Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Jonus
Sloane slept against my shoulder for the rest of the helicopter ride out of the jungle, her hand, with scratches and dirt caked under her nails, is wrapped around mine.
My female is filthy and bruised, and she smells like the twelve days spent in a pit. Not that I’ve mentioned this to her. The team and I have all done our best to ignore the extent of her appearance. But I suspect they all feel as I do—flaming rage at the idea of her being so badly mistreated.
Since the moment I received that call from the State Department, I’ve known what I feel for Sloane Adams isn’t simply friendship. Why else would I put together a private extraction team and show up myself to pull her from the pit?
I stare again at her hand in mine. My cock stirs slightly and I shift, trying to ignore it.
This is not the time. She’s injured, traumatized and exhausted.
The last thing she needs at this moment are my advances.
But I can’t help but wonder if Sloane would ever consider taking on an orc as her husband.
I was always the Irontree who joked about being immune to the mating pull and the one who handles situations with words, not instinct.
But I don’t feel smooth right now, able to talk my way out of these feelings for Sloane.
I feel raw and uncertain. Like something fundamental has shifted and I don’t know the rules anymore.
Mine.
I rub my thumb over her hand. The mission is complete and Sloane Adams has a life to go back to — a job in DC, friends, family. A world that doesn’t include a seven-foot-tall green orc who’s never even met her in person before tonight.
What right do I have to ask her to stay?
And yet the thought of her flying back to DC alone makes something in my chest clench so hard I can barely breathe. I need to be with her. The realization settles over me like a heavy weight. Something deep and instinctual that has nothing to do with logic.
But what does she want?
Does Sloane even need me anymore, now that she’s safe?
The helicopter begins its descent, and my female stirs against my shoulder. “We’re landing,” I tell her through my headset, keeping my voice low. “Private airfield. We’re switching to a plane.”
She nods groggily, her fingers tightening around mine.
The helicopter touches down on a small private strip somewhere in the Colombian coffee country, far from Bogotá and its questions.
No customs, officials or paperwork. Just a single runway carved out of the green hills, a small hangar, and a charter plane waiting on the tarmac with its engines already warming up.
Kelt arranged everything. He’s good at this kind of thing.
The rotors slow and Kelt slides the door open. Humid morning air rushes in, heavy with the smell of wet earth and coffee plants. The sky is pale gray, just past dawn.
“Plane’s fueled and ready,” Kelt announces, pulling off his headset. “Pilot says we can be wheels up in ten.”
Cole and Martinez are already moving, grabbing gear bags and weapons cases from the helicopter’s cargo area. They work with the efficiency of men who’ve done this a hundred times before.
“How’s she doing?” Cole asks, nodding toward Sloane.
“She’s tough,” I say. “But she needs real medical care. Soon.”
“We’ll be outside of Sacramento in about eight hours,” Martinez offers. He’s got a cut above his eye that’s still bleeding sluggishly, a souvenir from the firefight. “Then we’ll get her to a hospital asap.”
I lift my chin in response.
Aldar is on his tablet already, probably updating someone stateside. Lucy, most likely. He hasn’t stopped coordinating with her since this whole thing started.
I remove my headset and help Sloane with hers. “Ready to move? I’m going to carry you to the plane.”
She looks out at the small runway, the unmarked aircraft, the pre-dawn sky. Takes it all in. “We’re not going through Bogotá?”
“No, it’s too public with too many questions.” I move my arms under her. “A charter takes us straight out of Colombia without anyone asking why a team of orcs and ex-SEALs are carrying an American journalist onto a plane.”
“Smart,” she murmurs.
I stand, lifting her easily, and step out of the helicopter onto Colombian soil.
The other men fall in around us as we cross the tarmac toward the waiting plane.
It’s a mid-size jet, white with no markings.
The kind of aircraft wealthy businessmen use to move around South America without attracting attention.
Or the kind people use when they need to get someone out of a country quietly.
Kelt walks ahead, scanning the perimeter out of habit even though the airfield is clearly secure. The orc never stops considering security.
“Where are we going?” Sloane asks, her voice still rough with exhaustion.
“Sacramento, California. We’ll get you medical attention there.” I adjust my grip on her, pulling her closer against my chest. “Right after that, we can take you anywhere you want to go.”
She bites her lip and nods slowly. “Sorry, I’m so tired.”
Sloane doesn’t say she needs to return to DC or demand to be taken to her family.
I don’t let myself hope. Not yet. But I notice.
“You haven’t had a good sleep in over two weeks, and you just ran through the jungle,” I respond. “You can sleep on the plane.”
The plane’s stairs are down and a pilot in a white shirt waits at the top.
He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t even blink at the sight of three massive orcs, two armed humans, and a battered woman being carried aboard.
Kelt pays well for discretion. “Welcome aboard,” he says.
“Flight time to Sacramento is approximately eight hours. We’ll refuel in Mexico. ”
I carry Sloane up the narrow stairs, ducking slightly to fit through the doorway. The cabin is small but comfortable, cream leather seats arranged in pairs facing each other, a narrow aisle down the center. It smells like leather and recycled air, nothing like the jungle we just escaped.
Cole and Martinez take seats near the back, already pulling out energy bars and water bottles.
Kelt settles into a seat near the cockpit, his massive frame barely fitting, and pulls out a phone to make calls.
Aldar claims a seat across the aisle from us, tablet in hand, fingers already flying across the screen.
I settle Sloane into one of the leather seats and take the one beside her. She immediately reaches for my hand. Something warm spreads through my chest. I could get used to this.
“I’ve been updating Lucy,” Aldar says. “I confirmed that Sloane is secured.”
Sloane’s head snaps up. “You’ve been talking to Lucy?”
“She’s been my primary contact stateside,” he answers. “I took over for Jonus, talking to her, so he could focus on the extraction plan. Lucy has been coordinating information for your family and work and keeping pressure on the State Department. She’s very... organized.”
Sloane stares at him. I can see her processing this information, filing it away.
“She’s also very persistent,” Aldar adds, and there it is — a slight change in his tone. Something that might be admiration.
Interesting.
“Tell her I’m okay,” Sloane says. “And that I’ll call her as soon as I can, after I’m back in the States.”
Aldar nods and retreats to his seat, already tapping at his tablet.
Sloane turns to me with raised eyebrows. “Are my best friend and your cousin friends now?”
I snort. “It’s possible. Aldar doesn’t usually talk this much about anyone.”
“Huh.” She smirks. “I’m going to have to ask Lucy about this later.” Then she meets my gaze. “Jonus.”
“Yeah?”
“What happens when we land?”
My heart pounds. This is the conversation I’ve been dreading and hoping for at the same time. “What do you want to happen?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Well, I know I don’t want to go back to DC alone.
The thought of being there without you..
.” She trails off. Swallows. “I don’t know how to explain it.
Everything feels different now. And the idea of going back to my apartment and just..
. being without you... I know this may sound crazy since we don’t really know each other that well, but ever since you found me out there in the jungle I just can’t help but feel anxious at the idea of being separated from you.
Would you mind staying with me? For a while?
” Her voice cracks slightly. “I know it’s a lot to ask.
I know you have your own life. But I just — I need —”
“Sloane.”
She stops.
“I was trying to figure out how to ask you to come to Truckee with me.”
Her eyes widen.
“My family’s home is secure,” I continue, the words coming easier now.
“Garlen and Ellie are there — you’d have other people around, not just me.
We can coordinate with law enforcement on Aldridge from there.
You’ll have your own room and you can recover somewhere safe while we work on taking that asshole down.
” I reach up, brush a strand of dirty hair from her face.
“And I can be there, with you, in the room next door.”
“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate. “Okay. Yes.”
A smile widens across my face.
Finally, we’re in California.
We land at another private airfield, and there’s a car waiting to take us to the hospital. I carry Sloane again — she could probably walk short distances, but I don’t want her to. And she doesn’t argue.
The emergency room staff take one look at her and fast-track her into a private room. Kelt made calls ahead. There are benefits to having a family with resources.
I stay with her the whole time. They start with her feet, which are worse than she admitted with deep lacerations and early signs of infection. They give her IV antibiotics and proper wound care.
Then the doctor wants to examine the rest of her.