17. Hannah
Hannah
Clay is seconds away from killing him.
I can feel it.
The tension rolling off him is almost physical now, sharp enough to cut through the smoke-filled loading dock.
Every muscle in his body is locked tight beside me.
Every breath controlled too carefully.
He wants this man dead.
Immediately.
Unfortunately, the militia commander knows it too.
Which means Clay is walking straight into a trap if he loses control.
The commander studies us calmly while armed men continue surrounding the warehouse outside.
Nobody lowers their weapons.
Nobody relaxes.
This entire situation feels balanced on the edge of a knife.
“You’re bleeding,” I murmur quietly without looking at Clay. “Were you hit?”
His head snaps slightly toward me.
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
Blood darkens the side of his vest near his ribs.
Not pouring.
Not critical.
But enough to tell me he was injured during the firefight.
Idiot.
The commander notices the exchange immediately.
“Doctor instincts,” he says mildly. “Even now.”
I ignore him completely and crouch beside one of the supply crates instead.
Partially because I need medical gauze.
Mostly because I need Clay to breathe for five seconds before he does something catastrophic.
The child stays glued to my side while I quickly dig through the damaged medical bag Lucas managed to recover earlier.
Behind me, Russ keeps talking.
Good.
Keep the commander distracted.
“We’re not handing her over,” Russ says evenly.
“I assumed not.”
“Then you understand how this ends.”
The commander’s expression barely changes.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “Violently.”
Wonderful.
I finally find clean gauze and antiseptic beneath a crushed tray of syringes.
Better than nothing.
When I stand again, Clay’s eyes immediately drop to the supplies in my hands.
“Hannah—”
“Sit down.”
His eyebrows rise instantly.
Absolutely not the reaction of a man currently bleeding through tactical gear.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“You’re right,” I reply coolly. “Which is why I’m not asking.”
Miles actually chokes back a laugh somewhere behind us.
Even Lucas mutters, “Man, I missed this.”
Clay glares at all of us.
Then finally crouches beside the concrete barrier with obvious reluctance.
Victory.
Tiny.
Temporary.
Still satisfying.
I kneel in front of him quickly while gunfire continues echoing somewhere farther down the river district.
The commander watches the entire thing silently.
That bothers me.
I pull aside the damaged section of Clay’s vest carefully.
My stomach tightens immediately.
There are stitches along his ribs that tore open.
Not horribly.
But enough.
“You reopened a wound. What happened?”
“I noticed it opened.”
I glare up at him.
He glares right back. “Not now Hannah.”
The little girl beside me whispers quietly, “You are married?”
Both of us answer instantly.
“No.”
Then we look at each other.
The child blinks between us in obvious confusion.
Behind me, Miles starts laughing harder.
“Not helping,” Clay mutters.
I press antiseptic against his side harder than necessary.
He flinches.
Slightly.
Satisfaction flickers through me.
“Stop getting shot at,” I mutter.
“Stop running toward gunfire.”
Fair.
The realization almost makes me smile despite the situation.
Almost.
The commander watches us for another long second before speaking again.
“You care for each other deeply.”
Clay’s entire body goes cold beside me.
Dangerously cold.
I feel it immediately.
Like something inside him just shut off.
I finish wrapping the clean gauze around his ribs quickly while trying very hard not to react to the commander’s words myself.
Because the problem is—
He isn’t wrong.
And judging by the way Clay’s eyes keep finding mine now?
We both know it.
The commander steps slightly closer through the smoke.
“Unfortunately,” he says calmly, “that creates weakness.”
Clay rises instantly.
Fast enough that I barely catch the movement before he’s standing between me and the commander.
Protective.
Aggressive.
Absolutely furious.
“No,” Clay says quietly.
The commander’s eyebrow lifts slightly.
“No?”
The air changes.
I feel it immediately.
Everyone does.
Because Clay’s voice no longer sounds angry.
It sounds lethal.
The kind of calm that comes right before violence.
“You made a mistake,” Clay says.
The commander actually looks amused.
“And what mistake was that?”
Clay’s fingers tighten around his rifle.
“You threatened her in front of me.”
Oh boy.
Even Russ goes still beside us.
Because every single person here understands the same thing at once.
This man has finally pushed Clay too far.
The commander studies him carefully now.
No amusement left.
Only calculation.
Then suddenly—
Gunfire erupts outside again.
Different direction this time.
Louder.
Closer.
One of the militia fighters shouts frantically in Arabic from outside the loading dock.
The commander turns sharply toward the noise.
And for the first time since he arrived—
He looks surprised.
Russ immediately grabs his radio.
“Movement north side,” Lucas says urgently through comms. “Unknown armed group entering the district.”
The commander’s expression darkens instantly.
“That’s impossible.”
Which means whoever just arrived—
He wasn’t expecting them.