Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
DECK
The zip ties cut into my wrists as I work at them, but I don't stop.
My shoulder is on fire. The bullet went clean through—I can feel the exit wound seeping blood down my back—but that's the only good news. Clean through means no fragments to dig out later. It also means I'm losing blood faster than I can afford.
The contractor left me propped against a boulder while he coordinates with his team. I can hear him twenty yards away, speaking into his radio in clipped professional tones.
"Target Two still unaccounted for. Expanding search grid. Request additional personnel on the fire roads."
They haven't found her.
The relief is so intense it nearly blacks me out. Or maybe that's the blood loss. Hard to tell at this point.
I twist my wrists again, feeling the plastic dig deeper.
The zip ties are standard issue, not the reinforced kind.
Sloppy. These contractors are good, but they're not perfect.
They searched me for weapons but missed the radio clipped to the back of my belt.
They secured my hands in front instead of behind. Small mistakes that add up.
Small mistakes I intend to exploit.
The eastern sky is lightening. Dawn coming. They'll want to move me soon, before full daylight makes extraction risky. That gives me maybe thirty minutes to get free and disappear into the terrain I know better than my own name.
Or die trying.
The contractor finishes his radio call and walks back toward me. Mid-thirties, military bearing, cold eyes. Former special forces, probably. The kind of man who does this work because he's good at it and the money is better than government pay.
"Your girlfriend's proving hard to find." He crouches in front of me, just out of reach. "She's got skills. Someone trained her."
I don't respond.
"Here's how this works. You tell me where she's heading, and I make your death quick. You stay quiet, and I let my team have some fun first." He tilts his head. "The Castellanos don't care what condition you're in when we deliver you. Just that you're breathing."
"Go fuck yourself."
The blow catches me across the face, snapping my head to the side. Stars explode behind my eyes. I taste copper.
"Wrong answer." He stands. "We'll try again in a few minutes. Maybe some time to think will improve your attitude."
He walks away to check the perimeter, and I spit blood onto the rocks.
The zip ties are loosening. Not much, but enough. The blood from my wrists is acting as lubricant, letting me work my hands back and forth with slightly more give each time.
Come on. Come on.
I think about Vivian. The way she looked at me before she ran, her eyes full of fear and determination and something that looked like goodbye. The sound of her voice when she promised to come back.
She's out there somewhere. Running. Surviving. Doing exactly what I trained her to do.
I have to believe that. Have to hold onto it. Because the alternative—that they've already caught her, that she's being dragged toward some extraction point while I sit here bleeding—is unthinkable.
The zip tie snaps.
I freeze, keeping my hands in position, not letting the contractor see that I'm free. He's still facing away, scanning the tree line with his rifle raised.
I have maybe three seconds once I move. Three seconds to close twenty yards, neutralize him, and get his weapon before his team responds.
Bad odds. But I've beaten worse.
I wait until he turns slightly, presenting his back more fully. Then I explode from the ground.
The pain in my shoulder nearly drops me, but I push through it, channeling everything into forward momentum. He hears me coming—starts to turn—but I'm already on him, my good arm wrapping around his throat, my body weight driving him to the ground.
He's strong. Trained. He throws an elbow that connects with my wounded shoulder, and the world goes white with agony. But I don't let go. Can't let go. I squeeze tighter, cutting off blood flow to his brain, and count the seconds.
One. He struggles.
Two. He claws at my arm.
Three. His movements weaken.
Four. He goes limp.
I hold for another five seconds to be sure, then release him and grab his rifle. My hands are shaking, my vision swimming, but the weight of the weapon steadies me.
Radio chatter erupts from his belt. "Collins, status report. Collins, respond."
I take the radio and the contractor's sidearm, then disappear into the trees.
Moving hurts. Every step sends fresh waves of pain through my shoulder, and I can feel blood soaking through my shirt. I need to stop the bleeding, need to find cover, need to—
"Deck."
The voice comes from my left. I spin, rifle raised, and find myself staring at Wolfe.
He emerges from the shadows like a ghost, his long dark hair tied back, his pale eyes assessing my condition with clinical detachment. Behind him, I can make out more shapes moving through the trees. Mace. Hayes. Boone.
My team.
"Jesus Christ." Hayes appears at my side, already pulling a med kit from his pack. "You look like hell."
"Vivian." The word comes out slurred. "Is she—"
"Safe." Mace's voice cuts through the fog. "She made it to the compound three hours ago. Led us right to you."
She made it. She's safe.
The relief is so overwhelming that my knees buckle. Hayes catches me before I hit the ground, easing me down against a tree trunk.
"Easy, boss. We've got you." His hands are already working on my shoulder, cutting away fabric, assessing the damage. "Through and through. Missed the artery. You're lucky."
"Don't feel lucky."
"You're alive and your woman is safe. That's the definition of lucky." Hayes packs the wound with gauze, and I bite back a scream. "This is going to need surgery, but I can stabilize you for transport."
Mace crouches beside me. "We've got four hostiles down and two unaccounted for. Team’s tracking them now. They won't get far."
"The Castellanos hired contractors. Military trained. At least six, maybe more."
"We know. Vivian briefed us." A ghost of a smile crosses his face. "She's impressive, Deck. Ran eleven miles through hostile terrain in the dark, evaded pursuit for four hours, and showed up at our perimeter ready to lead the rescue herself. I had to physically stop her from coming with us."
That sounds like her. Stubborn, fierce, refusing to give up even when the odds are impossible.
God, I love her.
"I need to see her."
"You need surgery."
"After I see her."
Mace exchanges a look with Hayes, some silent communication I'm too exhausted to interpret. Then he nods.
"We'll get you back to the compound. She's waiting."
They help me to my feet, Hayes supporting most of my weight while Mace takes point. The walk back is a blur of pain and determination, my body running on fumes and willpower alone.
The compound appears through the trees just as full dawn breaks, golden light spilling across the buildings. And there, standing on the porch of the main lodge, wrapped in a blanket that's falling off one shoulder because she's too focused on watching the tree line to notice—
Vivian.
She sees me and her whole body goes rigid. Then she's running, the blanket abandoned, her bare feet slapping against the wooden steps and then the cold ground.
"Deck. Oh god, Deck—"
She crashes into me, and I grunt as the impact jars my shoulder, but I don't care. I wrap my good arm around her and pull her close, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in.
"You're okay." Her voice is muffled against my chest. "You're okay, you're okay, you're—"
"I'm okay." I press my lips to the top of her head. "Thanks to you."
She pulls back to look at me, and her face crumples when she sees the blood, the bruises, the mess I've become. Her hands flutter over my chest like she wants to touch me but is afraid she'll hurt me.
"I thought I lost you." Tears stream down her cheeks. "I left you there and I thought—"
"You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You survived. You got help." I cup her face with my good hand, wiping away tears with my thumb. "You saved my life, Vivian."
"I love you." She says it like a confession, like a prayer, like the only words that matter. "I love you so much, and when I saw you go down—"
"I know." I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I know. I love you too."
"Don't ever do that again. Don't ever tell me to leave you."
"I can't promise that."
"Then lie to me." Her hands fist in my bloody shirt. "Lie to me and tell me you'll never make me run again."
"I'll never make you run again."
She laughs, watery and broken. "You're a terrible liar."
"I know." I pull her close again, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything except the feel of her in my arms. "But I'm good at other things."
"Like almost dying?"
"Like loving you." I tilt her chin up so she can see my eyes. "Like spending the rest of my life making sure you never have to run again. Like building something with you that's worth protecting."
"Deck..."
"Marry me."
The words come out before I can stop them. Before I can think about timing or romance or the fact that I'm bleeding all over her and we're standing in the middle of a compound surrounded by my entire team.
But I don't take them back.
"What?" She stares at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have.
"Marry me. When this is over. When Castellano is behind bars and you're safe and we can actually plan a future instead of just surviving.
" I brush hair from her face with trembling fingers.
"I know it's fast. I know we've only known each other a few weeks.
But I almost died tonight, and the only thing I could think about was you.
The only thing that kept me fighting was getting back to you. "
"You're delirious from blood loss."
"Probably. Ask me if I still want to do this again when I'm lucid. The answer will be the same."
She searches my face, looking for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that this is the trauma talking. She won't find it. I've never been more certain of anything in my life.
"Yes." The word is barely a whisper.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll marry you." She's crying again, but she's also laughing. "You impossible, stubborn, infuriating man. Yes."
I kiss her properly this time, deep and thorough, pouring everything I feel into it. She melts against me, her hands sliding up to cup my face, and for a moment the pain disappears. The fear disappears. Everything disappears except her.
Someone clears their throat behind us.
"Not to interrupt," Hayes says dryly, "but the boss is actively bleeding out, and I'd really like to get him on an operating table before he proposes to anyone else."
Vivian pulls back, her cheeks flushed. "Operating table?"
"The compound has a full medical suite," Mace says. "Cade's prepping now. We'll take care of him."
She looks at me, then at my shoulder, then back at me. The joy in her expression wars with concern.
"Go." I squeeze her hand. "Let them patch me up. I'll find you when I wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She kisses me once more, quick and fierce, then steps back to let Hayes and Mace guide me toward the medical building. I look over my shoulder as we walk, and she's still standing there, watching me go, her hand pressed to her heart.
The woman I love. The woman I'm going to marry.
The woman who ran eleven miles through the wilderness to save my life.
I'm the luckiest bastard alive.
"You proposed," Mace says quietly as we walk. "During a tactical extraction. While bleeding from a gunshot wound."
"Seemed like the right moment."
"You're insane."
"Probably." I grin despite the pain. "She said yes, though."
Mace shakes his head, but I catch the hint of a smile on his face. "Yeah, she did. Congratulations, Deck."
"Thanks."
"Now shut up and let us save your life so you can actually make it to the wedding."
I shut up.
But I'm still smiling when they put me under.