by Kaylea Cross
“You’re hit,” Brody said.
Marcus didn’t answer, just kept going, his gaze locked on Kiyomi. Come on, love. Move. Please move…
He’d aimed for her shoulder, but Jesus Christ, she’d moved. What if he’d killed her?
Grief and panic clawed at him, sharp and agonizing. The Puma set down fifty yards or so from them.
Megan and the others jumped out and raced toward them, rifles at the ready. They surrounded the downed shooters as Marcus and Brody raced for Kiyomi and the Architect, who had managed to crawl a dozen or so yards away.
When they got close Marcus pushed away. Brody immediately moved to secure the Architect while Marcus stumbled toward Kiyomi.
She lay completely still, her eyes half-open. His heart lurched, terror rocketing through him as for an unbearable moment he thought she was dead. But then she blinked and slowly focused on him.
He fell heavily to his knees beside her, ignoring the brutal wave of pain in his leg and hip, and slid a hand beneath her head. “Kiyomi,” he choked out, a rush of tears blurring his vision.
There was a pound coin-sized hole in the front of her left shoulder, where the vest couldn’t protect her. Blood stained her chest and arm, soaking into the grass beneath her.
Marcus rolled her slightly. The exit wound on the back of her shoulder blade was worse. But nothing was spurting—the shot appeared to have missed her subclavian artery—and she was breathing all right, no blood coming from her nose or mouth that would indicate the bullet had hit the upper lobe of her lung, but Jesus.
He ripped his vest and shirt off, then wadded up the T-shirt and used it to pad the entry and exit wounds as best he could. She writhed a bit when he pressed down on the front of her shoulder, her face blanched of all color, contorting with pain. She was in shock, but there was something more to her reaction. Almost as if she were drugged.
“It’s all right, love, it’s going to be okay,” he told her, his voice rough as sandpaper. She was staring through him and it scared the hell out of him. He was hyperventilating, his hands shaking as he stared down at her.
He glanced up when someone came running toward him. Megan raced over and dropped down on Kiyomi’s other side. “How bad?” she asked.
“She’s breathing okay. Think she’s been drugged.”
Megan’s lips pressed together and she cut a rage-filled look over at the Architect. Brody had cuffed the woman’s hands behind her back and was pinning her to the ground, with his hands on the wound in her shoulder.
Megan’s eyes cut back to Kiyomi as she tapped on her earpiece. “We need to medevac them both immediately.” She looked up at Marcus. “Can you walk?”
It killed him to admit it aloud, but getting Kiyomi to the hospital and into surgery as soon as possible was the only thing that mattered right now, and he would only slow the process down if he tried to carry her. “No.”
Megan nodded, eyes grave, and spoke to someone else on comms. “Need a hand carrying Kiyomi.” She bent over Kiyomi and put a hand on her cheek. “Hey, sweetie. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Just hang on for me.”
Marcus kept pressure on her wounds with his left hand and stroked her hair back from her face with the other, overcome with guilt and helplessness. He might have saved her life, but in doing so he’d probably cost her the use of her arm.
His guts twisted, nausea churning in his stomach. “I’m so sorry, love,” he told her raggedly, his throat burning along with his eyes and hip. “So, so sorry.”
Heath ran up a few moments later, took in the situation with a sweeping glance, and ripped open his rucksack. “I’ll put on a pressure dressing and then we’ll get her loaded.”
The former PJ gloved up and worked fast. Marcus stayed at Kiyomi’s side, his heart breaking every time she grimaced and gasped as Heath worked. Finally it was done.
Heath looked up at him. “You need treatment too. Colebrook,” he called to Brody. “Get Marcus on board.”
Marcus hated to let go of Kiyomi. Hated being parted from her for even a moment, but he was useless to her now. He sank back to the bloodstained grass as Heath and Megan lifted her and rushed her to the waiting Puma.
Brody arrived a moment later, bending down to grab him around the ribs. “Come on, big guy,” he said, and helped Marcus onto his right foot once more.
Marcus glanced over his shoulder to check behind them. Zack was helping Trinity to the Puma.
Ty and Jesse had the Architect. They’d put a pressure dressing on her shoulder as well. Unlike Kiyomi, she was fully conscious. Fighting them as they hustled her to the waiting helo.
From out of nowhere a tidal wave of rage rose up to choke him. He’d never wanted to kill anyone as badly as he wanted to kill her, but they needed answers. The Valkyries deserved answers and justice.
“Keep me the fuck away from her,” he warned Brody as he hobbled toward the Puma.
Thankfully the team had moved the bitch to the rear of the aircraft as Brody helped him inside. Marcus immediately crawled over to where Kiyomi lay on the deck, surrounded by Heath and her fellow Valkyries.
Marcus was barely aware of the aircraft lifting and nosing forward, all his focus on the pale, still woman in front of him. Kiyomi’s eyes were closed now, and he hoped whatever she’d been drugged with was sparing her the worst of the pain.
Heath and the others all moved aside to let him collapse onto his right hip beside Kiyomi. Marcus grasped her hand, his fingers automatically going to the pulse in her slender wrist to reassure himself she was still alive.
Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. Probably Megan.
He didn’t look up, didn’t utter a word, refusing to look away from Kiyomi’s pale face as he clenched his jaw, the acidic burn of tears scalding the backs of his eyes. I’m right here, love. Hang on for me.
****
Fire. She was burning.
The pain registered at the back of Kiyomi’s mind as she floated up toward consciousness.
Her eyes fluttered open to find herself in a dim, quiet room. She was in bed, blankets tucked around her. She sucked in a breath, tensing as the fiery pain suddenly took over. She glanced down at her left shoulder. Everything was covered in a bandage, her arm secured to her chest.
Plastic squeaked nearby and then a shadow loomed over her bed. Her heart seized for a moment, then a gentle hand smoothed her hair back and a beautiful, deep voice spoke in a Yorkshire accent. “You’re okay, love. Just out of surgery.”
She relaxed, relief flooding her. She blinked up at Marcus, his features becoming clearer as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Her throat was sore, probably from the intubation when they’d operated.
“You missed,” she said hoarsely as everything came flooding back. It was the only explanation why she was still alive.
His hand froze on her head, his face tensing. “No,” he finally answered, his voice rough. “I aimed for your shoulder, but then you moved as I squeezed the trigger and I thought… I thought…”
He sucked in a ragged breath and leaned over her, his other arm coming up to slide beneath her neck. Then he pressed his bearded cheek to hers, his familiar scent filling her nose. “I’m so goddamn sorry,” he choked out.
His pain distressed her. “No,” she whispered, reaching her right arm up to embrace him.
His shoulders shook and he pulled in an unsteady breath. She could feel wetness on her cheek, trailing down to her neck. Her heart clenched. This strong, proud and humble man was crying because of what he’d been forced to do. “I’m sorry. You should never have been put in that position.”
He shook his head, holding her tighter. “I couldn’t get to you,” he said, his voice catching on a sob that broke her heart. “I couldn’t save you and I only had one shot left. I didn’t know the others were coming, I just saw her take you into that helicopter, and…”
“But you did save me,” she told him, squeezing tight, her eyes stinging. “I asked you once to promise me you wouldn’t let me be tak
en, and you didn’t. You didn’t.” Her voice broke.
She hated that he’d been forced to shoot her to save her, but he’d seen it as the only way, and even then he couldn’t bring himself to take a head shot. Hadn’t been able to kill her because he just couldn’t.
Her pulse raced, her heart beating frantically under the tide of emotion, and suddenly she couldn’t hold her feelings back for him a moment longer. “Marcus, I—”
“I love you,” he told her, easing back to cup her face in his hands. “I love you so goddamn much, and because of that, when it came down to it, I just couldn’t do what you’d asked.”
She smiled up at him through a haze of tears, hardly able to believe this was real even as the pain in her shoulder convinced her it was. “I’m glad you didn’t.” Because she’d be dead otherwise, and they never would have been able to tell each other how they truly felt. “And I love you too. So much.” She pulled him down to her again, wrapped her good arm around him and let the tears spill freely down her face.
Marcus held her until she’d calmed, her tears reduced to shuddering sighs. “Trinity,” she said. “Is—”
“She’s fine. Round hit her vest, dead center mass. Cracked her sternum and broke three ribs, but no internal damage.”
“Thank God. What about Karas? And the horses?”
“They’re fine. I rang the gardener and asked him to find them. He rang me back not long after to say he got Karas out, then found the horses waiting at the stable when he got there.”
“That’s good.”
“Aye.”
Every jerk of her chest made the pain in her shoulder worse. She winced and let out a groan. “So, what’s my damage?”
He wiped her face and straightened next to the bed. “It’s…bad, but your surgeon is one of the best in the UK. He pieced your shoulder joint and scapula back together. He said there’ll be some nerve damage, but we won’t know the extent until the swelling goes down.”
A new fear coiled inside her. “Will I be able to use it again?”
“You’ll likely have permanent loss of strength and range of motion,” he said, lowering his gaze, the guilt on his face hurting her as much as her newly repaired shoulder.
She grabbed his hand, squeezed hard. “Don’t blame yourself.”
He looked away, snorting. “Who else should I blame?”
“The Architect.”
His eyes came back to her, his expression hardening. “Aye. She’s in surgery now for a similar repair.”
Kiyomi frowned, revulsion shuddering through her as she remembered the attack. “She said I was going to be her blueprint.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
A knock came at the door and then it pushed open a few inches. “Hey,” Trinity said, moving slowly into the room, her movements restricted. “Good to see you, sweetie.”
“You too.” Kiyomi reached a hand out for her friend.
Trinity came over and took it, raised it to her lips to press a hard kiss on the back of it. “That was way too damn close.”
“For both of us. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Trin smiled. “Okay is a relative term in this instance, but I’m glad too. Think I can let the others in now? They’re dying to confirm for themselves that you’re still alive.”
“Sure.”
“Watch your eyes,” Marcus murmured. “Gonna turn on the light.” He switched on the small lamp beside her bed.
Squinting as her eyes adjusted, she focused on the door as Trinity told everyone to come in. Megan was in the lead, followed by Amber. Chloe marched in next, Eden right behind her. The sight of her Valkyrie sisters gathering around her made Kiyomi want to cry again.
“So, can we all agree to never go through anything like that ever again?” Chloe said, her expression agitated as she chewed her gum. “Because that sucked big time.”
“I’m down with that,” Kiyomi answered, a wash of tears blurring her vision. Megan leaned over to kiss her on the forehead while the others set a hand on her legs and good arm. She looked around at them all. Her sisters. “I really love you guys, you know.”
“Oh, shit, don’t you dare make us cry,” Eden warned with a sharp look, her dark eyebrows drawn together in a worried frown.
Kiyomi smiled and gave a watery laugh that ended in a streak of fire through her shoulder. “Ow. Okay, this sucks.”
“Yeah it does,” Amber said, rubbing Kiyomi’s shin through the blankets. “And I will personally shove the pain meds down your throat if you refuse to take them, so don’t even bother trying that shit.”
She looked between her and Megan. “So. Your aunt, huh?”
Both women’s expressions darkened like thunderclouds. “Yeah,” Megan muttered. “I’m only sorry we figured it out too late to stop her from getting you.”
“I think I remember her.”
Everyone stared at her. “From where?” Megan asked.
“The Program. Just before I graduated. Some of the cadre would come in and observe me during various tasks. I noticed her because she reminded me of you,” she said to Amber. “She came in a handful of times after that. And she was there at my grad ceremony.”
“During the branding?” Amber asked.
“Yes. I saw her just as she slipped out of the room. But I didn’t know who she was. Never spoke to her.” A shiver swept through her. “I wonder if she selected me all the way back then.”
“Jesus,” Megan whispered, sounding horrified.
Kiyomi shared that sentiment. “Did you get anything out of her before they took her into surgery?”
“No. Except that she’s a psychopath who managed to stay under everyone’s radar, even the highest levels of intelligence agencies in the world,” Megan said in a hard voice. “And she orchestrated this entire thing—all of it, right back to when Amber was targeting us—to get you.”
That was scary as fuck. Little wonder they hadn’t found her.
Kiyomi told them about the blueprint remark. “Any idea what she was talking about?”
“No,” Amber answered, eyes glittering with suppressed rage. “But I’m gonna find out.”
“Rycroft’s here mopping up the mess,” Trinity said. “He’s started the initial investigation, and we’ll finish it together.”
“Good,” Kiyomi said with a sigh. Her gaze strayed back to Marcus, now standing off to the side of the room behind the others. He was gripping the windowsill behind him, his weight shifted onto his right foot, and there was a slight bulge beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
Alarm jolted through her. “You’re hurt.”
The others looked over at him but he shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“What he means is,” Chloe said in a sardonic tone, “he took two bullets and tore his hip all to shit trying to save you.”
Kiyomi scanned the length of him intently. He’d been wounded trying to save her, and he hadn’t said a thing. “Marcus—”
“I’m fine, love,” he said, putting on a smile as he came toward her, leaning heavily on a cane. His limp was a hobble now, and it tore her up inside. He took her hand and leaned down to kiss her softly. “I’ll be right as rain in no time.”
Someone cleared her throat.
“We’ll give you guys some privacy,” Trinity said, then shooed everyone out. She moved slowly to the door, then paused to smile at them. “You guys need anything—anything—just holler. We won’t be far.”
As soon as the door swung shut Kiyomi focused on Marcus, drinking him in. A beep sounded close to her head, and a moment later, a warm, floating sensation took hold. The pain began to fade, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier.
She grabbed Marcus’s hand. The decrease in pain was awesome, but she didn’t want to lose a moment with Marcus. “I love you.” She needed him to hear it again before she slid under. “Don’t leave.”
He squeezed her hand, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t ever leave you, love. I swear it.”
>
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rycroft was waiting in the hallway when Trinity and the others stepped out of Kiyomi’s room. “Got an update?” Trinity asked him while the others all walked past.
“She’s out of surgery. We’re moving her to a secure facility as soon as she’s out of recovery.”
Might be smarter to move her while she was still unconscious, but that wasn’t Trinity’s call to make. Rycroft was walking a fine line while cooperating with British intelligence and authorities on this matter. “London?”
“Birmingham. How’s Kiyomi?”
“She’s in good spirits. Marcus is keeping watch.”
Rycroft nodded. “I’ve got extra security posted outside and on this floor. You guys staying?”
“At least two of us will be here until she’s released.” Jane Allen—aka Janelle Richards—had been caught but the threat might not be yet over. She might have more soldiers planning an attack. “Think she’s got any others out there, ready to stage a rescue attempt?”
“We’re making sure that doesn’t happen. What did the doctor say about Kiyomi?”
“We can get her released tomorrow if we want. The long-term prognosis isn’t clear yet. It’ll be a few days until we know more, once the swelling and inflammation starts to subside.”
Those intense silver eyes scanned her face. “And what about you? How are you feeling?”
“Sore as hell.” Her entire chest was on fire. They’d bound her ribs with a tensor bandage because there really wasn’t anything else they could do.
She’d refused any opioid meds, wanting to keep her mind clear in case anything happened. And because between the injured ribs and sternum that wouldn’t let her draw a deep breath and the opioid side effect of suppressing the cough reflex, she was wary of developing a respiratory infection.
The extra strength ibuprofen tablets weren’t doing much that she could tell. Every breath hurt. And if she coughed, sneezed or laughed, it was unbearable.
He cracked a grin. “No shit.”
“Yeah.” No one had to tell her how lucky she’d been. The only reason she was still here was because of her vest. If that round had hit her a few inches higher or to the side, she likely would have died from hypovolemic shock from a slug that caliber. “What about the prisoners?” They’d captured two of Jane’s wounded bodyguards.