“Try to sleep,” he said finally. “Please. Your body needs rest.”
I wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. Despite everything, despite not trusting him anymore—not fully, maybe not atall—my body was shutting down.
I curled slightly toward his warmth, hating myself for the weakness. But survival was stronger than pride. Some primal part of my brain recognized him as safety even though my logical mind screamed otherwise.
Sleep dragged me under like drowning, dark and inevitable. The last thing I felt was the bed shifting as he turned to watch the door, standing guard over someone he’d already broken once today. The last thing I heard was his breathing, steady but not quite stable, like he was fighting his own battle with whatever ghosts Coop had created.
Tomorrow, I’d have to pretend to be his property. Tonight, I was just trying to survive being in the same bed with someone I used to trust with my life.
Chapter 5
Coop
I’d been up most of the night trying to formulate a plan for getting Mia out. Every scenario had fatal flaws, every escape route had variables that could get her killed.
What I’d told her last night was true—the best bet was when we went into town. The guys drank hard and got sloppy at the bars. Maybe this time I’d actually “drink” with them like they were always asking, play the part of inebriated Coop who wouldn’t be watching Mia the way he should. She could slip away in the chaos.
If we even got that chance.
At 0700, the compound was dead quiet. These men never got up early—no discipline left from whatever military service they claimed. Diesel would sleep until noon if nobody kicked his door. Tommy rarely surfaced before ten. Even Snake, paranoid as he was, allowed himself late mornings.
Their lack of discipline was my advantage. Early morning hours were when I’d been able to get the most law enforcementwork done—encrypted check-ins, evidence documentation, surveillance photos. All while they slept off their hangovers and bad decisions.
I eased out of bed, careful not to wake Mia. Her sleep hadn’t been gentle, not that anyone could blame her for that. Even unconscious, her body stayed tense, ready to bolt. Every time I’d looked at those scratches on her arms and neck, I wanted to throw up.
I made it to the door and opened it silently—I’d oiled the hinges my second day here. The hallway floorboards had their own language—third board creaked like a dying cat, fifth board groaned under any weight. I’d memorized the pattern weeks ago. My bare feet found the silent spots automatically.
The kitchen was exactly what you’d expect from men who’d given up. Empty beer bottles lined the counter, pizza boxes towered in the corner, and Diesel’s ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. The fridge held mostly beer and questionable leftovers. I grabbed what I could—bread that wasn’t moldy, peanut butter, a couple of soft apples. Not much, but Mia would need the calories after yesterday’s trauma.
When I got back to the room, she was awake. Sitting up in bed with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was holding herself together.
“Breakfast,” I said, setting the food on the small table by the dresser. “Such as it is.”
She didn’t move at first, just watched me with those honey-brown eyes that used to look at me with adoration. Now they held wariness, exhaustion, and something else—resignation, maybe.
I hadn’t let myself dwell on the fact that I’d just spent the night lying next to her in bed, something I never thought I’d have a chance to do again. The last time had been a lifetime ago—before that final deployment, before everything went wrong, before I became someone too dangerous to love.
“You need to eat,” I said when she still hadn’t moved.
She unfolded slowly, like her muscles had forgotten how to work properly. Made her way to the table and sat down, pulling the chair as far from mine as the small space allowed.
She was obviously still in shock from everything that had happened—kidnapped, held at gunpoint, shoved into a closet until she clawed her own skin bloody. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been photographing an abandoned barn. Now she was trapped in a compound with men who’d kill her without blinking.
And here I was, the person who was supposed to protect her. The same person who’d left her six years ago without explanation. One day, I’d been there, talking about our future, looking at houses online when she wasn’t watching. The next day, I was gone—no forwarding address, no real explanation. Just gone.
She didn’t know why. Didn’t know about Matthews’s eyes going empty in my hands while his blood turned the Afghan dirt to mud. Didn’t know I’d come back with sharp edges where soft parts used to be. She deserved someone whole, not whatever I’d become.
“It’s not poisoned,” I said when she just stared at the food.
“I know.” Her voice was rough from sleep and yesterday’s screaming. She picked up an apple, took a small bite. “Thank you.”
We ate in silence, the peanut butter thick and hard to swallow.
“I’ll talk to the guys when they wake up,” I said, keeping my voice low even though I could still hear Diesel’s snoring through the walls. “See if I can talk them into going into town tonight ortomorrow night. If you can just hang on, I’ll make sure you get out of this.”
I wanted her safely away from here more than I wanted my next breath, but I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t tell her that every moment since I’d left had been an exercise in existing rather than living.
Instead, I was going to soak in being around her while I could, memorize the way morning light caught in her hair, the determined set of her jaw when she was trying to be brave. Store up these moments for the long, empty years ahead after she got away.
