Chapter 33
I wake to shouting. Not in the distance, but close enough that the hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end. The door behind me blows open—literally—and the metal screams as it’s torn off its hinges. Lights and smoke fill the tiny room as the deafening sound reverberates off the concrete walls.
Through the haze, I barely make out two silhouettes storming into the room. I close my eyes and shake my head, thinking I’m hallucinating. “Reese,” Chris calls out through the dark, and I’m certain my head injury might be more than a concussion.
“Clear,” a deep voice shouts from immediately behind me, and I snap my eyes open. I crane my neck, trying to look behind me.
“Chris?” I rasp, but it’s barely a sound as it leaves my mouth.
He steps through the dissipating smoke and drops to his knees before me. “Oh, baby…” he exhales, and the anguish in his tone nearly breaks me. His eyes grow more pained with every second that they roam over my face.
“Oh God… Chris.” I suck in a sob, realizing that he’s not a hallucination.
“Shhhh.” He tenderly cups my cheek, the pad of his thumb trembling as he touches me like I might break. His eyes are glassy, and the side of his face is a mottled mess of berry-colored bruises.
“Target secured,” Jagger radios behind me.
The zip ties behind my hand pop when Jagger slices through them with a sharp blade.
Blood rushes back to my hands painfully, and I wince as I flex my fingers.
Freed from my bindings, I collapse against him and cry into his neck.
All the fear that has been holding me together pours from me uncontrollably.
“You’re okay, baby. Daddy’s here.” He tightens his hold around me, and I hug him back as we both rise shakily to our feet. He groans softly, his whole body shuddering with the effort of holding me. I jerk back in alarm.
“Chris?” I carefully run my hand along his side.
“It’s nothing,” he grits, forcing a ghost of a smile even as pain flares behind his eyes. “I’d take a lot worse to feel you in my arms again.”
Gunfire cracks like fireworks in the distance.
“We gotta move,” Jagger insists, barking the order while listening to his earpiece. “Mattis said the cavalry is coming.”
“Let’s get you the hell out of here,” Chris murmurs, scooping an arm under my knees before I can protest. I yelp, gripping his vest. He hisses through clenched teeth, trying to lift me anyway, and his knees nearly buckle.
“Hawk. Stop,” Jagger insists. “You’ve got cracked ribs and a bum shoulder. You can’t carry her.”
“I’m fine,” Chris lies, his voice still shaking with pain. “I’m getting her out of here.”
“I’ll get her.” Jagger steps close to me, but his eyes stay locked on the door. “It’ll be faster this way.” Chris gives a single nod, begrudgingly. Without hesitation, Jagger dips at the knee and scoops me into his arms with ease.
“Easy!” I exclaim when his fingers tighten around a tender spot on my thigh.
Hawk raises his rifle, trained at the threshold for whatever waits on the other side.
“Tie up the reunion.” I vaguely catch Damon’s voice in Jagger’s ear. “It’s getting dicey up here.”
“Hold tight.” Jagger jostles me slightly to adjust his hold. “Keep your eyes closed and face tight to my vest. Understood.” I wrap my arms tighter around his neck and nod my agreement. He carries me along the hall and up a flight of steps, the sounds of chaos growing closer as we reach the exit.
“Move!” Gunnar shouts as we step into the fresh air, gunfire rattling around us like we just stepped into the middle of a war zone.
The shots light up the dark sky like fireflies as the five of us retreat toward the ridge.
We crest it and rush toward an awaiting Humvee.
Damon slides behind the wheel, and Gunnar takes the seat beside him.
Jagger climbs into the rear with me still cradled in his arms.
“Go!” Chris barks the order, and the truck lurches forward before he’s fully closed his door. Sweat glistens on his temple, and he looks completely spent.
I climb from Jagger’s lap and into Chris’s when he reaches his arm toward me. He grimaces as I curl into him, my touch clearly painful. “You shouldn’t have come,” I whisper, realizing just how injured he is.
“Baby”—he turns his head slowly, and I’m met with his dark, intense stare—“there was no version of this where I didn’t come for you.”
The conviction in his tone makes my throat close up. I look down at my trembling hands and the bruises turning sickly shades of purple across my wrists. “I thought you—”
“I know,” he says quietly, cutting me off. He pulls my head against his chest and presses his lips to my forehead. “So did I.”
We ride in near silence into the vast desert. The only chatter comes from the guys ensuring each other is okay, and a short phone call Gunnar makes to Abby.
When we finally slow, I lift my head from Chris’s chest and glance out the window. A sleek, private plane waits on a narrow strip of asphalt, the engines already whirring as we pull to a stop.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice thin.
“Our way out.” Chris opens the door, easing me first from his lap and then from the Humvee. When he steps out, he hisses under his breath before turning and extending his hand to me. “Come on.”
“No.” I shake my head, knowing I had agreed not too long ago. “After this… There has to be more to this story.”
“After this?” He laughs once, bitterly. “Fucking look at you.” His tone is as broken as his eyes.
“You’re so battered and bruised you can barely open your eye.
I’m not losing you here. You get on that plane willingly or kicking and screaming, but you are getting on that fucking plane.
You can finish your story. We’ll help you.
But you’re going to do it from my home.”
Stunned, I blink at him. “Your home?”
He steps closer, his shadow falling over me, his hand trembling as he brushes a thumb over the cut on my lip. “I mean it, Reese. You’re safe there. I can’t protect you if you stay in this hellhole. And I’ve already lost ten years with you. I refuse to lose the rest of our lives.”
I shake my head, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. “You can’t even stand up straight, Chris. You should be in a hospital, not smuggling me onto a plane.”
“Then don’t make me.” His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. When I hesitate, he cups my face again, his hands trembling. “Baby… please. Don’t make me drag you.”
I nod, emotion blurring my vision. Wrapping an arm around me, he leads me up the steps to the plane. Every movement costs him. I can see the way his jaw locks and the wincing he is trying to hide from me.
Inside, cool air hums from the vents. For the first time in what feels like forever, clean oxygen enters my lungs instead of dust and rot. Hawk helps me into a seat, then drops into the one beside me, his body sinking, like he’s finally allowed to relax.
The engines whir louder. Through the window, the base disappears into heated shimmer and sand. My heart twists—part of me terrified to leave and part of me desperate to be out of danger.
We don’t speak as the plane starts to taxi. I study him instead, unable to pull my gaze from his. His hands shake slightly when he exhales, a faint tremor that runs through him when he thinks I’m not looking. Every ounce of pain written into his posture is a testament to how far he came to save me.
As the wheels lurch the aircraft down the short runway, I reach across the armrest and take his hand. It’s rough and warm. I run my fingers over the calloused skin beneath my fingers. He flinches a little, then squeezes back.
Outside, the desert falls away beneath us. I close my eyes, the roar of the engines drowning everything out. For the first time since this all started, I let myself believe I might survive this. We might survive this.