Chapter 50 Ghost
GHOST
“KEEP MOVING, DOC.”
The hallway lights flicker to red. A pulsing alarm stays silent, but the ceiling strobes like we’re in a damn nightclub. Geneva’s ahead of me now, cutting left toward the emergency stairwell just as we rehearsed.
We push through the next door. Cubicles stretch in every direction, soft beige walls and computer monitors lit in the dark. No windows. No exits but the way we came. And behind us are the sounds of multiple footsteps.
“They’re fast,” she whispers, eyes wide.
“No, they were waiting.”
The squad fans out across the cubicles, moving in a sweep formation. Whoever trained them knew what they were doing. Because we’re trapped.
“Well,” I say with a wry smile, “good news is we got what we came for.”
“Bad news?”
“We’re going to have to shoot our way out.”
I grab her wrist and pull her behind a waist-high filing cabinet. I split off to the right in a crouch. “Stay here.”
The footsteps are close. Heavy boots spread in formation.
I pull the flash grenade from my vest and toss it over the cubicle wall. It detonates with a burst of light and sound. I move fast.
Two shots drop the first pair. One to the left stumbles, and I finish him with a clean shot to the chest.
A burst of gunfire rips through a nearby monitor. I hit the floor and roll beneath a desk, firing upward. Another one down. A fifth tries to flank me, but Geneva takes him out before I can.
I glance back at her. “Nice shot, Doc.”
She doesn’t answer, just reloads. All action and no bullshit. So hot.
More rounds tear through the cubicles, shredding fabric panels and scattering papers. I vault over a desk and take down another. That’s six.
When I stop to catch my breath behind a printer station, someone shoots at me from the right. I’m not fast enough this time. A bullet slices the skin along my arm. Not deep, but it stings like hell.
The shooter launches himself at me. We slam onto the floor hard, his weight landing first, but my shoulder takes the brunt of it.
His elbow drives toward my throat. I block it with a forearm and retaliate with a headbutt.
It stuns him, just enough for me to twist and bring my knee up into his ribs. Something cracks.
He grunts and goes for the knife at his belt. I grip his wrist before he can draw it. We wrestle, his free hand aimed at my face, mine locking around his throat.
Then a gunshot. Loud. Close.
The body on top of me jerks once, then goes still.
I shove him off, my breathing labored. Geneva stands a few feet away, both hands on the pistol, her chest heaving. Her arms are steady. Her eyes, locked on me, are anything but.
Another flash. A different angle. She doesn’t see it, but I do.
“Geneva!” I yell, just as the shot tears through the space between us.
She flinches, then staggers as the gun falls from her hand.
I’m on my feet, vaulting over the cubicle wall like gravity’s a suggestion. My body reacts faster than my brain, but the scream that rips out of me is unadulterated pain.
She drops to her knees.
“No, no, no—” My voice is shaking. My hands are trembling. “Geneva—fuck—no—stay with me—”
Another shot rings out. I fire toward it, killing the man instantly. Then I drop to the floor, grabbing her before she can fall forward.
“Geneva, you’re hit.”
“So are you.”
Mine’s superficial. Hers isn’t.
I press my hand over the wound on her side. She groans. That sound kills something inside me.
“You’re okay,” I say. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“Ghost…”
“Don’t fucking talk. Don’t say anything.” My voice cracks again. I can’t stop it. “Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’ve fucking got you.”
I glance down at my hand. It’s covered in blood. My whole palm. I can’t tell how bad it is. I can’t think.
I tear the vest open and scan the wound: it’s only a deep graze. Not a death sentence. But my hands are still shaking like it is.
“I should’ve made you stay behind,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”
She’s still conscious but struggling. Her eyes blink open, glassy and unfocused. “There’s still one more.”
I rise just as the final man steps into view, rifle in hand, sweeping the room. He doesn’t see me at first because his eyes are on the trail of blood.
I come up behind him and shoot him once in the back, aiming for vital organs. Then I grab his head, slamming it into the edge of the desk. Once. Twice. Three times. I don’t stop until the twitching does.
For shooting Geneva, he’s lucky I didn’t do more.
I lift her into my arms, tucking her into my body, wanting no space between us. She rests her head against my collarbone, as her blood begins to leak onto my shirt. I move down the hall and into the stairwell.
“You fucking promised me ‘someday.’ You don’t get to break that,” I whisper into her hair. “Do you fucking hear me?”
Her fingers tap against my chest. Only once, but it’s enough. Enough to keep me moving. Enough to keep the panic from completely taking over.
I shove through the door at the bottom of the stairwell and into the alley, where the car’s parked. It’s quiet out here, with only the sound of her shallow breathing against my throat.
She’s still bleeding. Slower now, but that doesn’t ease my panic. My shirt is damp and sticky, the scent of copper thick in the air. I open the car door one-handed and slide her into the back seat as gently as I can.
She groans. I nearly lose it again.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” I brush the hair from her face. “I’ve got you, baby.”
Her eyelids flutter. “You’re yelling…”
I blink at her.
“… because you’re freaking out.”
“No fucking shit.” I grab the first aid kit, set it on the floor, and then open it. “I just need to get you to Benedetto and he’ll patch you up. Then I’ll kill him for letting us take his idiot hacker’s word on that script.”
She chuckles weakly. “Don’t… kill him.”
“We can negotiate later,” I say, tearing open gauze and pressing it to her ribs.
She sucks in a breath, her body flinching under my touch. I press harder anyway. I have to. It might only be a tangential gunshot wound, but she doesn’t need to lose any more blood.
“It’s almost stopped bleeding. Just a little more pressure before I bandage it up.”
Her head lolls toward me, eyes half lidded but locked on mine. “You’re… scowling.”
“That’s my resting bitch face.”
“Looks homicidal.”
“Good.” I tape the gauze down and reach for the clotting agent. “Because I plan on killing everyone who had a hand in this.”
She grins. “You’re insane.”
I meet her gaze, dead serious. “Only about you.”
The second we walk through the door, Benedetto’s on his feet. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask a single question. His gaze drops to Geneva, limp in my arms, and his expression hardens.
“Bedroom,” he barks, already moving.
Sarah’s sitting on the couch. She gasps when she sees us, hand flying to her mouth. I don’t look at her.
Geneva shifts in my arms, a soft groan escaping her lips. I adjust my grip, clutching her tighter like that alone can stave off her pain.
“She’s stable,” I say aloud—maybe for their benefit, maybe for mine. “Deep graze, but she still needs stitches.”
Benedetto opens the bedroom door and yanks back the comforter, clearing the space like he’s done this a hundred times. Maybe he has.
“She conscious?” he asks, already pulling gloves from his bag.
“Barely.”
“I’ll take it.”
I lay her on the bed as gently as I can, and she still winces. Her eyes flutter open, glazed with pain and exhaustion, but she finds me instantly.
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Benedetto kneels beside the bed, snapping on the gloves and grabbing the sterilizer. “Hold her down.”
I follow his instruction, placing one hand on her shoulder, and wrapping the other around her wrist. She flinches as the alcohol hits the wound, hissing through her teeth.
Benedetto doesn’t look up as he threads the needle, his hands steady. Unlike mine. “I’m going to sew her up and it’ll hurt like hell. Do you think you can contain your psychotic urges for a little bit?”
I glare at him. “I’m not making any promises.”
Geneva groans, a breathy sound that slices straight through me. Benedetto glances up, then back to his work. I grit my teeth when the needle pierces her skin.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” he says.
“She’s tougher than you,” I mutter.
“Probably. But I’m prettier.”
“Not even fucking close.”
He snorts but says nothing, too focused on the stitches. The room falls quiet except for Geneva’s shaky breathing, the soft rip of gauze, and the clink of metal tools against the tray.
Benedetto finishes the last knot and reaches for the antiseptic and bandages. “She’s lucky. Although it bled more than I would’ve thought.”
He tapes the gauze over the wound, then opens a small vial and a syringe. “This’ll help with the pain. She’ll probably be out for a few hours.”
I nod. Geneva barely reacts when he injects the sedative. Her eyes start to droop almost immediately.
Benedetto stands and pulls off his gloves with a snap, tossing them into the trash as he wipes his hands clean. “She’ll be fine. Bullet skimmed the ribs and carved out a strip of skin, but nothing deep. No organs, no muscle. Just really messy.”
I blow out a breath. My shirt’s stained with her blood, my hands still sticky with it, but hearing that makes the chaos in my mind ease. Somewhat.
Benedetto jerks his chin at me. “Keep her still. Don’t let her roll onto her side, and no bending at the waist when she wakes up.”
“I’ve got her,” I say quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
“She might be sore for a while. If you two get any ideas about having post-traumatic sex, just make sure her left side stays out of the action.”
I shoot him a look. “You done?”
He grins. “For now.”
Then he turns toward the door but pauses as Sarah steps into his path. She’s been hovering near the doorway this whole time, white-knuckling the frame like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Hey,” Benedetto says gently. “She’s going to be okay. I’ve seen worse. Patched up worse too.”
Sarah doesn’t answer right away. Her voice is small when she does. “You’re sure?”
He nods once, his expression as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “She’s tough. And she’s got him.” He jerks his head toward me. “She’ll be fine.”
Sarah presses her lips together, then nods. He gives her shoulder a squeeze before slipping past and disappearing into the hall.
The door clicks shut behind them, and it’s just me and Geneva now. Her chest rises slowly under the blanket, her face relaxed despite the bandage taped to her ribs.
I lean down, pressing my lips to her temple.
“You scared the hell out of me, Doc. Don’t ever do that again.”