Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
My eyes snap open to blinding sunlight. The throbbing pain in my arm and leg hits first, then a vicious, pounding ache in my head that makes my vision swim.
I've gotten used to waking up in the bungalow.
Naomi and the Mexican morning sun make it glow.
But now it's transformed. Blood-stained walls and what I think is the setting sun make the inside walls as red as hell.
I pull myself up against the wall, biting back a scream as my wounds protest and the shattered glass covering the ground scrapes my hands. The cartel men lie exactly where they fell.
But Naomi is gone.
I failed her.
My eyes drift to the little stove where she stood just hours ago, cooking breakfast in my shirt. The table where we'd shared meals, made plans, and laughed. The damn bed where I'd held her, thinking I could keep the world at bay with nothing but my arms.
What a fucking lie.
We were playing house. Playing at being a normal couple with normal problems. I should've known better. Men like me don't get happy endings. We don't get to walk away from what we've done.
I drag myself toward my pack, leaving a smear of blood behind me. Every inch is agony, but I've felt worse. Physical pain is nothing compared to the hollow space in my chest.
We should have kept moving. Should have stayed on the run. But I got complacent and comfortable. Worse, I believed for a moment that I could have had heaven with her. That I deserved it.
I don't. I never did.
I'm a demon who deserves eternal damnation, and I dragged an angel down with me. But I guess my punishment isn't death. It's living with the knowledge that Naomi is in Logan's hands because of me.
I hear a faint sound outside the bungalow.
I whirl around and raise my weapon before my brain has even processed the situation.
Pain screams through my injured arm, but sudden adrenaline holds it at bay.
My vision’s hazy, but my aim doesn't waver.
The process is automatic, like breathing.
Acquiring the target. Finger hovering near the trigger.
A tall figure appears in the doorway, his own weapon drawn. But he immediately raises his hands, gun pointed skyward.
"Whoa—"
I take my finger off the trigger and squint. Through the blood loss and possible concussion, I can't be sure if what I'm seeing is real. "Static?"
He nods, and there's no mistaking him now. Static hasn't aged a day since I last saw him. He's nearly as tall as me but not as thick. All wiry muscle. His hair is still nearly shaven, and he still wears those same thick black glasses, arms covered in tattoo sleeves.
"What are you doing here?" My voice sounds like gravel being crushed.
"I came to help." Static scans the room, his eyes cataloging the carnage. Cold, like a computer. "Couldn't figure out how to get the two of you across the border with all the heightened activity. I thought I could get the evidence where it needed to go."
I look down at my blood-soaked clothes, the reality of my failure washing over me again. "It doesn't matter now."
Static steps carefully around the bodies. "They took her?"
I nod, not even looking at him. "Logan."
Static’s face is still a mask. No trace of his usual sarcastic humor.
"Come on, let's get you patched up." Static moves toward me, holstering his weapon and sliding his shoulder under my good arm.
I try to push him away. "I need you to find Naomi. I need to—"
"You're no good to her dead, Walker."
I don’t respond, but I do let him support me as I hobble over to the bed. I drop down on it with a grunt. Static cuts away my blood-soaked shirt. My body is already repairing itself, but it’s still necessary to dress these wounds.
"I should have had the guts to kill him. Not just leave him in Barakesh," I mutter.
Static doesn't look up from his work. "That’s not you.”
My look at him is sharp. “Ain’t it? Killing is what we do.”
Static doesn’t say anything as he bandages my arm and moves to my leg. What can he say? His hands might not have quite as much blood on them as mine do, but it’s enough.
"I thought I could run. Thought I could sequester myself away, and I wouldn't harm anyone or poison the world. But then she came into my life..."
I trail off, remembering the first moment I saw her in the woods, terrified but determined. How her courage had never wavered through everything we faced together.
"I could tell something was going on between you two, even through all the tech and distance.” Static watches me quietly, his fingers methodically repacking his medical kit. “But I'm guessing I don't know the half of it."
"I love her, Wes." The words are still strange on my tongue. Not because I don’t mean them, but because I don’t deserve to say them.
"Well, it must be serious if you're using my government name." Static's lips quirk upward, but his eyes and tone remain serious.
"I didn't think I could anymore. But I do." I push myself up straighter, ignoring the fresh wave of pain. The enhanced healing is already working, but it'll take some time before I'm anything close to operational.
Static sits back and sighs when he's done. "What are you going to do?"
The image of Logan's face flashes before me. That sick smile as he dragged Naomi away. He thinks he's won, that he's finally found my weakness. He's right, but he underestimates what that means.
I shake my head slowly. "I tried doing it the right way. Her way. She believed that you could fight this war the noble way. Use the system to bring justice. But they are the system. And there is no justice."
Static sits perfectly still, watching me. We both know what we’re capable of. What we were made to do. The havoc we can wreak when we're unleashed. There's a reason the government buried Project Guardian and let us scatter to the winds.
"So I'll ask again. What are you going to do?" Static’s voice is quiet, but there's steel underneath.
I meet his gaze. "What I was made to do.” I grit my teeth. And the monster inside writhes and growls and gnashes its teeth. “I'm going to war."
Static doesn't flinch. Doesn't try to talk me down. He just nods once, accepting what's to come.
"How can I help?" Static asks.
"This isn't your fight." I turn away from him, fighting against the pain radiating through my body as I pull myself to my feet.
Static's laugh is bitter. "You think you're the only one who's been running? The only one with nightmares?"
I watch his profile against the rapidly fading sunlight. He does look the same, but there is something different in his eyes: a weariness that goes beyond physical exhaustion.
"I thought I could disappear, too. Easier for me. I’ve always loved the digital world more than the real one," Static looks down at his hands. "But we weren’t really hiding from the world, were we? We were trying to hide from ourselves."
I don’t say anything. Because what can I say?
"Barakesh wasn't just on Logan. Or you. Or any of the other stuff we did. It was on all of us. So how can I help?”
"I'm going to destroy El Centinela," I say, the plan crystallizing as I speak it. "I'll need weapons."
Static doesn't hesitate. "Done."
"And I want you to send a message to Isla Graves. Let her know that I'm coming."
Static furrows his brow. "Why? You’ll give up a tactical advantage that way."
I shake my head, feeling cold clarity washing through me. "I want it to be fortified. I want them to expect me." I turn to face him. "So when I destroy it anyway, she'll know that there's no way to stop me from getting Naomi back."
Static studies me for a long moment.
I run my hands over my face, hand scraping beard. "If I do this, I'll lose what's left of my soul. And I won’t have any chance of being with her. But she’ll be safe.”
Static shakes his head. "El Centinela is an evil place. It deserves to be destroyed. It's not the same as Barakesh."
"Maybe not. But I can't imagine that all those people don't have loved ones." I move to the window, pain shooting through my leg with each step. "Parents. Siblings. Maybe children somewhere."
"They're perpetuating evil," Static counters, stepping closer. "Human trafficking, drug running, weapons. The place exists to fund the worst kinds of human suffering."
"Isn't that what we did?" I turn to face him, the irony bitter on my tongue. "The people who gave us orders weren't all that different from the people we're up against."
"It’s not the same thing.”
"Isn't it?" I look down at my hands. They’re covered in blood. Aren’t they always. "We told ourselves we were the good guys. That the people we killed deserved it. That the collateral damage was unfortunate but necessary.” I turn back and look at Static. “How are we different from them?”
Static doesn't answer for some time. "I don't know," he finally admits.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I say firmly.
"I was fooling myself that I deserved her.
That I could just walk away from what I've done, what I am.
" I meet Static's gaze, unflinching. "I don’t care if I lose whatever humanity I have left.
I'd sacrifice my life and my chance to be with her to save her. "
Saying it aloud makes it real: the terrible bargain I'm making. The last scraps of redemption I've clung to, traded for her life. But there's relief in it too, a clarity that burns like antiseptic.
Static studies me for a long moment. "You really do love her."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "More than I thought I was capable of."
Static nods once, decision made. "Then let's go to war."
Outside, clouds gather on the horizon, dark and ominous. A storm is coming. And so am I.