“Okay, here we go.”
He guided me out of the hollow, my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand. The outside air felt like a miracle, even though we were still in danger. We crossed the open groundin a stumbling rush, reaching our cabin’s window just as dawn started graying the eastern sky.
He boosted me through first, my arms trembling as I pulled myself over the sill. I landed hard on the floor inside, muscles failing from the prolonged panic. He followed, somehow still graceful despite everything, catching me before I could fully collapse.
My whole body shook—continued reaction from the claustrophobia, from the near misses, from the insane risk we’d just taken. He tugged shoes and pants off both of us and got us into bed, under the covers. It was getting lighter by the second, and the cameras would be able to see us soon. The blanket felt good despite my feet being numb from creek water and legs scratched from underbrush.
“You did good out there,” he said softly.
I wanted to respond, but exhaustion pulled at me like gravity. The last thing I felt was him settling beside me, careful not to crowd me after what had just happened in that crushing space.
The intel was out. Evidence of Oliver’s operation was in federal hands.
And we’d survived another night in hell.
Chapter 12
Coop
The knock came like a fist against my skull—three sharp raps that cut through sleep and had me reaching for the Glock under my pillow before my eyes were fully open. Bishop’s voice followed, flat and impatient through the door.
“Mr. Oliver wants you both at the main building. Late breakfast. Ten minutes.”
I checked my watch. Nearly eleven. We’d missed the regular breakfast by a long time. Four hours of sleep after last night’s surveillance activities had left me running on fumes, and deviating from routine in Oliver’s world meant scrutiny we couldn’t afford.
“We’ll be there after we shower,” I called back, my voice rough with exhaustion.
“Now.” Bishop’s tone left no room for negotiation. “Mr. Oliver doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I sat up, ribs aching from the previous evening’s tree shenanigans, shoulders tight from staying hypervigilant even in sleep. “Give us five minutes to get dressed.”
“Five minutes but door stays open.”
I wished for a fucking lock, not that it would help much if Oliver had all the keys, as the door swung inward. Bishop positioned himself just outside, back to us but within earshot. Always watching without watching. Unlike Tommy or Diesel, or even Snake, Bishop wasn’t one to underestimate. Oliver had him around for a purpose.
Mia hadn’t stirred. She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other clutching the sheet. In the harsh morning light filtering through dirty windows, I could see what three days in this hell had done to her. Dark circles carved hollows under her eyes. Her cheekbones stood out sharp against skin that had lost its healthy glow. Even in sleep, her jaw stayed clenched, body coiled tight like she was ready to run.
She’d lost weight. Not much, but on her frame, every pound showed. Three days of constant fear, exposure to the elements, barely eating because her stomach stayed knotted with anxiety.
And now she needed to do it all again. Perform again. Keep it together again.
“Mia.” I touched her shoulder gently. She didn’t respond. “Hey, we need to get up.”
Nothing. Her breathing stayed deep and even—her body’s defense mechanism kicking in, shutting down from the accumulated stress. I recognized it from deployment, when the human system hit overload and just checked out.
“Mia, come on.” I shook her harder. “Oliver wants us at breakfast.”
Her eyes fluttered but didn’t open. A soft whimper escaped—the sound she’d been making in her sleep, the one that twisted my gut every time.
“Four minutes,” Bishop called from the doorway.
My hand hovered over her. I had to be Coop now, the asshole who’d claimed her. Had to make it convincing with Bishop listening. The necessity of it made bile rise in my throat.
My palm came down on her ass, sharp enough to jolt.
“Up, bitch.Now.”
She jerked awake, eyes wild and unfocused, hands coming up defensive. For a second, she didn’t know where she was. Then recognition crashed over her face—that careful nothing expression she’d perfected, the one that made me want to punch through walls, even though I was thankful she had it around others.
