43. Forty-Three
We run through the rooms, through the service corridors, and into the garage without running into any more guards. Those three must have been the last on the property.
The relief doesn’t sink in when we make it to the van. It’s a weak, thin film covering all of us, unable to break through the heavy fog of tension filling the van.
It’s almost too easy.
I’m sitting, practically cemented in place on the bench seat. My arm is wrapped around Tucker’s and I’m probably holding him too tightly, but I need this. I won’t let him leave my side, not even by an inch.
I haven’t lost anyone since the accident, and I’m in no hurry to do it again.
I haven’t had anyone to lose since then.
The bone deep terror from the vault still haunts me. It lingers like it’s never going to leave me alone. I feel like I’m still watching helplessly for the code to pop up, still watching Tucker’s lifeless body slip farther and farther away, towards that horrific point of no return. I tighten my grip on his arm, needing to reassure myself that he’s still with me.
He’s alive.
He’s conscious.
He’s holding on to me.
He’s here but exhaustion clings onto him, and its claws delve far beneath the surface.
Ray is on his other side, not holding him necessarily, but refusing to break any point of contact he’s already established. One of his hands is resting on Tucker’s knee and the whole side of his body is pressed against him. We didn’t lose Tucker, but Ray’s possessive presence around him is laden with grief, and I can’t blame him.
Between the two of us, he’s not going anywhere. There’s no room for him to slouch or fall or wriggle away, even if the last remnants of his strength fades away. The three of us, shell shocked and unwilling to part with one another, rock slightly with each turn as the van leaves the chaos behind.
Silas seems equally shaken in the driver’s seat, his silence no longer that of a calm and quiet beast, but frenetic and on the verge of bursting out of him. His fists flex on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening from the force like he’s trying not to rip it out of its place.
Dane, on the other hand, is staring down at the hard drive that nearly cost Tucker his life, could have cost all of them their lives, and he’s… smiling. It’s faint, but the expression of relief is so foreign on his face it’s unmistakable. It’s no outright grin, but it’s clear a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. A new calm surrounds him, his body more relaxed and settled than it’s probably been in years.
Seeing his calm, this potentially molecular change to his very being, stirs something up in me. Something wild and vicious and angry.
How dare he?
How dare he sit there and look happy, while the four of us are left reeling, and barely holding together at the seams.
I almost lost Tucker.
We all almost lost Tucker because of this fucking plan, and his desperate need for revenge.
And he’s happy right now?
A chill rushes over my body.
Tucker never should have been in the vault.
What if I wasn’t able to save him? What if the release code didn’t show fast enough? What if the air rushed back into the vault and he laid there, motionless, unable to see my relief, my tears? What if he didn’t respond to the life being offered back to him?
Those same angry tears slip silently down my cheeks. The bitter rage and anxiety bare their claws and threaten to pull me under. Threaten to never let me go. I pull in a shuddering breath.
I can’t do this.
The realization drops heavily onto me. Crushing down like a pile of bricks, refusing to let me breathe.
I can’t be this close to them.
I can’t lose them.
I can’t stay here.
They will be continually dropped into one danger or another, and one day…a tear drips off my chin. One day one of them won’t make it.
They’ll run into some terrible place, on his orders, and come out missing someone. I refuse to lose them like that.
In the back of this shuddering and rickety van, I make my decision. If I leave, they can all stay happy and healthy and alive together.
At least in my mind.
I won’t have to watch as one of them dies. I can just move on and live with each of my men alive and well in my memory.
I can’t really feel my body right now. I think I’m somewhere outside of myself. Somewhere else as the river of thoughts rushes through me. It’s raging and rapid, pulling away everything in its path, leaving me shredded and empty in its wake.
Whatever joy they brought me isn’t worth the soul crushing grief that will come from the loss of one of my men.
Or all of them.
The job is done, and now there’s no reason for me to be here. No more bargain keeping me tied to these men. Tied to whatever they may throw themselves into next. I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I don’t even know how to tell them.
I loosen my grip on Tucker’s arm and take a deep breath. The tears aren’t flowing anymore, the world is steady beneath me. My chest aches, but a calm settles over me. I have to move on. I have to save myself from that grief.
I won’t survive it.
The rest of the ride passes in abject silence. The journey back takes twice as long as we turn one way, then double back to make sure no one follows us.
Everything to make sure we’re still following Dane’s fucking plan.
It stalks us all the way back to the bunker. Down the ladder and through the halls. Every step is surrounded by relentless, thrashing silence.
It’s a mindless trudge, each of us making our way to the common space. I’m still reluctant to leave Tucker’s side, as if on instinct, as if my body knows this is the last time I’ll be this close to him.
I’m leaving.I have to keep reminding myself. I’m leaving them all for good.
I force myself to step away and allow Ray to take him, despite how much my instincts scream to stay with Tucker. I let Ray guide him to the faded couch sitting against the wall. Let him be the one to steady his balance.
I sit on the opposite couch and Silas drops down beside me, resting his hand on my knee. The gentle touch threatens to obliterate my resolve. I steel myself, fighting off the desire to hold him closer.
Dane’s at least gathered the decency to conceal his delight. He stands motionlessly, taking in the state of his team.
Seconds, minutes, hours could have passed with him scanning the four of us, analyzing each of our traumatized and drained states.
I look away, my throat tight, and my body feeling numb. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see his assessment of how poorly we’re making it out of this, how deeply each of us was rocked by this job. How nothing wi-
“Thank you.”
Those words cut through the humming air of the bunker and punch me directly in the chest.
When I look up my breath is knocked out of me. His eyes are locked on mine, and they’re rimmed with an emotion that looks eerily like regret.
My mouth pops open, but no words come out. I repeat the motion over and over again, waiting for something to manifest, for some bravery I desperately need.
I have to tell him. I have to tell them all I’m done. I’m out.
The furrow between his brows is back, the lines too deep for his age.
“I …” I start, my voice finally coming to me, and without the tremor I would have expected.
I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but my cowardice isn’t letting me meet their gazes. I’m regathering my courage, spooling all my unraveled and frayed edges. Readying to make the statement that will well and truly set me on my way to my freedom, all while studying my now blood-flecked pants.
“I’m goi-”
I’m interrupted by the sound of the hatch door. That creaking, groaning sound followed by the heavy thud of it closing, the seemingly endless echo through the equally endless halls of the bunker. I freeze and terror flushes through my already shot nervous system.
Dane whips around, Silas is up in an instant, followed shortly by Ray. He doesn’t want to release Tucker, to leave his barely conscious form, but this takes precedence.
“Go.” Dane doesn’t turn, but I know his whispered command is for me. “Take Tucker. Hide.”
No one should know about this place.
No one should be able to find it. It’s too remote, too well hidden.
They followed us back.
My mind is frantic, moving too fast for me to pick out any thoughts. Bile is rising in my throat as I stand.
How many are here? Are they going to kill them?
I don’t know where to go, where to take him. I start to move when I see Tucker standing, moving to go with the others, intent to track down whoever violated our safe haven.
I grab hold of his arm, silently praying all of the training I’ve been subjected to will be enough to get somewhere safe and protect him if I need to.
Tucker shakes me off, silently insisting he doesn’t need my support. He doesn’t want me to waste energy on hauling him around, but his steps falter, as if his own false death still clings to him and is trying to pull him back.
I don’t have time to worry about that. We need to move, and we need to move now.
I grab his arm, refusing to acknowledge his rejection and pull us through the halls as quickly as I can. I’m silently begging us to move faster and be more quiet as we dive deeper into the bunker, stumbling away from the others.