Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Finley
The high-pitched hum of engines fades as the guys cut the power to the ATVs.
I watch from the edge of the tree line as Mercury swings a leg over his quad.
I shouldn't be here. I know that. But staying in that house while they risk their lives makes my skin crawl.
I step out from the shrubbery, my boots crunching on the gravel.
Bootes lets out a low groan, stepping out from behind a thick cottonwood, looking more relieved than annoyed.
“I'm not waiting in that house anymore,” I mutter as I start walking toward the guys, my pace determined.
Mercury pulls his helmet off and shakes his dark hair loose.
His eyes scan the area, landing on me a second later.
His expression shifts from focus to pure irritation.
“I told you to stay put!” he bellows, stalking toward me.
“You’re putting yourself at unnecessary risk by roaming around without protection, Finley. ”
“I'm not a prisoner,” I shoot back, digging my heels in as he nears. “And I wasn't alone. Bootes has been shadowing me the entire time.”
Mercury doesn't break stride until he's standing right in front of me. His scent, dust and gasoline, washes over me. “That doesn't change the fact that I gave an order.”
Gemini walks up, his arms crossed over his chest. “She's not a soldier, Mercury. She's a survivor. Let her breathe.”
Mercury glares at him before he sighs, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. He looks back at me, his gaze softening. “We're done for the day, Fin. We found the hideouts, but we aren't going to storm them without a real plan.”
“I need to know what you saw,” I insist, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to hold it steady.
“It's bad,” Gemini admits. “They've rigged the perimeter with sensors. It's a trap, and they're waiting for someone to trip the wire.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Then let's make sure it's not you who falls for it.”
Mercury reaches out, running his thumb along my jawline.
“It won't be. We're going to dismantle them piece by piece.” Mercury drops his hand, but his gaze lingers on mine.
He rubs the back of his neck, his jaw working as he struggles to find the right words.
“Look, I'm sorry I blew up at you back there,” he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically rough.
“That wasn't fair. I just... seeing you out here, away from the house, it makes my blood run cold.”
I look up at him, searching his eyes for the truth behind his anger. “You're terrified I'll get hurt again.”
He lets out a harsh, humorless laugh. “Terrified is an understatement, Fin.
Knowing what they did to you... it eats at me.
Every second you're out of my sight, I imagine the worst. I'm not angry at you, wildcat.
I'm just trying to keep you safe, and sometimes I don't know how to handle the fear that something might happen to you.”
His honesty hits me harder than his yelling did. It strips away the tough exterior and leaves something raw and vulnerable. I step closer, resting my palm against his chest. “I'm not a liability, Mercury. I'm with you in this. You have to trust me, or we won't get through this together.”
He exhales a long, shaky breath, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. “You're right. I know you're right. I'm just protective of what's mine, and I hate that I can't wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you from seeing this world.”
“I don't want bubble wrap,” I insist, my voice gaining strength. “I want to help you take them down. That's the only way I'm going to feel safe again.”
“Sorry, but that’s not happening. I know you need to feel like you’re part of this, and I get it, I do, Finley. But I won’t ever willingly put you at risk.”
I pull away, my jaw tightening as the rejection stings. “You don't get to decide what I can handle, Mercury. That is exactly what those men did to me. They decided I had no say in my own existence.”
He flinches, his eyes narrowing as the weight of my words hits him. “That’s not the same thing. I’m trying to keep you breathing, Finley.”
“I’m already breathing,” I counter, crossing my arms to lock the tremor out of my limbs. “But I’m not living. Not if I’m stuck behind four walls or locked in a room while you guys play at being warriors. I need to be involved. Even if it is just logistics or intel. Let me help.”
Mercury rubs his face with both hands, a low, frustrated growl vibrating in his chest. “Logistics means listening to the comms. It means hearing exactly what they are doing and knowing I might be walking into a grave. You think that’s safer for you?”
“It’s better than the unknown,” I insist, stepping into his space again. “The not knowing is what kills me. If I’m part of the team, I have some control. I have a purpose.”
He studies me for a long beat, his expression unreadable. Gemini steps up beside us and comes up with a compromise that he thinks we’ll both agree to. “We can put her in charge of the walkies and answering the phones in case the Blackfeet chief decides to reply to our message.”
Mercury’s gaze snaps to Gemini. He looks frustrated, but the logic clearly hits home. He knows he can’t keep me locked up indefinitely, and having me on the radio means I’m connected to the mission instead of just waiting in the dark. It’s a compromise, but it’s a start.
“She stays on the base channel,” Mercury dictates, his voice gruff as he looks around at the other men. “And if things go south, she doesn't try to play hero. She just calls for backup. Got it?”
I nod, my heart rate steadying. “I'm not looking to get my hands bloody, Mercury. I'm looking for a way to help.”
“Then this is it,” Gemini supplies, clapping a hand on Mercury’s shoulder. “We get you set up with the gear. When that chief calls, you're the first voice he hears.”
I feel a strange sense of relief wash over me. It’s not the frontline action I wanted, but it’s a tether. It keeps me in the loop.
“Let's get inside,” Mercury mutters, turning toward the house. “We've got work to do.”
I fall into step beside him, matching his stride.
The sun is setting now, casting long shadows across the yard, but for the first time since I arrived here, I don't feel like I'm hiding.
I feel like I'm finally part of the pack. We walk into the living room where the maps are being spread out, and I see the gear waiting they’ll need to take with them on this excursion on the table.
It looks like life or death equipment, and now in a sense, it belongs to me too.
I pull out a heavy wooden chair and sink into it.
The phone sits in the middle of the scarred table like a loaded weapon.
My eyes don't move from the screen. Every second that passes feels like a physical weight pressing against my chest. I want that call to happen right now.
I need it to happen. The silence in the room is thick and suffocating.
It tastes like copper and stale coffee. The guys are moving around me, their boots heavy on the floorboards, but they're just shadows in my peripheral vision.
I'm tired of being the girl who waits. I'm tired of being the one who gets found.
This waiting is a different kind of torture.
It's quiet and slow. It gives my brain too much room to breathe and that's never a good thing.
I keep seeing the jagged edges of those caves in my mind.
I keep thinking about the sensors and the traps.
If the chief doesn't call, we're flying blind into a nightmare that's already cost me everything.
Mercury leans over the table and his shadow falls across the phone.
He doesn't say anything at first. He just stands there.
I can feel the heat radiating off him. He's just as wound up as I am.
His fingers twitch near the edge of the map.
He wants to be out there. He wants to be hunting.
We're all just trapped in this stagnant air until that piece of plastic decides to ring.
“He'll call, Fin,” Mercury says. His voice is low and gravelly. It breaks the silence but it doesn't ease the tension. It just highlights how quiet the rest of the house has become. “He knows it's urgent. They’re being cautious. These people don't ignore a threat on their doorstep.”
“What if he doesn’t?” I ask, not breaking my stare. “What if he tells us to get lost?"
“Then we find another way in,” he states, his jaw tight. “We aren't stopping because they don't call us back.”
I turn, looking up at him. His face is a mask of determination. “It feels like we’re wasting time.”
“It's not wasted time,” he insists, stepping toward me. He places a hand on the back of my chair, his presence a sudden heat against the cold air. “We're gathering intel. We're making sure when we move, we don't trip over our own feet. You know how important that is.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just hate the waiting.”
“I know you do,” he says. He reaches down and taps the table near the phone. “But you're the one holding the line. Keep your eyes on that thing. The second it rings, you're the first one to know.”
“I won't look away,” I promise.
He nods, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Good. Because I need to know you're ready when the time comes.” My shoulders straighten, an act I know he’ll easily read. It’s one that says I won’t let anything get past me.