Chapter 15
The wind outside sounds like sandpaper against the tent, relentlessly scratching with every swift blow. I lie on my cot, eyes wide open, staring at the canvas ceiling as the wind pushes against it in slow, billowing waves.
It’s been hours of blissful silence. The guys are outside, making arrangements for tomorrow’s departure, leaving me to keep an eye on Reese.
Their absence gives the tent an unnatural stillness, broken only by the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing.
Even her usual restless sighs have quieted into something gentle, almost peaceful.
Sleep that tranquil won’t be coming for me.
Not tonight. There’s a twist in my gut I can’t shake—an itch of intuition that refuses to be ignored.
Reese’s little stunt the other day isn’t doing my nerves any favors, either.
She may not have gotten far before I caught up with her, but the damage was done.
She had to log her attempted detour with the operations hub to request an escort.
Now they know she saw something. Worse: they know she’s interested enough to go back.
The wind gusts hard. But it isn’t the groan of the tent or the creak of someone’s cot that catches my attention.
Over the sandstorm, the soft, slow rip of fabric is barely audible, yet it booms through the tent like an alarm.
The sound comes again, slower this time, followed by the whisper of boots against sand.
Someone is determined enough to be cutting through the back of the tent again.
Moving silently, I stand from the cot in one fluid motion, sidearm in hand, with my breath locked tight in my chest. A final slice, and the flap peels back, just enough for a figure to slip through.
In the dim light. He’s nothing more than a tall, broad-shouldered shadow He moves with purpose, straight toward the cot in the rear corner. Straight toward Reese.
He’s only two steps from her when I fire a shot, too quiet through the silencer to wake those nearby.
It tears through his bicep with a pained and startled hiss.
As he rushes toward me, I surge forward, hitting him side-on with my full weight.
He crashes to the ground, hard. A grunt tears from his throat as he lands on the bullet wound, but he quickly clambers to his feet, knocking over a stool and pulling Reese’s blanket from her cot.
The knife in his hand glints faintly in the dark.
He lunges, fast. Faster than I expect. I dodge it just in time, the blade slicing past my shoulder and snagging the edge of my shirt.
I swing my gun, landing the butt of my pistol on his wrist. The crunch of bone echoes around the tent as his knife clatters to the floor at our feet.
He snarls and punches upward, catching me under the jaw.
My head jerks back, stars exploding behind my eyes.
Swinging again, I’m knocked off balance.
Lunging at me, he uses the moment of weakness to bring me to the floor.
We hit with a thud, my gun dropping from my grip and clanking across the floor.
He rushes on top of me, pinning my arms with his knees and scrambling to grab for the knife.
I twist, using the momentum to roll us over.
He grunts but doesn’t stop fighting. His elbow hammers into my side as he shields his face from my fist. He catches my wrist and shoves back.
We fight for control, locked in a brutal stalemate.
His thumb presses into my eye socket, and my white-hot pain explodes across my vision.
I slam my forearm into his throat, restraining him, and drive my other hand toward his face. My knuckles split on his cheekbone, blood splattering over the two of us. We roll again, closer to the wall of the tent. He pushes me away from him. I reach for him, but my grip slips on his bloodied arm.
His knees drive into my side, and I wince as the wind blows from my lungs. He shoves me from him, scrambling across the floor for my gun. As I race to catch him, my hands and knees scrape across the floor.
He raises the gun. Not at me, but at Reese.
I dive at him, the two of us landing across her cot.
I don’t think, lifting the knife on sheer instinct.
The steel sinks deep as I drive the blade into his back.
Once. Twice. A wet gurgle rises from him as screams billow from Reese.
The man’s body jerks beneath me, but I don’t stop.
The only way I can guarantee he can’t hurt Reese is if he isn’t breathing.
I grab him by the collar, tearing his head backward and plunging the knife into the crook of his neck. Blood spills from the wound, splattering across the cot beneath him. His breathing slows until he goes still, then limp, beneath me.
My chest heaves as I stand, pulling him with me and dropping him to the floor. I release the crimson-slicked blade, letting it clatter to the ground beside him. My hands are stained, and my shirt sticks to my skin where it’s soaked through with his blood.
Gunnar bursts into the tent with his pistol drawn. Hastily, his eyes rake over the room, checking for threats and assessing the damage. “I heard her screams,” he blurts, his tone softening as his eyes reach Reese. He stands beside her cot silently, breathing heavy, his dark eyes suddenly grim.
She is sitting at the head of the cot, her knees tucked to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them.
Her pale face is speckled with blood. His blood.
It drips down her cheek as she stares up at me through tear-dampened lashes.
She is a mess. Her blonde hair is splattered red, and her pajama shirt is soaked through with him.
I take a step toward her, and she flinches, causing me to stop cold. “Reese,” I whisper softly. “It’s over. He’s dead.”
She looks up at me, nodding like she hears the words, but doesn’t believe me. “I’m okay,” she mumbles, but it’s a lie. Her voice trembles as her eyes flick to the body on the floor, then away. “I… I didn’t… He was just there.”
“I know.” I look down at the man. He lies face down in a puddle of blood already seeping into the plywood floor. Turning my attention back to Reese, I promise, “You’re okay.”
Still, she stares past me.
I kneel slowly in front of her. “Can I?” I outstretch my hand to take hers, waiting for permission. She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t pull away or tense when I move closer and take her hand in mine. “You’re safe, baby.”