Beyond the fence, two figures disappear into the night. Too fast, too smooth. They knew what they were doing.
“Just a graze,” Zane grunts, wincing as I crouch beside him. “I’ve had worse.”
That doesn’t stop me from yanking his hand away, checking the wound myself. The bullet only nicked him, but the wound is still bleeding too much. My fingers shake as I apply pressure.
“Who were they?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Zane exhales sharply. “Doesn’t matter. They got what they wanted.”
A chill settles in my spine. I glance up at Asher, who’s scanning the perimeter, gun still in hand. His expression is grim.
“Intel,” Asher mutters. “They were testing our response time. Our patterns.”
The realization sinks in like a stone. This wasn’t just an attack. It was a rehearsal.
Jason’s just getting started.
I press down on Zane’s wound harder than necessary, and he hisses through his teeth. “You’re welcome,” I mutter.
“Sadist,” he grumbles.
“Can you walk?” Asher asks Zane, stepping beside me.
Zane gives a short nod. “Not gracefully, though.”
“Let’s go.” Asher hooks an arm under Zane’s good shoulder, helping haul him up. Zane grits his teeth but doesn’t protest, which is concerning. He’s too damn stubborn to admit when he needs help.
Every nerve in my body stays on edge, waiting for another shot, another threat. But the night is quiet now, eerily so.
Inside, Damon meets us at the door, gun still in hand. His gaze flicks to Zane’s shoulder, then to me. “How bad?”
“He’ll live,” I say, leading them toward the kitchen. “But I need supplies.”
Damon nods once. “I’ll grab the kit.”
“Where are the kids?” I ask.
“Upstairs. They’re okay, just a little shaken. I gave them some Dramamine to calm down. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “You did good.”
Zane exhales roughly as we lower him onto a chair. He leans his head back, closing his eyes. “I’m never getting hazard pay for this, am I?” he mutters.
“Nope,” Asher says, smirking.
I shoot them both a look. “Less talking, more sitting still.”
Zane grins at me, but there’s exhaustion behind it. “Yes, ma’am.”
Damon returns with the first aid kit, and I get to work. The whole time, one thought pounds in my head—this was just a test. And next time, Jason won’t be testing. He’ll come to finish what he started.
Zane lets out a breathy chuckle as I press gauze against his wound. “You’re always fixing me.”
I glance up, confused, until I remember. The night we met, when I cleaned up the cuts and bruises Jason left on him. Back when I still thought my life was complicated but manageable.
“Not doing a very good job of it,” I mumble, taping the bandage into place. “You keep getting yourself hurt.”
“Job hazard.” His smirk is weak but still there. “Besides, I think you just like having an excuse to touch me.”
