CHAPTER TEN #3
“What the fuck were you thinking, man?” Billy barks, his voice edged with panic despite his best efforts to keep it together. Danny lets out a strained laugh that quickly turns into a grimace.
“They were hiding in the back c-corners. They were waiting for u-us to leave. T-they didn’t e-even try to save the d-doctor,” Danny stammers, his voice catching on the last word.
Billy shakes his head, while I remain quiet, scanning the room one last time.
I was so caught up trying to get information out of that sick bastard that I didn’t care what was happening around me.
I had fucking tunnel vision. An error I will not make twice.
I’m so close to finding Seraphine that I lost all sense of my fucking training, and now, Danny’s hurt.
Ezekiel drilled one thing into me from the moment he came on board.
Never lose sight of where you are. Not only would he have my ass if anything happened to one of his men, but if my sister knew that Danny was hurt because I got carried away chasing fucking ghosts, she’d kill me herself.
***
By the time we get Danny onto the operating table, Katia has already taken over.
She doesn’t acknowledge Billy or me. Doesn’t ask what happened.
Doesn’t waste a second on the blood coating the floor beneath our boots.
Her gloved hands move with practiced precision as she cuts through what’s left of Danny’s shirt, exposing the destruction beneath.
I should be watching. I should be cataloguing every instrument she reaches for, every stitch she places and every order she barks around the room.
Instead, all I can see is the blood. Danny’s blood.
I’ve spent my entire life working alone.
Alone is cleaner. Safer. People become liabilities the second you start giving a shit about whether they make it home.
Titan taught me that long before he taught me how to pull a trigger.
Be the weapon. Complete the job. Walk away.
Friends weren’t part of the equation. Neither were brothers.
But somewhere between the missions, the late nights cleaning blood from our knuckles, and the endless hours watching each other’s backs, Danny had become exactly that.
By choice. A choice I never realized I’d made until I watched him hit the floor back in the tunnel.
The feeling settles heavy in the pit of my stomach, unfamiliar enough that I almost don’t recognize it.
Fear.
Not for myself.
For him.
If Danny dies…the thought never reaches the end. It doesn’t have to. I’ve seen enough bodies to know how this story ends when people lose too much blood.
Katia reaches for another clamp.
“Pressure,” she orders.
Airlie, Ezekiel’s girl, moves instantly, wordlessly obeying as she leans over Danny and braces both hands against the blood-soaked dressing.
“Katia…” My sister's name leaves me before I can think better of it. She doesn’t even spare me a glance.
“Unless you’re scrubbed in, get out of my operating room.”
“I just—”
“No.” Her voice slices through the room without rising. “You can be my brother when I’m done. Right now, I’m trying to save his life. Every second you distract me is a second Danny doesn’t have.”
I just stand here. Useless. I’ve built a life learning how to end lives, not save them.
That neck of the woods was always for my sister.
Put a gun in my hand and I won’t hesitate.
Tell me to clear a building and I’ll do it blindfolded.
But ask me to stop one of my own from bleeding out? I’ve got nothing.
A hand settles against my shoulder, but I don’t flinch.
“Raven.”
I tear my eyes away from Danny long enough to look at Ezekiel, his expression gives nothing away as usual, but the slight incline of his head toward the hallway carries the same quiet authority as any order he’s ever given.
He doesn’t need to speak. I already know he wants to take me into his office.
A debrief, or an execution. With Ezekiel, it could be either.
Neither of us has ever been a man for idle conversation, and now isn’t the time to start.
The polished concrete beneath our boots swallows the sound of our footsteps as we move through the compound, his footsoldiers straightening ever so slightly as their Don passes, each one lowering their gaze just enough to acknowledge his presence without inviting it.
Respect isn’t asked for in this outfit. It’s enforced.
Titan built this organization on fear, carving loyalty from men until obedience became second nature.
Those who forgot their place rarely lived long enough to make the same mistake twice.
Ezekiel inherited that legacy, but he doesn’t rule the same way.
Where Titan demanded fear, Ezekiel commands respect.
The consequences of crossing him are just as permanent, but unlike the man before him, the man who raised us both, he doesn’t need to remind people of that every day. They already know.
Now it’s my turn to find out which side of that respect I’m standing on.