Chapter 13
Wyatt’s thigh was on fire.
And not metaphorically. A deep burn tore up his hip and down his thigh with every heartbeat. Blood soaked through his coveralls, hot against his chilled skin.
Ahead of him, Jen lay flat on the deck, gasping, rain slicked hair stuck to her face.
But breathing.
Relief hit him harder than the knife wound.
Jen was alive.
She dragged herself upright with a low sound, moving as if everything hurt, and wiped wet hair from her eyes with the heel of her hand. She’d had a clean path to safety, but she’d turned around.
For him.
That wasn’t bravery. It violated every rule that kept people alive.
And yet—it had worked.
“Chief? Chief, is that really you?”
The voice yanked him out of his thoughts.
A young woman hurried toward Jen. Mid-twenties. Auburn curls, eyes red from crying. Terrified, trying to pretend she wasn’t. Had to be Jen’s junior engineer. Caro.
Behind her, the missiles dominated the bay.
Sixteen of them, suspended in steel cradles, halfway between machinery and ritual.
Each one was the length of a city bus, matte black casings scarred with stenciled warnings and serial numbers that meant nothing to the people who would die if they were ever launched.
Their noses vanished upward into the dark, tips lost in shadow.
Wyatt had called in strikes before, put fire on targets that vanished from maps. But this was different. This was violence scaled beyond faces and names—patiently waiting for someone to decide it was time.
“Caro.” Jen’s voice was hoarse. “You’re okay.”
“Me?” Caro burst forward, words tumbling over each other. “You’re covered in blood—both of you! What’s happening out there? The alarms went off, the missile bay locked down, and I couldn’t get a signal to Command and—”
“Caro, breathe.” Jen climbed to her feet and took hold of Caro’s hands. “Terrorists have control of Seven. They’re trying to steal the missiles. We’re going to stop them.”
Caro froze for half a beat, then she squared her shoulders. “Bloody hell and a half.” She scrubbed her hands down her face, then looked over Jen’s shoulder at Wyatt. “First aid kit?”
“Yes. Bring it here.” Jen turned back to him, and her eyes flicked to his leg.
“Jesus, Wyatt. That’s a lot of blood.”
He glanced down. She wasn’t wrong. The orange fabric was soaked through, dark and spreading. “Looks worse than it is.”
“Is that right?” She dropped to her knees in front of him, one eyebrow cocked. “You say that to all the ladies?”
Caro hauled a large white case across the deck.
“Sit.” Jen indicated a stool next to one of the large control panels.
Wyatt did as he was told.
“I’m Caro.” The junior engineer crouched to pass Jen the kit, hands shaking just enough to be noticeable. “Caro Sparks. Junior engineer. From Skye. It’s a Scottish island. Not that it matters, but—” She stopped herself, flushed. “I’m blabbing.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Hardly.”
“Sorry,” she blurted. “I’m slightly terrified. I want to work in ocean research. This was just to pay off the loans.” Her lips pressed together. “That plan worked out just splendid, huh?”
Jen rested a hand on Caro’s forearm. “You’re doing great. Really.” She nodded toward lockers. The far wall. “Do you have any water? Bottled if you have it.”
“On it.” Caro scrambled to her feet, then hurried off.
Jen flipped the first-aid kit open and laid out the contents. Gauze, antiseptic, surgical tape. She squirted antiseptic gel on her hands, rubbed them together, then jerked her chin at his thigh. “Let me see, Wyatt.” Her eyes lifted to his, calm but immovable. “Move your hand.”
He blew out a breath and lifted his hand.
Blood welled up immediately, dark and slick, spreading fast. The blade had bitten shallow, chewing muscle and skin.
“Christ,” Jen breathed.
“It’s fine,” Wyatt said, though the room tilted slightly at the edges.
“It’s not fine.” She pressed gauze to the wound. “Caro, the water?”
“Yup,” came the reply from the other side of the bay.
Jen shifted closer, settling between his knees so she could work properly. “This is going to hurt.”
“Already does.”
“Good.” She tipped the antiseptic bottle. “Then it won’t be a surprise.”
“Is your bedside manner always this reassuring?”
Her eyes stayed on the wound as she poured. “Only when people insist on inaccurate diagnostics.”
Pain detonated through his thigh—a live wire straight into his muscle. His breath hitched hard, his jaw locking down on a sound he refused to give voice to. He tasted iron anyway.
“QuikClot first. Stop the bleeding, then we'll glue you shut. This is going to suck.” She tore open the green-packaged gauze.
“Do it before I change my mind.”
She packed it into the wound fast, pressing down hard. Wyatt arched, a growl trapped in his throat as hot and cold warred inside him.
Fuck.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Stay with me. You’re not going anywhere yet.”
Her hands didn’t falter. She worked fast, fingers sure despite the tremor that had lived in them minutes earlier. Her shakiness had evaporated—replaced by focus.
Sweat chilled his back. “You came back up.”
Her hands paused. “Yeah.”
As if climbing back toward gunfire and open sky had been the most obvious choice in the world.
She reached into her tool belt and pulled out a small tube.
He frowned. “Is that—”
“Cyanoacrylate.” She twisted the cap. “It’ll hold for now if the cut’s clean.”
He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. “You carry superglue for first aid?”
“I carry it for repairs.” Her eyes met his. “You qualify.”
She leaned closer, and this time he felt it everywhere.
The warmth of her body. The brush of her knuckles against his skin as she worked. Even the way her breath caught when she had to press harder to seal the burning edges of his skin. He fought to keep his leg still, to override instinct because recoiling would make it worse—for both of them.
In less than a minute she’d glued him back together, sealing the wound before taping it tight.
He worked his jaw against pain-rigid muscles. “Why, Jen?”
She didn’t look at him. Just kept working. “You needed help.”
“You could’ve made it to safety.”
That made her glance up.
“Without you?” Her eyes held his, clear and unflinching. “No, thanks.”
His chest tightened, heat permeating where it didn’t belong.
Footsteps hurried toward them. Caro returned with water bottles. She dropped beside them and handed one to Wyatt before repacking the first-aid kit. Scared out of her mind, but still functional. Still trying to help, despite the tremor in her hands and the way her breath came too fast.
He’d seen trained operators fold under less pressure.
Jen had hired well.
Wyatt touched her elbow. “Hey. You’re doing fine. Better than fine.”
Caro looked up, blinking back tears. “I don’t feel fine.”
“Most people would’ve curled up in a corner by now.” He kept his voice level. “You’re still standing and helping. That counts.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay. Okay”.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Caro’s eyes lifted.
“You’ve got this, Sparks.”
With a nod, Caro rolled her shoulders back, sniffed, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Right. Sugar’s good for shock, yeah? Let me see if there’s any chocolate in here.”
She moved off, calmer now, searching cabinets.
Wyatt turned his attention back to Jen. Her head tilted.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” But she smiled before returning to his bandage. “Just thank you. For that.”
“For what?”
“Being kind to her.” She tied off the wrap. “She needed it.”
He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “You know climbing back up to me was the bravest or the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jen didn’t look up, her fingers pressing briefly against his thigh to test the tension. “Can’t it be both?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “It can.”
“I think that’ll hold. For now.” She sat back on her heels, surveying her work, and blew out a long breath, his blood staining her hands. “Give me your arm.”
He held it out. The slash was shallow. A defensive wound, the blade had caught on the wrong angle. She cleaned it fast, and wrapped it tight.
“You’re going through my supplies,” she muttered.
“Send me a bill.”
A smile ticked her mouth before she pressed two gel capsules into his palm. “They won’t fix it, but they’ll take the edge off.”
He swallowed them with a swig of water, then drew a breath to recalibrate.
Connection wasn’t in his DNA—training had wiped it from his system—taught him that attachment was weakness, that caring got people killed.
He was what happened when things went wrong.
A weapon with a pulse, too comfortable with violence, too used to being the last line of defense.
She’d seen his scars in engineering control. Seen the proof of who he’d been, what he’d done. And she hadn’t run or looked at him differently. She’d saved him even though she’d seen the violence in him—risked her life to cut through a terrorist’s harness while dangling above the ocean.
She’d chosen risk, and him, when safety had been within reach.
The thought terrified him more than the knife wound had.
But it was there now. Couldn’t be unseen.
What if—
He shut the thought down hard. Some questions didn’t lead anywhere safe. Instead, he forced his attention off Jen and back where it belonged—on the mission, the station, the threat still closing in.
“Here I found these. Not much, but…” Caro handed him an open packet of cookies.
“Thanks.” Wyatt levered one out with his thumb and offered the packet to Jen.
He waited until she ate one before biting into his. Stale and soft, but the sugar hit was welcome.
“So,” Caro said. “What happens now?”
“Now we lock down the missiles.” Jen brushed crumbs off her leg. “Make them impossible to move, even if they breach the bay.”
“Can we do that from here?” Caro asked.
“Yes.” Jen got to her feet . She limped toward the missile control panel. The night was catching up with her. It was visible in every step.
“The manual override’s here.” She leaned on the console with both arms. “I can disable the clamp release mechanism completely. Render the missiles immovable.”
The console dominated the bay, a crescent of reinforced steel and glass set into the deck. Multiple displays glowed in low light. Status lights pulsed green—sixteen missiles, sixteen decisions waiting to be locked down.
“How long?” Wyatt asked.
“Half an hour. Maybe less.”
Wyatt checked his watch. The cargo vessel was inbound. Time was bleeding away. But they were inside the missile bay. Jen was at the controls. Caro was safe. For the first time all night, they were ahead of the threat instead of chasing it.
Wyatt pushed himself up, testing his leg. The pain was insistent but manageable. He shifted his weight, found the balance point where he could move without favoring it too much. Muscle memory from older wounds.
He hobbled to where Jen stood at the terminal, her profile lit by the glow of the screen.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, picking up the M4 where she’d propped it against the console. “For coming back for me.”
She didn’t stop typing. “You already said that.”
“Saying it again.”
Her hands stilled. She looked at him, something gentler in her eyes. “You would’ve done the same.”
“Yeah. But I’m trained for it. You’re not.”
“Maybe,” she said evenly, “I’m tired of letting training decide who gets to be brave.”
A corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it. “You're saying I don’t have a monopoly on courage?”
“I’m saying,” she replied, fingers returning to the keys, “you’re not the only stubborn one here.”
Now he chuckled. “Noted.”
Behind him, Caro was organizing supplies, trying to look busy. Giving them space, maybe. Or just nervous energy. It was hard to tell. The terminal chimed. Status lights shifted from amber to green. “First lockdown sequence complete,” Jen said. “Clamps one through four disabled.”
One down. Fifteen to go.