Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Siren had been driving for forty minutes since the ambush. Winding through mountain roads that doubled back and forth through the thick forest. She watched her mirrors for a tail, but there was no sign of pursuit. She came to the conclusion that they were clear for now.
The adrenaline had faded, leaving her cold and sharp. And very aware of the throbbing in her arm. The field dressing was holding, but not well. Blood had soaked through the gauze. She needed to stop and dress it properly.
But not yet. She needed to go a few more miles and make a few more turns, to make 100% sure that she was in the clear. Reed was quiet in the passenger seat. She knew what he was thinking.
He’d watched her break a man’s neck with her bare hands. Watched her drive a knife into a man’s chest without hesitation. Watched her shoot two more in the head with blood dripping down her arm. He would never see her the same.
Silence stretched between them. She kept driving.
“Where are we going?” Reed finally asked. She glanced at him and found him looking at her.
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “The safehouse we were heading to was compromised. They knew my route, which means they probably knew the destination. Someone talked or they had Steel Protection under surveillance.”
“What now?” he asked.
“I need to contact Dom. After I find a safe place to rest and dress my wound. Then we’ll figure out our next steps.”
This was why she’d sent the message on . She didn’t want to hurt him. And she didn’t want to see him disappointed when he expected her to change. It was better to end it before it started, than let herself hope that there could ever be anything between them.
She continued driving for another twenty minutes, her wound throbbing. Finally, she found a remote trailhead with a Forest Service pullout. It was a gravel lot with a trail map board and a picnic table. There were no other cars. It was a good place to stop.
She pulled into the lot and killed the engine. Her arm was screaming. She grabbed the first aid kit and a water bottle and walked over to the picnic table, sat down, and peeled back the soaked bandage.
A furrow was carved along the outside of her shoulder. The edges were raw and red, but she’d had worse. Much worse. She reached for the water bottle and started cleaning the wound, washing away the dried blood.
“Let me.”
She looked up. Reed was standing above her, dressed in fresh clothes. But she hadn’t heard him get out of the car. She was slipping. Exhaustion, probably. Or blood loss. She should have heard him moving.
“I’ve got it,” she said. She’d dressed her own wounds a hundred times before.
He didn’t move. Didn’t look away from her eyes. “Let me help you anyway.”
She wanted to refuse. But finally let out a sigh and handed him the water, leaning in while he sat beside her at the table.
She extended her arm between them, feeling vulnerable in a way that she hated.
She’d expected him to hesitate, to be squeamish and clumsy.
But his hands were steady, pouring water over the raw flesh.
He opened the first aid kit and examined the contents. His touch was light when he began to dab her wound with disinfectant wipes. She watched him. He didn’t say anything, just kept working. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let someone touch her like this.
It made her chest ache and her inner wolf howl to be closer, to lay down all her burdens and fall into his arms. That made her want to pull away, to retreat behind the walls she’d built, and to be alone with her wound. Being alone was safe, and this wasn’t.
But she didn’t pull away. She let him work.
He secured a bandage with medical tape, pressing the edges down with his thumbs.
Then his hands rested there for a moment, and he looked up at her.
Something passed between them, and she didn’t know how to feel.
She didn’t know what it was. She pulled back. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “Thank you for letting me help you,” he said, tidying up the first aid kit.
She went back to the SUV and pulled out one of her burner phones. She dialed Dom’s number from memory and started rifling through her spare license plates. Dom answered on the third ring.
“It’s me,” she said. “We were ambushed on route to the safe house.”
She gave him the details. The professional team of six operatives. She assumed there was surveillance or a leak, but she was alive and Reed was safe. The recording was secure. But the original safehouse was blown.
Dom listened. “How bad is the arm?”
“It’s nothing. I’ve bandaged it.”
He didn’t push.
“Stay mobile,” he said. “Don’t use any known Steel Protection locations. I’ll be in touch with a new plan.”
“Copy that,” she said and ended the call.
After she finished changing her plates and patching up the bullet marks in the body of her car, she walked over to Reed at the picnic table. All evidence of the wound was disposed of. She stood on the other side of the table, trying to keep space between them.
“We need to keep moving,” she said. “Dom’s working on a plan.”
He nodded.
“I’m not going to be able to go home now, am I?” His voice was quiet. He already knew the answer.
“Not until we know how deep this goes,” she said. “They found us once. And your family has already been targeted. The safest thing for us to do is to keep moving.”
“I was afraid of that. They’ll be worried.”
“Dom will get word to them,” she said. “Something vague. Enough to keep them from filing a missing person’s report. But not enough to make them targets.”
She’d expected him to fall apart. That was the typical civilian response in a crisis. The spiral of denial and fear and desperate scrambling for control. He was scared, she could see it in the tension in his shoulders. But he wasn’t breaking.
“We should go,” she said again. “Put more distance between us and the ambush location before dark. Good job cleaning up the bandages and blood. Best not to leave any evidence behind.”
He nodded and stood, following her back to the SUV without another word. They got inside and she pulled out of the trailhead and back onto the forest road, heading deeper into the mountains.