Chapter Four #2
“We’ll find the girl, make her pay, and the asshole you sent that email to? He’ll pay as well.”
They knew, they fucking knew about Ricky. How in the hell?
“You hurt either of them,” he slurred, forcing the words past split lips. “And I’ll fucking end you.” As threats went, it was pretty weak considering his current position, condition, and the fact that he was probably only minutes away from death, but, hey, it made him feel good just to say it.
The man didn’t answer. Just stepped back and wiped his hands like Ezra was already a finished job. The room emptied slowly. Boots shuffled. Metal creaked. Then silence.
Ezra hung there—arms trembling, breath hitching—bleeding and forgotten.
Determined to hold on to consciousness in the throbbing stillness, he thought of Ricky.
He remembered that night so vividly—skin warm, hands slow and careful.
The way Ricky had looked at him like he mattered.
Like Ezra wasn’t a ghost. Wasn’t broken.
Wasn’t too far gone. He should’ve stayed.
Should’ve said the words before fear drove him away.
Before silence became his shield and Ricky became another regret.
His biggest regret. He never should have walked away from him without talking with him first.
Now... Now he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance.
He let his head fall forward, consciousness slipping like water through cracked fingers. The last thought that anchored him? I hope he got the message.
He had no idea how long after he passed out that the gunfire woke him.
At first, it sounded like memory—distant, blurred, half-formed. But then it built. Sharp cracks echoed down concrete corridors. Rifles. Boots thundered across the ground in waves, not panic but precision. Movement with intent. Sweep and clear.
Ezra’s vision stuttered, his head lolling forward under its own weight. Everything burned. His side screamed with each breath. But the cadence of those voices—shouting down the hall—cut through the fog like a blade.
“Clear left!”
“Contact rear!”
“Sweep clear!”
Ricky.
That one was Ricky’s voice. He was kinda glad that he would die with his lover’s voice clear in his mind.
The door exploded off its hinges. The world shattered around it. Tactical entry—staggered formation, rifles first, eyes scanning every angle.
He knew that pattern.
Knew the people in it.
Bateman moved like a hammer—calculated, deliberate. Marsh flanked the far wall, rifle drawn and gaze sharp. Dale swept behind, muttering something low and vicious to himself. Hogan covered the rear, eyes flicking for threats.
Then—Ricky.
He was the last to enter, but the first to break rank.
“Ez!” he called out, voice ragged, relief and fury all braided together.
The chain around Ezra’s wrist clanked as Ricky grabbed it, jammed something into the lock, and popped it open. The moment it gave, Ezra pitched forward.
Ricky caught him. Arms wrapped tight around his back, one hand cradling the back of his skull like he might fall apart if he didn’t hold on.
“You okay?” Ricky asked, breath hitching. “Shut up, don’t answer. Just hold on.”
Ezra managed a breath—half air, half pain. “You found me...”
“Of course I did,” Ricky whispered.
Behind him, Marsh moved with purpose. “Morphine’s coming in three, two—got him.”
A burn traced Ezra’s arm—sharp, then dull. Something cold seeped into him. The pain didn’t go, but it blurred.
Bateman crouched beside him, voice clipped. “Still breathing. You stubborn bastard.”
Ezra coughed a little, head rolling toward him. “You’re gonna kick my ass...”
Bateman smirked. “Damn straight.”
Ezra gave a dry laugh, lips barely moving. “But Ricky first.”
“You earned it,” Ricky muttered, brushing bloody hair off Ezra’s forehead. “Every mile of this, you earned.”
Ezra’s vision dimmed again, but something lodged behind his sternum wouldn’t let go. Not yet. He turned his head slightly, eyes locking with Ricky’s. “She is real,” he said. “The girl. Van’s daughter.”
“I know.”
“I thought if I could bring her home...” His throat worked, ragged with guilt. “Maybe it would matter. Maybe leaving wouldn’t hurt so bad.”
Ricky swallowed. “It mattered, Ezra.”
A beat of silence.
Then Ezra said it. Quiet. Barely a whisper.
“You were my biggest regret.”
Ricky’s breath caught. Just for a second, and pain filtered across his handsome face. Ezra frowned, no, he wasn’t supposed to be sad. That wasn’t supposed to make him sad.
Behind them, Dale barked into comms. “LZ is secure. Bird’s in five.”
Bateman stood. “Get him on the stretcher. Move.”
Marsh and Hogan lifted him, careful but efficient, securing the bindings with silent coordination. As they carried him toward the exit, Ezra’s eyes stayed locked on Ricky’s.
“We are getting you out of here,” Ricky said, walking beside him.
“Not unless you’re coming with me,” Ezra rasped, a faint smile touching his mouth.
“Huh,” Marsh snorted. “Romance at extraction. Cute.”
Dale smirked. “I give it two weeks before they start making out on recon.”
“Shut up, Dale,” Ricky and Marsh said in unison.
Bateman leaned down as the team reached the doors, the thrum of rotors rising outside. “I’m gonna tear you a new one once you’re patched up,” he said.
Ezra grinned weakly. “If it will mean that I’m still alive, then I am looking forward to it.”
The sedative hit full force then, dragging him under. As the world dimmed, Ezra looked up one last time.
Ricky’s face. Eyes wet, jaw set. Ezra’s final thought before blackness took him was simple, and it didn’t hurt anymore.
He came for me.