50. Aj
Asterile smell and the steady beep of a monitor drag me out of the dark. I blink slowly, my eyes burning as the overhead lights slice into my skull. White walls. White sheets. Machines humming beside me.
I’m in the hospital wing at the Citadel.
I turn my head, and pain ricochets through my body. Someone adjusts the blanket over me, and my eyes snap open.
Gage is standing beside the bed, his face drawn tight with exhaustion. There’s stubble shadowing his jaw, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
“You’re awake.”
My throat feels flayed raw. I swallow against it and force out the only thing that matters.
“Jackal?”
“He’s okay. Banged up, but okay. He’s with the vet.”
My body goes slack against the mattress as tears spill sideways into my hairline. Gage drags a chair closer and drops into it, forearms braced on his knees.
“Jesus Christ, AJ. What happened? Who did this to you?”
The memories come back in flashes:
The mask.
The knife.
Jackal barking.
The weight of him.
The safeword.
My stomach lurches so violently, I turn my head toward the side of the bed, but there’s nothing in me to throw up. Just a dry, painful heave and the taste of bile. Gage is there immediately, one hand hovering uselessly near my shoulder while the other presses a cup of water into my hand.
“Easy,” he mutters. “Easy.”
My fingers shake so badly, he ends up holding the straw to my mouth while I take a few tiny sips.
“You scared the hell out of me.” He leans back in the chair, dragging a hand over his face. “I showed up at your house and found you bleeding on the kitchen floor. I thought…” His voice catches, and he swallows hard. “I thought you were dead.”
Guilt stabs through my chest. “I’m sorry.”
His head snaps up as his eyes lock onto mine. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize. Not for this. Not to me.”
Blinking through more tears, I look away. The ceiling blurs.
“Just tell me who the fuck did it.”
“They were wearing a mask.”
“What?”
“I didn’t see their face.”
It’s not a lie.
Because the man who did this wasn’t the Wolff I thought I knew. It couldn’t have been. But the shame of it is already a living thing inside me, clawing at my ribs. I threw myself at a monster. I told him I loved him. I begged him to want me. And then he came to my house and…
He raped me.
I can’t even bring myself to say the word out loud. Not even in my head without flinching. He gave me a safeword. The one thing no one had ever given me before. Even when he hurt me, even when he pushed me away like I was nothing, he still gave me that one small piece of control.
And then he took it.
Gage’s hands curl into fists against his thighs. “Fuck. Okay. Fine. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find the son of a bitch who did this.”
David’s voice explodes from the hallway. “I don’t give a fuck what your protocol is. I tell you what the protocol is.” He sounds furious in a way I’ve never heard before.
Gage scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. That’s been happening pretty much nonstop. He hasn’t left. Only time he steps out is to scream at staff or make calls. Dad’s been on a rampage too.”
A second later, David appears in the doorway.
He’s not wearing one of his usual pressed suits. Just dark jeans and a black hoodie, his hair slightly out of place, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
His eyes land on me instantly, and everything in his face changes. The anger disappears, replaced by something quieter. Something almost…human.
“You’re awake,” he says on an exhale.
Gage pushes to his feet. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
“Stay if she wants you to.”
Gage looks at me, clearly ready to tell David to go fuck himself if I so much as blink wrong, but I’m too tired to deal with both of them hovering over me.
“It’s okay. You can go.”
He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll be right outside.”
David drags the chair closer to the bed. He sits, but for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. Then he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead.
I go rigid.
His hand stills for half a second before he lets it fall back into his lap. “I’m sorry.”
He takes a slow breath and leans forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “I know you hate me. And I’ve given you every reason to. We’re practically strangers, AJ.”
The use of my nickname catches me off guard.
“I know what this looks like from your side,” he says.
“A man you barely know forcing you into a marriage you never asked for. Pushing you toward a life you don’t want.
Talking about children, expectations, and appearances like you’re some piece of a business transaction instead of a person who’s barely survived the last few months. ”
He pauses, looking down at his hands. “I never wanted to be a Commander. I liked the field. I liked knowing where I stood. Kill the target, finish the mission, move on. It was simple.” He lets out a quiet breath.
“Then my father died and, suddenly, I inherited a title I never asked for, a seat at a table I never wanted, and a thousand expectations attached to my name.”
Swallowing roughly, he looks back at me.
“That’s not an excuse for the way I’ve treated you.
But I think somewhere along the line, I started acting like if I could just control everything around me—my section, my future, my marriage—then maybe none of it would feel so far out of my hands.
” His mouth hardens. “And you got caught in the middle of that.”
Three days ago, he was impossible to be around. Now he’s sitting beside my hospital bed in a hoodie, looking wrecked, telling me things that sound dangerously close to honesty.
“You could have died, AJ. I hate that it took almost losing you for me to realize how badly I’ve been doing this. All I can think about is the fact that the last time we spoke, I was being a fucking bastard.”
My eyes sting.
“I don’t need you to like me. I’m not arrogant enough to ask for that right now. But we are each other’s future, whether either of us likes it or not, and I’m willing to try if you are.” He pauses as his gaze searches my face. “Really try.”
I don’t say anything.
“I won’t pressure you anymore. Not about the wedding.
Not about children. Not about any of it.
No more appointments sprung on you. No more acting like your life is something I’m entitled to manage.
” His eyes hold mine. “If you want space, you get space. If you want time, you get time. If you want to call the whole thing off…” For the first time, something in his expression looks almost raw. “Then we’ll talk about that too.”
I inhale a shaky breath.
“I just…” He drags a hand over his jaw. “I want a chance to do this differently. To be different with you. Because after seeing you like this, I can’t keep pretending any of the rest of it matters more than making sure you’re safe.”
Silence stretches between us, then he reaches for my hand.
“Please. Tell me who did this to you.”
My stomach knots instantly, a cold wave of nausea rolling through me. The words feel like they’re choking me. Part of me wants to believe him. But the rest of me is screaming that trust is a trap. That safety is a lie. That the second I open my mouth, everything will spiral even worse.
“I don’t know.”
His eyebrows pull together. “You don’t know?”
“He wore a mask. I didn’t see his face.”
“Did he say anything?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the memory of Wolff’s hand on my throat flashing hot and violent behind my lids. The way he used the one touch I had trusted him with to hurt me.
“AJ.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes open.
“Whoever did this hurt you in your home, I’m not going to let them get away with that. But I need something from you. Anything. A word. What he wore. The way he moved. Tell me whatever you remember, and I’ll handle the rest.”
My mind is a storm—terror at the thought of saying Wolff’s name, shame that I still feel the ghost of his touch, and a sick, desperate flicker of hope that maybe David really could make it stop. I don’t know if I believe him.
But I know I can’t keep carrying this alone.