Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN_
DECAF
Everything hurts, and I’m dying. I’ve used this phrase so many times in my life, usually while caffeine-deprived, but I’ve never actually believed it until this moment.
Somehow, the dark underground garage is too bright for my eyes. My head throbs. My skin stings. Every single inch of it.
One minute, the tension between Haz and me lifted for the briefest of seconds. The next, all I could see was my car exploding. I only had time for one thought to run through my head before I jumped into action: I have to protect Haz.
The blast from whatever explosive was used sent both of us hurtling through the air. After that, my memory is blank.
“Haz,” I rasp and blindly feel around for him. I don’t know if I was able to save him in time. To get in front of him. If he’s dead, I hope to fuck my injuries are bad enough to take me too.
“I’m here,” a voice says, but it doesn’t sound anything like Haz. “I’m okay.”
Maybe it is him.
“You won’t be for long if we don’t get the fuck out of here,” another voice says. Sounds like Iris. A serious Iris. That means shit is dire.
“Let’s go,” I say. I might not be able to open my eyes, but I might be able to sit— “Argh!” I lean on my arm to try to help me up, but the worst pain I’ve ever experienced rips through my hand.
“Whoa, whoa, don’t try to sit up,” Saint—I think—says.
“Go,” I say. “Need to.”
“First, we need to make sure Iris’s car doesn’t have a surprise waiting for us too.”
Sirens ring somewhere in the distance. Or maybe they’re right inside my ears. I can’t tell where the fuck they’re coming from.
“We don’t have time,” Iris says.
“What do you suggest? We rock, paper, scissors for who tries to start the car and pray we don’t blow up?” Saint asks.
He is Iris. That’s probably a good idea to him.
“I’ll do it.” The dryness in my throat makes my voice quiet. “I’m already … half … dead.”
“I was just going to steal one of these other cars,” Iris says.
“That’s a lot smarter than my suggestion.”
Iris laughs at his fiancé. “That’s usually my line.”
“What is happening?” Haz asks. “It’s like they’ve body swapped.”
“I’ve experienced it before.” I breathe hard. “When death hovers above one of us, Iris has a burst of levelheadedness.” My chest feels heavier every time I talk. “It’s …” Deep, rattly breath. “Scary.”
I’m starting to think I’m closer to death than even I realize.
A scorching hot grip wraps around my left hand, and I force myself to open my eyes because even though it hurts like hell and it’s too bright in this dingy-ass basement parking lot, I need to see Hazard one last time.
I wish I could reach for him, cup his cheek, tell him how incredibly proud Jesse would be of him, but this feels right.
Dying in his arms. It’s how Jesse should have died, with someone caring for him instead of being left in the middle of a dirty street all alone.
Once the danger was gone, I ran to him and cried as I held him, but he was already gone.
Had been for almost an hour at that point.
Holding him like that was for my benefit, not his.
So even if I don’t deserve it, that he should leave me here to drown in the blood that’s no doubt filling my lungs, I hold on as hard as I can—mentally.
Physically, I’m fucked. My whole body is heavy, but it’s the difficulty breathing I’m most worried about.
There are so many things to say to Haz. So much more apologizing I could do. The walls of darkness creep closer and closer. There’s no time to say everything I need to get out. But I still thought there’d be time to get out more than the single word “Jesse” before everything goes black.
The murmuring of bitching, bickering, and smartassery fills my ears, and I figured heaven or the afterlife or wherever the fuck I am would be more peaceful than that.
I swear to God—to his face if I have to—that if I’ve died and been relegated to haunting the Mike Bravo guys, I’m going to be pissed. Like, join Lucifer and start another war with his dad kind of pissed.
I have no idea why all those religious studies are coming back to me in this moment, but I guess meeting my maker has me regressing to when I was a child and had to go to all those Sunday school lessons and believed if I did something bad, I would burn in the fiery pits of hell.
Of course, when I was older and I was told I would burn in hell because of my bad habit of sleeping with men, I figured, “At least all my friends will be there.” I was wrong.
Wronger than wrong. The wrongest. Because as the voices get louder and louder in my ears, all I can think is, “I don’t even get silence when I’m fucking dead? ”
The chatter stops. Did that become an out-loud thought? Ask and you shall receive, I guess. Maybe this is heaven.
I wish for a fresh batch of coffee. Better yet, an IV of it.
When nothing happens, I try to open my eyes.
My eyelids flutter with all their might, but it’s not enough.
I do manage to get a brief view of my surroundings, which does actually include an IV, and even though I have no fucking idea what kind of coffee is clear, I’ve decided I like heaven.
“He’s definitely waking up.” The voices start up again.
“I told you a high five would wake him up. Instead of true love’s kiss, it’s like, the bro sign of true love.” That has to be Iris.
“You could have broken his arm worse, dumbass.” The voice closest to me sounds like it’s right in my ear. Haz, maybe. Possibly Saint.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “If Iris is here, that means we died together, and now I’m stuck with him for eternity.” Couldn’t have been Jesse waiting for me at the big pearly gates, could it?
Are we all dead?
The last thing I remember is the car bomb. I wish I could open my eyes and see for myself what fuckery is happening, but everything is so heavy. My body, my eyelids … even my brain. If that’s even possible.
The fog is so cloudy inside my mind that even if a light were on, nobody would be able to see it.
“I’m choosing to not take offense to that because you’ve gone through trauma. Traumatic brain injuries are no joke, and they make you lash out at those you love most.”
I take it all back. Obviously, I am in hell. Along with Iris and a bunch of others.
Did something else happen?
After a few more eye flutters, I finally manage to open them properly.
The question of whether I’m in heaven or hell is no clearer when I see Trav, Iris, Saint, and even Zeus at the end of my bed. A hospital cot. My right arm is in a splint, wrapped in a bandage, and is being held in an upright position in a sling hanging above the bed.
I trace my gaze down my good arm and land on my fingers, interlaced with …
Haz’s. His eyes are soft, his usually messy hair hidden underneath a backward cap.
He has scruff on his face that he didn’t have when the car blew up, and I’m starting to think we’re not dead.
I’ve just been out of it for … I have no clue how long.
Lucidity has never hit harder. Disappointment? Well, I’m used to that feeling.
At least I’m not dead. The sarcastic voice inside my head draws out a long Yay?
“How long was I out?” I ask.
“You’ve been in a coma for seven years,” Iris says.
Haz turns and backhands him in the stomach. I hope it was hard too. Not that I would believe Iris’s bullshit anyway.
“Lies,” I croak. “Seven years would make you all wrinkly from laughing too hard at your own stupid jokes.”
“He still has his sense of humor,” Iris says. “He’s going to be okay.”
They still haven’t told me how long.
“It’s been a couple of days,” Trav says. “You’ve been touch and go, but you’re going to be okay.”
“So long as no one officially knows where he is or that he’s in such a vulnerable state,” Haz says.
Right. Car bomb. Somebody was responsible for that, and I’m assuming it wasn’t Haz. Even if he’d thought about hurting me, he wouldn’t have risked his own life to do it.
“Where am I?” I ask. It looks like a legitimate hospital, and I know how much Trav hates those.
“For now? You’re in a private hospital under a fake name so you can’t be found. In theory. We’re hoping to move you to a completely different facility in the next day or so. One I know for sure won’t give certain government agencies access to snoop around.”
“Who was behind the attack?”
“Black ops,” Trav says. “Saint’s old platoon. GenNex.”
“I got the warning too late,” Saint says.
“Tanner Pearson, my friend from my old unit. The one we pulled out of Udoola a few years back. He gave me a heads-up as soon as he realized who GenNex’s targets were, but it was too late.
” He lowers his voice to a whisper full of regret. “It was thirty seconds too late.”
“It was a coordinated attack,” Trav says. “They’ve been watching us, and when you all left Atlas’s place this morning, they knew they had to take advantage of you all being separated.”
Wait, does that mean … “Atlas. Lemon.” The machine monitoring my heart starts beeping erratically.
“They’re fine,” Trav says. “Atlas got them both out of there unharmed.”
“Relatively unharmed,” Zeus says. “I’ve been hearing nonstop about the tiny cuts from Lemon digging his nails into Atlas’s skin while they were escaping since it happened.”
“Where is everyone else?” I ask. “If they were following us, they’re probably following others, and what if they know you’re here, and—” The beeping machine is getting louder and more frantic, at least to my ears.
Haz squeezes my hand. “Everyone is okay.”
“Now that we’re aware of being followed, we’re taking extra precautions and making plans. My fears have become reality, and now we all need to disappear for a while.”
“All of us?” I croak.
Trav nods. “We’re the only ones left. Everyone else has split already. There’s a safe house on an island off the coast of Montenegro for anyone who wants to go there.”
Montenegro. “Because no extradition treaty?”
Trav touches his nose. “I bought it a few years back … when I started questioning things.”
When he started dating Rogue, more like it.
Before, we’d take the majority of jobs, even the morally gray and illegal ones.
Mercenaries for hire. But mostly, we would be tapped to do the jobs the government didn’t want official ties to because of the political aesthetic aspect.
Like not wanting to admit sending a team in to take out dictators of countries with massive oil reserves.
Or to extract military hostages in a country where the US never should have had a military presence.
And now, because Trav stood up to the tyrannical people in charge, we’re next on their hit list.
“So it’s an every-man-for-himself kind of situation?” I ask. “I don’t really see how I’m going to be able to get to Montenegro anytime soon.” I wave my fingers on my broken hand. Or I try to, at least. There’s a bit of pain but mostly just numbness.
“We’re going to get you out,” Trav says. “We’ve stayed behind to make sure you’re safe. One of us is here around the clock, making sure no one gets in.”
“As thankful as I am …” It’s way too much to put on them. “You should go. All of you. Zeus, you have teenagers to think about.”
“I do, which is why I’m looking into alternative options other than going to Montenegro, and until I have plans in place, I’m going to help out where I can.”
“Iris and Saint—”
Iris doesn’t let me get to my argument. “We’re your ride to Montenegro, so we’re stuck here until we can move you. Plus, we have to get things in order for Princess Smooshy Face anyway.”
I gasp. “You’re not bringing her?” That dog is their baby. I couldn’t imagine—
“No, that’s what we mean.” Iris looks at Saint and then back at me. “We talked about finding her a home here. Somewhere safe. It would probably be better for her.” Iris’s eyes start to get glassy.
“She belongs with us,” Saint says. “Besides, do you really think another family could put up with her antics the way you do?” He wraps an arm around his fiancé and rubs his shoulder.
“That doesn’t mean you all should be hanging around for me.” I turn to Haz. “Especially you.”
He’s still holding my non-broken hand, and even though it feels weird, this contact, his warm palm in mine, it’s the solid anchor tethering me to him, reassuring me he’s alive. I actually did my job this time. I protected him.
“You saved my life,” Haz says. “I’m not going to abandon you.”
Where I would expect that to be followed up with “Like you did to me years ago” or “Like you did to my father,” he doesn’t say either. The usual judgment in his tone isn’t there either.
“You should. Saving you once no way makes up for the pain I’ve caused you.”
“Shouldn’t I get to decide that?”
Technically, yes. In reality? No. I don’t want him to forgive me that easily.
Iris snorts. “He really wants to say no to that.”
Is he suddenly a mind reader?
“One day, he’ll learn I can make my own decisions,” Haz says, again missing the usual judgmental tone.
Iris pats his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”
Everything is still fuzzy, my mind a haze of fog, exaggerated memories, and flashbacks of burning skin and smoky lungs.
With Haz being friendly toward me, I can’t even be sure this is reality. If it’s not, I don’t want to wake up because it feels like a step in the right direction when it comes to him.
It’s too depressing to be heaven. It’s too normal to be hell.
Maybe this is purgatory.