wound—miraculously a through and through without hitting anything major—giving her a blood transfusion, and stitching her up.
Now, we were waiting for her to wake up.
I was silently going over the mission note
s, trying to find something unusual with the information that Jess had pulled. But as I reread page after page, it all seemed normal, it all seemed to point to that location, that date, the KTS-grade weapons up for grabs.
So, maybe it truly was just a bunch of teenagers fucking up and stepping on our toes.
Or maybe we had another traitor in our midst.
I hoped for the first, knew it was the second.
But all I did know for sure was that nothing about the material Jesse had gathered pointed to her having done anything wrong. We’d all re-checked her work, both now that we were in the debriefing stage and previously before we’d gone on the mission in the first place. Every single duck was in a row.
And then it appeared that every duck had decided to fucking go wild, zipping this way and that, refusing to march in normal, single-file lines.
This had been happening again and again and again.
Ever since we’d found out about Daniel and his treachery, about Jack and his betrayal, things had been slowly unfurling.
Missions fucked.
Weapons missing.
Assets—both monetary and physical—disappearing.
Details and locations of our bases, our agents, leaked, putting everyone at risk, and causing agents to get hurt . . . to die.
Linc’s phone buzzed, and his gaze flicked down at the screen, reading before slipping it back into his pocket.
“Olive?” Lily asked.
He nodded. “Dominic has a parent-teacher conference.”
Dominic was the kid, well teenager, really, that Olive and Linc had taken in after he’d helped Olive, at much risk to himself, during another mission gone FUBAR. His mother had been swept up into the net of deceit that was Daniel, and the poor kid had been surviving on his own. Until Olive had made him hers.
Now he was part of KTS and would be until it was safe for him to return to the real world.
“Go,” Hannah said. “We’ll stay here until—” She broke off with a wince when her own cell buzzed. “Laila,” she said, tugging it out of her pocket. Her gaze drifted to Lily’s, to mine. “They need us to debrief her team.”
Lily stood, nodded.
I remained sitting. “They don’t need all three of us. You guys go. I’ll stay here in case Jess wakes up and needs anything.”
Hannah’s expression was so locked down that I couldn’t read anything.
But after a moment, she nodded and pushed to her feet, followed Lily and Linc toward the door.
“Leo.” I glanced up, saw she’d stopped just inside the doorway. I watched as the wooden panel slowly began to close. She caught it just before it clicked shut. “You hurt her again, and you’re off my fucking team.”
Then the door was opening and closing again.
Only this time, it shut without anyone stopping it.
And then it was just me and Jess.
And my heavy-ass guilty conscience.
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse
I woke with pain tearing down my throat, my limbs heavy and my mouth dry.
But I was on something soft.
A bed, I realized, managing to open my eyelids, even though they felt like they’d had concrete blocks tied to my eyelashes. I blinked a few times until my vision cleared enough for me to see my blankets—someone must have retrieved them from my room, since I was clearly in the infirmary—had been tucked around me. The small TV mounted on the far wall was on, but without any sound, the scene from some action movie making the shadows dance along the walls.
I slowly took stock of my body, moving my toes, my fingers, flexing and straightening my feet.
Other than exhaustion tearing through me, I was fine.
“Here.”
Leo’s voice made me jump and then bite back a curse when a bolt of red-hot pain shot down my throat.
He winced, slowly raised the bed so I could drink. “Sorry.” He held out the cup, or rather pressed it into my fingers, then lifted my hand so that the rim of the glass was against my lips. I took a huge swallow, felt some of the fire in my throat extinguish. Then continued drinking until the cup was drained. “More?” he asked.
I shook my head, rasped, “What are you doing here?”
“What do you remember?”
Closing my eyes, I thought back. The bullets and hiding behind the fallen tree. Pain and blood. Cold words and lurching away and . . . even more pain.
“How many stitches?” I countered.
“Only ten,” he said. “Six in the front. Four in the back. Linc and Olive cleaned you up once we got back to base. You’ll be out of commission for a few days, mainly because of the blood transfusion.”
“How much blood?”
“Two bags.”
I started to nod. Stopped because it fucking hurt then settled on a shrug. Not the worst, I’d had. Not the best.
He got up, poured me another glass of water, pressed it into my hand again. “How long was I out?”
“Not long.” A glance at his watch. “Six hours.”
Again, not the worst I’d had. Not the best.
Another shrug as I continued to sip the water. Each swallow was painful, but it was a good pain, smoothing over the rough edges, easing the ache. By the time I finished the second glass, I felt a whole lot more human.
“You had me worried there for a second,” Leo murmured, smoothing back my hair.
Slowly, carefully, I slid away from him.
I couldn’t have him touching me, speaking to me. Not like that. Not soft and gentle and with affection and kindness. Not after what he’d said, what he’d done in response to my words, my touch.
Not after all the whiplash.
He drew his hand back but didn’t leave, just sank onto the edge of the bed and stared at me. His eyes were . . .
No.
I wouldn’t read anything into that expression.
“Why are you here?” I snapped.
An abrupt question, my tone even more so. Harsh. Brittle. Cold.
A flicker of something else in his eyes. Something I didn’t want to look too closely at because it was probably hurt, and I didn’t want—no, I didn’t care that I’d hurt him. Even if there was a tendril of guilt winding through me.
Leo was a friend. I didn’t like to hurt my friends.
Except . . . he hadn’t acted like one, and I was too raw inside to worry about him right at this moment anyway.
“Jess, baby, I—”
I turned my head away, ignoring the way it yanked on my stitches, the fire it wrought on my throat. “You should go.”
His fingers brushed my jaw, the lightest feather of a touch. One I’d dreamed about for an eternity, and one that was more painful than my injury.
“Don’t,” I whispered, barely able to resist jerking away.
Another brush of his fingers, the calluses on their tips making me shiver. “I’m so—”
To my horror, I felt a tear escape, slide down my cheek, a burning trail of shame.
He caught it with his thumb.
“Jess, I—”
“I can’t do this right now,” I said miserably, my gaze on the TV on the far side of the room. I wanted to be in my quarters, surrounded by my things. It probably shouldn’t make any difference. I didn’t have a lot of belongings, nothing much outside of clothes and weapons and tech that I needed to live my life. There hadn’t been room for knickknacks in my garbage bag of clothing that I’d brought from home to home. No posters or artwork. No trophies or medals or stuffed toys. No room for them. No one to buy them for me.
But my rooms here were mine. They were comfortable and safe and—
Leo intruded on that. “I need to—”
“I can’t hear it,” I whispered. “I can’t hear anything. I’m too—” I cut myself off before I revealed exactly how wounded I was . . . and I wasn’t talking about the one on my neck. Sighing, I closed my eyes, felt another tear fall.
He caught it again.
I jerked my head away, gasped at the
pain, eyes stinging, the tears coming faster. “Go,” I said miserably.
“I’m—”
Rolling to my side, I gave him my back, kept my lids slammed shut, ignoring him, ignoring the pain.
A sigh.
Then, “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t reply, not when that apology had buried itself like a knife in my middle, taking my breath along with it. I didn’t move. It didn’t change anything. It didn’t. After what felt like an eternity, I heard a rustle of fabric, felt the bed jostle slightly as he pushed himself up to his feet. Then footsteps leading away.
The click of the knob turning.
The shift of air when the door opened and closed.
Only then did I allow the rest of the tears to fall, the sobs to come. It hurt—my wound, my heart. My memories and present and future, all swirled together, tearing through me. Those feelings of not belonging, of not being worthy, were quickly followed by rage—at myself, at everyone else . . . but mostly at myself because I just never seemed to find a way to fit in.
I hated that I tried my damnedest to reduce myself, to get quiet and small, just so I could find my place somewhere, only for it to not really work anyway.
I hated that I was . . . me.
And I hated that I had even had that thought in the first place. I should love myself, my giant Raggedy Ann ass, my strong shoulders and arms and legs. I should. I knew I should.
But . . . I just didn’t have it in me in that moment.
Not after the injury. Not after the letdown of the mission. Not after Leo.
Right now, I just wanted to wrap myself in my misery and cry until I didn’t have any more tears.
The bed dipped again, and before I could process what was happening, warm arms wrapped around me, tugging me back against a muscular chest, Leo’s soft words in my ear. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. Nothing else bad is going to happen.”
He was trying to be comforting.
He only made me feel worse.
My tears came faster, torn out of my lungs, painful in my throat and ears, the sounds broken and horrible and yet something I had no control of stopping.
Because I’d been shot.