Wait. Something was wrong.
“Ry?”
Ryden winced and fell over onto his side. Oh no. No, no, no. Jay scrambled up.
“Ry!” Jay frantically checked him over, aware of King kneeling beside him, helping him search. When Jay slid a hand under Ryden’s vest at his shoulder, a couple of inches above his heart, he sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of something wet. Pulling his hand out, it was covered in blood. “King.” Jay’s voice was a whisper. “Oh God.”
Ryden lolled his head to the side and glanced down. “I guess that bullet did hit me. I’m fine.” Jay gaped at him, and Ryden chuckled. “Okay, maybe not entirely fine.”
Jay gripped Ryden’s vest, his heart in his throat, and terror threatening to consume him. “If you bleed out on me, so help me, I will murder you.”
“Not sure how that works, but okay. I love you, too.”
King slid his hand under Ryden, and Ryden cried out, then cursed. “It went through, Marine. Come on, we need to get you to the paramedics. They should be arriving any moment. Finch, give me a hand.”
Jay kissed Ryden. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
“Marines don’t die,” Finch said, helping King lift Ryden to his feet, each one putting an arm around him. “They just go to hell and regroup.”
“Oorah,” Ryden replied, his grin wide.
Jay shook his head. Those two. He wasn’t about to admit it, but it was nice that Ryden had a fellow Marine around. It was a shame Finch wouldn’t be staying. Speaking of Finch, his brother was awfully quiet, which was very unlike him. Focusing on Ryden, Jay stayed close.
“You said you read all the books of mine you kept.”
“Yep,” Ryden murmured.
“Then you know, the heroes always get their happy ever after.”
Ryden’s soft smile lit Jay up from the inside out.
“Then let’s make sure we get one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jay had never seen somany flashing lights in his entire life.
Every type of first responder, in addition to Port Security and the Department of Homeland Security, swarmed the port. It would have been terrifying if King hadn’t already called in a favor or two by the time he and the rest of their team reached the paramedics.
Thanks to King’s connections, they weren’t arrested on sight. While King spoke with his contact at the DHS, the other agents took Dennis, Fleming, and Jones away in handcuffs. The DHS had already picked up the men hired by Walton to load the ship, and the weapons crates were being seized. There was no sign of Walton, but the fire crew was still working on extinguishing the blaze.
They helped Ryden into the back of the ambulance, removing his helmet and tactical vest to make it easier for the paramedic to attend to him, though not before Ryden insisted Jay remove Pascal from his vest’s pocket. Once inside the ambulance, the young woman quickly got to work to stop the bleeding, then administered an IV and secured an oxygen mask around his nose and mouth.
Jay rode in the ambulance with Ryden, holding his hand while the paramedic went to work. Meanwhile, the rest of the guys were arranging transportation to meet them at the hospital, what with their van having been blown up.
“I forgot how much getting shot hurts,” Ryden grumbled, his voice somewhat muffled from the oxygen mask. His pout was adorable.
“Maybe don’t jump in front of bullets next time,” Jay teased. His smile fell away, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“He woulda killed you,” Ryden said, squeezing his hand. “My chances of surviving were greater than yours.” He paused before squeezing Jay’s hand again. “Woulda done it anyway. Even if I wasn’t geared up.”
“Don’t say that.” Jay couldn’t allow himself to think about what might have happened if Ryden hadn’t been wearing his tactical gear.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Jay replied, not caring that the paramedic heard every word. However, the little smile on her face when she turned away reassured him that he didn’t have to worry. He laced his fingers with Ryden’s. “That doesn’t mean I want you dying for me.” Tears pooled in his eyes, and Ryden shook his head.
“No one’s dyin’,” Ryden said, pulling Jay close so he could wipe his cheek. “’Cept maybe Walton.”
