Chapter 5
Coop
I’d been up most of the night trying to formulate a plan for getting Mia out. Every scenario had fatal flaws, every escape route had variables that could get her killed.
What I’d told her last night was true—the best bet was when we went into town.
The guys drank hard and got sloppy at the bars.
Maybe this time I’d actually “drink” with them like they were always asking, play the part of inebriated Coop who wouldn’t be watching Mia the way he should. She could slip away in the chaos.
If we even got that chance.
At 0700, the compound was dead quiet. These men never got up early—no discipline left from whatever military service they claimed. Diesel would sleep until noon if nobody kicked his door. Tommy rarely surfaced before ten. Even Snake, paranoid as he was, allowed himself late mornings.
Their lack of discipline was my advantage. Early morning hours were when I’d been able to get the most law enforcement work done—encrypted check-ins, evidence documentation, surveillance photos. All while they slept off their hangovers and bad decisions.
I eased out of bed, careful not to wake Mia. Her sleep hadn’t been gentle, not that anyone could blame her for that. Even unconscious, her body stayed tense, ready to bolt. Every time I’d looked at those scratches on her arms and neck, I wanted to throw up.
I made it to the door and opened it silently—I’d oiled the hinges my second day here. The hallway floorboards had their own language—third board creaked like a dying cat, fifth board groaned under any weight. I’d memorized the pattern weeks ago. My bare feet found the silent spots automatically.
The kitchen was exactly what you’d expect from men who’d given up.
Empty beer bottles lined the counter, pizza boxes towered in the corner, and Diesel’s ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts.
The fridge held mostly beer and questionable leftovers.
I grabbed what I could—bread that wasn’t moldy, peanut butter, a couple of soft apples.
Not much, but Mia would need the calories after yesterday’s trauma.
When I got back to the room, she was awake. Sitting up in bed with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was holding herself together.
“Breakfast,” I said, setting the food on the small table by the dresser. “Such as it is.”
She didn’t move at first, just watched me with those honey-brown eyes that used to look at me with adoration. Now they held wariness, exhaustion, and something else—resignation, maybe.
I hadn’t let myself dwell on the fact that I’d just spent the night lying next to her in bed, something I never thought I’d have a chance to do again. The last time had been a lifetime ago—before that final deployment, before everything went wrong, before I became someone too dangerous to love.
“You need to eat,” I said when she still hadn’t moved.
She unfolded slowly, like her muscles had forgotten how to work properly. Made her way to the table and sat down, pulling the chair as far from mine as the small space allowed.
She was obviously still in shock from everything that had happened—kidnapped, held at gunpoint, shoved into a closet until she clawed her own skin bloody. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been photographing an abandoned barn. Now she was trapped in a compound with men who’d kill her without blinking.
And here I was, the person who was supposed to protect her.
The same person who’d left her six years ago without explanation.
One day, I’d been there, talking about our future, looking at houses online when she wasn’t watching.
The next day, I was gone—no forwarding address, no real explanation. Just gone.
She didn’t know why. Didn’t know about Matthews’s eyes going empty in my hands while his blood turned the Afghan dirt to mud. Didn’t know I’d come back with sharp edges where soft parts used to be. She deserved someone whole, not whatever I’d become.
“It’s not poisoned,” I said when she just stared at the food.
“I know.” Her voice was rough from sleep and yesterday’s screaming. She picked up an apple, took a small bite. “Thank you.”
We ate in silence, the peanut butter thick and hard to swallow.
“I’ll talk to the guys when they wake up,” I said, keeping my voice low even though I could still hear Diesel’s snoring through the walls. “See if I can talk them into going into town tonight or tomorrow night. If you can just hang on, I’ll make sure you get out of this.”
I wanted her safely away from here more than I wanted my next breath, but I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t tell her that every moment since I’d left had been an exercise in existing rather than living.
Instead, I was going to soak in being around her while I could, memorize the way morning light caught in her hair, the determined set of her jaw when she was trying to be brave. Store up these moments for the long, empty years ahead after she got away.
“Finish eating,” I said instead of answering. “You’ll need your strength.”
Through the walls, a toilet flushed. Tommy, based on the stumbling footsteps that followed. Then Diesel’s door opened, his heavy tread making the whole building groan. They were starting to stir.
Mia glanced at the door, her face losing color like someone had pulled a plug. The apple slipped from her fingers, rolling across the scarred wood floor with a hollow sound that seemed too loud. A tear tracked down her cheek before she could stop it.
“Please don’t put me back in the closet.”
The words came out broken, each one shaking. She pressed her palms against her eyes, shoulders trembling. “I know I need to scream again, I know they expect it, but please—I wouldn’t be able to stand it. Not again. Please.”
I stared at the evidence of yesterday’s panic etched into her skin—the raised welts on her neck where she’d clawed at herself.
“I won’t,” I said fiercely. “I promise. Never again.”
She lowered her hands, hope and disbelief warring in her expression.
But I knew I couldn’t allow it to be too quiet and peaceful in here either. Snake would notice. Snake always noticed. If Coop suddenly went soft on his new toy, questions would be asked. Questions answered with bullets.
“But we need to make some noise,” I said, moving closer to her. “Different kind of noise.”
Her whole body went rigid.
“Self-defense moves,” I clarified quickly. “I’m going to teach you some things, and we’re not going to be gentle about it. Let them think what they want to think.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes—relief mixed with dread. I pulled her to her feet, positioning her in the center of the room.
“First lesson,” I whispered, hyperaware of Snake’s footsteps in the hall. “Go for the eyes.” I demonstrated the motion, fingers forming a V. “Doesn’t matter how big they are, nobody can fight blind.”
I guided her through the motion, then had her try it on me, pulling the strike at the last second. “Harder. Like your life depends on it.”
She tried again, more force this time, and I saw something shift in her expression—not quite confidence, but the beginning of it.
“Throat,” I whispered softly, showing her the precise point. “Or solar plexus if you can reach it. Instep if they’re close.” I grabbed her wrist suddenly, watched her flinch, then showed her how to break the hold. “Twist against the thumb—it’s the weakest point. Use your whole body.”
We moved through the basics, and I didn’t hold back on the contact. When she practiced breaking free from my grip, I let her momentum carry her into the wall with a thud that rattled the cheap mirror. Same for when I showed her how to use her weight against an attacker.
“Knee to the groin,” I instructed, and she brought her knee up fast, stopping just short. The motion carried her backward, and I caught her, swung her around, let her back hit the wall again. Another thud. “Good. But follow through. Always follow through.”
The sounds carried through the thin walls. I knew exactly what it sounded like to the guys—like I was throwing her around, establishing dominance. The thought made bile rise in my throat, but it kept us both breathing.
“If someone grabs you from behind—” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her back against my chest. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
I could feel her pulse racing against my forearm, quick but steady.
The vanilla scent that still clung to her hair made my chest tight with memory.
“Stomp the instep, elbow to the ribs, head back to break the nose. All at once.”
She went through the motions, her elbow connecting with my ribs harder than expected. I grunted, genuinely winded.
“Good,” I wheezed. “Again. Harder.”
We were in the middle of another escape maneuver—her twisting out of a hold, using momentum to break free—when footsteps stopped right outside the door. Not passing by like before. Stopping.
Three sharp knocks cut through the room. Snake’s signature.
Shit. He was checking on us. Making sure I was doing what I’d claimed I’d be doing. The room needed to tell the right story—her shirt off, bathroom door cracked, me looking like I’d been interrupted mid-act.
“Shirt,” I hissed, already moving toward the door. “Take it off. Now.”
Her eyes widened, but she understood immediately, yanking her shirt over her head, leaving her in just her bra. The morning light was cruel on the marks covering her arms.
“Bathroom. Go. Pretend like you’re taking a shower.”
She ran for the bathroom, pausing briefly before stumbling inside, closing the door most of the way but leaving it cracked. I grabbed her discarded shirt, tossed it on the bed where Snake would see it, then opened the door.
The other man stood there in yesterday’s clothes that reeked of cigarettes and stale beer, a fresh smoke already dangling from his lips. His eyes did a quick tactical assessment—the rumpled bed, her shirt, the bathroom door ajar. His mouth twisted into something predatory.
“Sounds like you’re having fun in here.”