12. Easton
Easton
I don’t know what I’m doing. No clue what to say, either. The call ended a few minutes ago and we’re both still on the floor, not moving a muscle. Not a word has passed between us, and if she doesn’t talk soon, I’m gonna lose my mind.
Unable to tolerate the silence anymore, I take a chance and ask, “You feel like getting cleaned up and changed?”
She sniffles and pulls back, her fingers sliding around from my back to my arms. “Do I have blood on me?”
“A little,” I admit. And it’s his blood. The bastard who planned to kill Wyatt right after telling him he raped his daughter. What kind of sick fu—
“The other guy was going to . . . next. The one outside the door.”
My world spins. Flips. Turns all the way around.
“They were going to take turns.”
I take a second to replay her words. There’s no way I heard her right.
My entire body goes stiff when I realize she did, in fact, say that.
She flinches, burying her fingertips into my biceps. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
I’m still processing. Unable to put together a coherent sentence that doesn’t start and end with death. But he’s (no, they’re) already dead. Dammit all to hell.
“It’s just . . . now that I know those people at the hotel are alive and okay, which thank God, they are,” she continues, as I mentally purge the world of as much evil as I can over and over again, “I feel like it’s okay for me to be sad about what they almost did to me.”
And that’ll do it. Knock my ass back to the present. Because holy shit. “It was always okay for you to feel sad, mad, or whatever you want to feel.” I cup her face between my palms, needing to see her eyes. “No one should ever experience or almost experience that. Not ever.”
She’s still quiet.
Still not looking at me.
My jaw clenches even tighter. “What do you need me to do? How can I help?” I rasp. “We have at least three and a half more hours until they’re here. I think you need a medical check, but aside from tapping your knees with one of those tiny hammers to make it jerk . . . hell if I know anything.”
She loosens her grip on my arms and finally grants me her eyes. “Thank you.”
I raise my brows. “For?”
She smiles and taps her lip. “For making this happen with your tiny hammer joke.”
I wasn’t actually joking, but I’ll take it.
“I guess a shower and clean clothes works. Maybe something to eat so my stomach stops yelling at me?”
“This place should be stocked. Probably not the best food, though. Most likely some MRE-type shit.”
Hopefully Zoey can help with the shower-and-clothes part. No clue where she went, but I know she has to be feeling both pissed and guilty since this was her op.
“Let’s get you up.” I attempt to shift her off me while ignoring the pain in my back, but my legs are completely dead. “You, uh, put my ass to sleep.”
She cracks another smile. “Sorry about that.” Unhooking her legs from around me, she begins to wiggle around.
The shimmying of her ass in the general area of my crotch is about to wake up an organ that needs to stay asleep. Once she’s off me, I pound my legs with my fists, trying to get the blood flowing again.
“I really did a number on you, didn’t I?” She’s on her knees next to me, and the numbness is worth every second of seeing the dimple in her cheek as her smile reaches her eyes.
“You always do a number on me.” My voice is too damn deep. And to make it worse, I quietly let the subtext of what I said sit between us for a solid five seconds.
She sets her hand on my leg, keeping clear of where I wiped that man’s blood on my pants earlier. “Need a massage?”
“Nope,” I snap out. “Definitely don’t rub me anywhere.” Well, damn. That sounded absolutely horrible. “I’m good, promise.”
She rocks back onto her heels, letting go of me, and once again giving me a clear view of what she’s wearing.
I need that jumpsuit off her ASAP. All I can think about is why it’s on her in the first place, and that’s going to send me over the edge and back to the compound to find someone still alive to murder. The only thing keeping me here is her.
I finally get my ass moving—literally—and ride out the wave of stinging pain as shit wakes up again. Then I somehow manage to get us both upright without my legs giving out on me.
“Ever since the crash,” I share, unsure whether I should open my mouth or not, “this happens from time to time. Usually only in the middle of the night. Not your fault.”
Her brows rise. “Just like the accident wasn’t yours?”
“Even now, you can’t help yourself, can you?” Why do I love that about her? Her unwillingness to give up on me even when I want to.
She shrugs, and for a split second, the Gwen I know is here with me without the weight of what happened to her hanging over her head. If only I could remove that weight for good.
“Come on, let’s find Zoey.” I gesture to the hall as if I know where I’m going, but I’ve never stepped foot in the place.
Carter always covers his bases, so I’m confident we’ll have whatever we need. I was fully prepared for the potential of escaping to the safe house with Zoey. Never thought I’d be going on the run with the woman I’d essentially run away from, though.
“This was Zoey’s op, right?” Gwen places her hand on the hall wall for support, dragging her fingers along the flower wallpaper as we walk.
“Yeah, and the odds we just so happened to be here in Vanuatu undercover with the same people who took you are impossible.”
“I don’t know,” Gwen says softly. “I’ve seen even more impossible things happen than that.”
Like the miracle of surviving that crash without being paralyzed. Also supposed to be impossible.
“Regardless of how this happened, they wanted my rig for something, and it can’t be good.
She did say she wanted me alive to watch the destruction she does with it, but I thought she was just trying to mess with my head.
And making sure those arseholes didn’t suspect she planned to crash the plane and kill us all. ”
“Why don’t we hold off on the guesses until the others are here?” I’m not up for talking about this yet. Gwen’s safety is all that matters to me.
“Probably a good idea,” she agrees as her eyes go elsewhere.
Zoey’s standing in the hallway, and Gwen’s laser-focused on her hand. More specifically, to the wedding band still on Zoey’s ring finger.
I clear my throat like that’ll destroy the awkwardness I don’t understand but can feel in the air. “She’d, uh, like to shower and change. Which room can I take her to?”
“Upstairs. Third door on the right.” Zoey gestures down the hall.
“Take the back stairwell. The room next to it has an assortment of men’s clothing in it for you.
I showered and changed while you two were wrapping up your call.
” Her voice is strong, but guilt lingers in her expression.
This may have been her op, but this is far from her fault.
“I’m going to go check the exterior property cameras.
There’s a setup with screens in the office where I found the mobile.
” She turns, only to stop and spin back around. “Unless you need my help up there?”
Right. Considering I wouldn’t help Gwen put on the jumpsuit while naked, she has to know I won’t exactly be getting in the shower with her.
“I think I can manage on my own.” Gwen offers her a polite smile, her gaze still dead set on Zoey’s ring.
You think we’re sleeping together. But why do you care?
Zoey catches where Gwen’s eyes are, and she holds up her hand and points to the ring. “The bloody thing is stuck.” She tosses me an apologetic look for some reason. “What about medical help, you good?”
“I’m fine.”
“Me, too,” I lie.
She nods and takes off, and Gwen doesn’t say another word—neither do I, for that matter—as we make our way to the bedroom upstairs.
She turns on the light and removes her sandals.
I stay in the hall and rest my hands against the doorframe, unsure whether I should join her.
Before I can even come up with a list of reasons why I should stay in the hall, she spins around and blurts out, “Are you two together?”
Well, that settles that. I’m coming in.
Her eyes narrow, and she blinks a few times as if shocked by her own words.
“Not my business. Sorry. Don’t know where that came from.
” She turns around and heads to the dresser, rummaging through the drawers for something to wear as if everything is normal.
As if she didn’t just ask me about hooking up with Zoey.
Thankfully not in those exact words, but that’s still how I heard it.
“No,” I finally answer, and she stills, her hands collapsing to her sides.
“We’re not together. I always slept on the couch.
” I take two more steps inside, and the material of that damn orange jumpsuit pinches down the middle as her shoulder blades draw together.
“I’ve never thought about her in any way other than my teammate. ”
“Oh.” The word is so small, yet I still hear the sound of relief buried inside it.
I want to ask why she’s relieved, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Questioning and getting involved in her emotional state will lead to places I shouldn’t go. Not when getting her off this island safe and alive is all I should be focusing on.
“I wouldn’t blame you if something happened while pretending to be her husband.
” She slowly faces me but doesn’t make eye contact.
She seems more intent on studying the blood on my cargo pants instead.
“You two are just alike.” She wrings her fingers together like I’ve only ever seen her do when she’s battling decrypting something.
It’s one of her stress reliever go-tos. “You’re both badasses.
” She shrugs, letting her hands fall to her sides again only to drum her fingers against that damn prison-orange.
I honestly can’t believe she’s thinking about this after what happened to her tonight.
“She’s smart and gorgeous as well. And you’re . . .”