SEAL of Bravery (Iron Tide Brotherhood #2)

Chapter 1

Katelyn

By the time I’ve reached the last flight of stairs leading toward my apartment, the double shift I just pulled at the diner hits me like a tidal wave. My feet throb with every step, and I know they’ll likely be swollen by the time I do manage to get my shoes off.

If only I could get away from my fear of elevators, then I could have saved myself a lot of pain. Unfortunately, that fear outweighs any desire I have to be off my feet right away. Besides, it only takes a few extra minutes to make the climb.

And, stairs are good for you, right? Isn’t that what the experts say?

My final text from Thomas came in two hours ago, so I know he’s already home and in bed, sleeping in preparation for school tomorrow.

Though, I suspect that’s only because he made it a point to be in bed before I got home in order to avoid the conversation we are absolutely going to have about his struggling grades.

Stormwatch Landing was supposed to be a fresh start for us. In a lot of ways, it has been. But moving constantly has caught up to my thirteen-year-old, and his grades are suffering for it.

No more. It’s the promise I made to myself when we moved to this small South Carolina town. We will be here until he graduates—no matter what.

I sigh as I step onto my floor, then head down the hall. Unease trickles up my spine when I notice the door to my neighbor’s apartment is cracked open. He seems to be a kind man, though we’ve shared nothing but a wave here and there.

Mainly because, whenever I see him, my entire nervous system goes straight into overdrive. The guy is attractive with a capital “A”. Make that all caps. As in: should be on the cover of every magazine everywhere.

Considering my luck with handsome men, I’ve done everything I can to avoid him.

Including hiding out whenever I hear his door open or close.

Even if I’m already on my way out. Because, in my experience, they have heavy hands and very little internal substance.

Thomas’s father ensured I understood that.

Still…why is his door open? I cautiously approach, trying to look through the crack in the door without actually peering inside.

And then a knocked-over teacup catches my attention. I move in a bit closer, and my gaze lands on what I can see of a Bible lying open, halfway dangling off the coffee table as though it had been tossed there.

More unease slices through me, and I know, without a doubt, something is wrong.

“Hello?” I ask as I knock on the ajar door. “Are you—” The door swings open, revealing a battlefield inside.

Adrenaline surges through my system as I race inside, looking for my neighbor. What if he’s hurt?

What if the person who made this mess is still here?

I pause long enough to withdraw my phone and preemptively dial 9-1, not finishing the call just yet.

“Hello?” I move farther into his living room, then come around to the side of the couch.

As I turn toward the hallway and spot the bare-chested man face-down in a pool of his own blood, that adrenaline kicks into overdrive.

The scene is straight out of a horror movie, right down to a man wearing a ski mask, lying directly behind my neighbor. His eyes are the only part of his face that’s visible, and they’re frozen open, staring at the ceiling.

Dead.

My stomach twists, and panic pulses through me as I fall to my knees beside my neighbor while dialing the last 1 and hitting Call. I put it on speaker and set it on the floor next to me as the nurse I’ve tried so hard to bury surfaces.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“My neighbor has been attacked. Male, mid-thirties,” I trail off as I feel for a pulse, then breathe a sigh of relief when I feel the faint thump against my fingers. “Faint pulse, thank God.”

“What is your location?”

I rattle off the address. “I’m going to roll him over to see where the blood is coming from.” Both of my hands are already slick with his blood as I slide them beneath his muscled chest and waist. With great effort, I manage to roll him over.

It takes me all of a heartbeat to find his injury. I find a massive, jagged wound in his side, and the blood has begun to slow, which means he doesn’t have long.

“Nasty stab wound,” I tell the dispatcher.

“We have help on the way.”

“Thanks.” I rip the sweater over my head and press it to his side, then glance over at the other man. “There’s another man here, but—” Maintaining pressure with one hand, I reach over and feel for a pulse on the other man.

There is none.

“The other man is dead.”

“There’s another man?”

I nod, then realize she can’t actually see me. “He’s wearing a mask. I just found them this way. My neighbor is breathing, but—” I scream when a large hand grips my wrist. My gaze lands on my neighbor’s, his dark eyes wide and pleading.

“Help. Her,” he chokes out.

I scan the room. “I don’t see anyone else. I can’t leave you to look, or you’ll bleed out. Help is coming, okay?”

Her. Who is “her”?

His eyes roll back in his head, and I press firmly onto his injury as the blood continues to pound in my ears.

“No, stay with me. Are you there?” I try to wake him, but his head lolls to the side.

“Ma’am, are you still there?” the dispatcher asks.

“Yes, sorry. I’m here.” My throat tightens. Is there someone else here? Someone else who needs help?

“Did I hear that right? Is there someone else there?”

“I don’t see anyone else,” I say. “And I don’t want to risk leaving him to check. He’s going to die if I release the pressure.” Tears swim in my eyes. Please don’t die. There’s so much blood.

So. Much. Blood.

Panic begins to push through my rational mind, and even though I know I’m safe, my body’s fight or flight kicks into gear, and I want to run away.

Far and fast.

“Stay right there. Help is on the way.”

“Okay. Please hurry.”

My gaze drops to where his hand has gone limp on my wrist. His chest is slick with his own blood, and it saturates the diner uniform I’m wearing, staining the rust-colored skirt a shade darker.

Those eyes flutter open again, but they’re glazed over and staring straight up at me as though he can’t really see me.

“I’m here,” I tell him. “You’re going to be okay.” Please be okay.

“I—” he starts, but his eyes roll back into his head, and he falls silent again.

“Stay with me, okay?” I say again. “Please stay with me.”

But he doesn’t stir again. In the distance, sirens grow closer, but his breathing grows more shallow.

Because I don’t know what else to do, and he’ll need a miracle to survive, I lower my head and pray.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.”