Chapter 4 #2
She managed three steps back and to the side.
To put the chairs between her and the two men standing in the doorway, staring at her, before she’d used up whatever reserves she had.
It was crazy. She hadn’t gone a total of more than five feet, and she knew she was going to fall.
Maybe hit one of the chairs on the way down.
And that would be it. Game over. Completely at their mercy.
Hands. On her arms, tugging her against a chest. A thick, heavily muscled one that smelled like the pillow.
Sandalwood and pine. She didn’t remember seeing the guy move—get from the door to standing in front of her.
Hadn’t heard a sound, a breath, a damn creak of the floor before he was just there. Holding her.
Ellis tried to lift her arms—wrap that belt around the guy’s neck—but nothing was getting through. The leather hanging limp against her waist.
“Jesus Christ, Ellis, are you trying to kill yourself? And why the hell are you holding my belt? Shit, you’re bleeding, again. Ice! Man, I think she pulled out some stitches.”
Her name. He’d called her by name. And not formally. As if he knew her. Intimately.
She managed to finally look up when he lifted her in his arms—placed her back on the bed. Familiar blue eyes. All that blond hair.
She touched his cheek, smiling at the rough stubble beneath her fingertips. “Brett? But…”
No, it couldn’t be. He was…gone.
A chuckle. The one she sometimes heard in her dreams. “Trust me. No one was more surprised than me when you stumbled through the door. But yeah, El, it’s me. So, stop trying to bust out of here, okay? You’re safe.”
“Safe?” She shook her head. He was wrong. They’d come looking for her. They’d hurt him, they’d…
A gentle finger over her lips. “Stop. No one is going to get to you, here. And we’re not going to get killed before you’re strong enough to talk. Promise.”
He moved aside when an even larger guy appeared beside him. Strong. Unyielding.
The guy smiled. “Hey, Ellis. Russel. Russel Foster, but you might remember me as Ice. We met a few times back in the day. Have to say, you’re not being a very good patient, honey.
Pulling out some stitches. Trying to walk out of here.
And were you planning on strangling us with that belt?
Sheesh, girl, you’ve changed. Now, do me a favor, and stay still until your body has healed a bit.
I’ll tape and glue your wound for now, since the last thing you need is me jabbing a needle in your side, but…
You gotta promise me you’ll rest, okay?”
She must have nodded because Ice’s gaze softened, and he grunted as if she’d pleased him on some primal level. There was some tugging on her ribs. Not overly harsh, but enough she inhaled—closed her eyes. Ice was gone when she managed to open them, again. Focus on the chairs beside the bed.
Brett was sitting in one. Cannon the other. They were talking. Low. Quiet voices that didn’t travel—nothing more than hushed murmurs. Had she spoken? Groaned? Because they just stopped and looked at her. Wary gazes taking her in.
Were they angry that she’d crash-landed on their doorstep?
They should be. Men had fired at them. Tried to kill them.
Though, she’d been right. It had been a normal occurrence for them back when they were with Delta.
Elite soldiers who didn’t blink at gunfire.
At bombs exploding next to them. Bullets ricocheting off walls beside their heads.
So, a couple of armed CIA spooks shooting from a damn Suburban probably hadn’t fazed them.
Still, she hadn’t exactly left on good terms. At least, she assumed she hadn’t.
Her boss had sent Brett some kind of letter.
Ellis could only imagine what it had said.
What reason the guy had given Brett for her sudden change of heart.
What had been so convincing, so scathing, that he hadn’t questioned it?
Hadn’t once tried to contact her. God, she must have hurt him.
Because it had hurt her. Gutted her, in fact.
If she’d thought, for one second, he’d have taken her back, she might have fought the reassignment.
But…she’d screwed up. Gotten herself in too deep to back out without landing in some secret black ops jail site.
A far worse fate than how her life had played out over the past few years.
And if she’d tried to involve Brett, his friends, they would have disappeared right alongside her.
Brett tsked, leaning forward. “I’m sure this is all confusing. You probably don’t even remember how you got here. What happened. Just…trust us enough to keep you safe. At least for a few days, okay? Then…we’ll talk.”
That tone. When he’d said “they’d talk”. Had she only imagined the underlying tension? That he meant they’d talk about more than just the current situation? That he had unresolved questions about them?
It was too much. The pain. The exhaustion. The weight of his stare. His and Cannon’s. It pushed down on her. Drew her under until the room faded, and she drifted off to the press of his hand in hers. The echoed murmur of her name.