"You're not dying today." I squeezed his hand back. "I promise."
The attack ended as suddenly as it began. One moment, gunfire everywhere. The next, engines roaring, tires screaming, the sound of retreat. Devil's Dust melting away into the night, leaving destruction and nightmares behind.
I didn't move from Jake's side until Tank appeared, lifted the kid like he weighed nothing, and carried him toward the makeshift infirmary we'd set up in the back room.
"You saved his life," Tank said as he passed. Not a question. Just acknowledgment.
I followed on shaking legs.
The infirmary was already crowded. Maria was there, face pale but hands steady, helping bandage a prospect with a gash across his ribs. Two other Phoenix members sat against the wall, wounded but ambulatory. The air smelled like blood and antiseptic and fear.
Tank laid Jake on the table. I took over immediately, checking vitals, adjusting the bandage, starting an IV line with fluids from our depleted supplies. "He needs a hospital," I said.
"Can't." Hawk's voice came from the doorway. He looked like hell—soot on his face, blood on his hands, exhaustion carved into every line. "They'll be watching every ER in the city. And after tonight, we have to assume Chen's people are waiting."
"If he doesn't get surgery?—"
"Can you stabilize him?"
I looked at Jake—pale, unconscious now, but breathing. The bleeding had stopped. Vitals were weak but holding. "Maybe. For a while. But he needs the bullet out, needs proper?—"
"Then stabilize him. Buy us time." Hawk's eyes met mine, and I saw the weight he was carrying. "We'll figure out the rest."
He left. I turned back to my patient and got to work.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time lost meaning in that room. I monitored Jake's vitals obsessively, adjusted his fluids, kept the wound clean. Maria brought me water I didn't drink, food I couldn't eat. At some point, Axel appeared in the doorway, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"You left the bathroom," he said.
"Jake was in trouble."
"You could have died."
"So could he." I didn't look up from checking Jake's pulse. "I made a choice."
Silence. Then footsteps, and his hand on my shoulder. "I'm not angry," he said quietly. "I'm terrified. There's a difference."
"I know."
"When I saw you out there, in the middle of it all—" His voice cracked, just slightly. "I thought I'd lost you."
I finally turned, saw the fear underneath his composure. This massive, lethal man, afraid forme. "I'm here." I reached up, covered his hand with mine. "I'm right here."
He pulled me into a hug—brief, fierce, his face buried in my hair. "Don't ever do that again," he murmured.
"Can't promise that."
"I know." He pulled back, something like resignation in his eyes. "That's what scares me."
Dawn crept through the shattered windows like a thief. The clubhouse looked like a bomb had hit it. Which, in a way, it had. Windows blown out, walls pocked with bullet holes, furniture destroyed. The smell of smoke and blood lingered despite the cold air pouring through the gaps.
Three Phoenix members were dead. Seven more wounded, including Jake. The Devil's Dust had lost more—bodies still scattered outside, waiting to be dealt with—but the victory felt hollow. Hawk called Church at first light.
I stayed with Jake, unwilling to leave him, but Tyler brought me updates. The attack had been coordinated, professional. Multiple entry points hit simultaneously. They'd known our defensive positions, our patrol schedules, everything.
"Inside information," Tyler said grimly. "Someone's been feeding them intel."
"Who?"
