"Copy that."
I can feel Rachel's eyes on me still. I can practically hear the judgment in her gaze, even though I can't see her with my eyes closed. She probably thinks I'm an idiot for taking that bullet. Probably thinks I did it for some fucked up hero complex or because I expect her to throw herself at me in gratitude.
She has no idea that gratitude is the last thing I want from anyone.
I don't do what I do for recognition or reward. I do it because someone has to. Because the world is full of predators and prey, and I learned a long time ago which one I'd rather be.
The van stops, and I hear car doors opening. Voices calling out. Luna is giving orders about setting up a treatment area in the clubhouse.
"Can you walk?" Chaos asks, pulling back so I can try to sit up.
"Yeah."
It's mostly true. The wound is bleeding less now, and as long as I keep my left arm immobile, the pain is manageable. I've operated on worse.
I open my eyes and immediately meet Rachel's stare. She's still pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around herself like she's trying to physically hold herself together. Her dark hair is a mess, her too-small outfit is torn in places, and there are bruises on her arms that make my jaw clench.
"Thank you," one of the other women—Sarah, I think—says as she climbs out of the van with the others. "For saving us. For everything."
I nod once, not trusting myself to speak. Words have never been my strength anyway. Rachel doesn't move. Doesn't thank me. Just keeps staring like she's trying to figure out if I'm a threat or just an idiot.
Maybe I'm both.
"Come on," I say. "You're safe here."
"Am I?" She tilts her head, and there's something challenging in the gesture. "Or am I just in a different cage?"
"The door's not locked. You can leave whenever you want."
"Right. Leave and go where? Back to the life the Iron Eagles ripped me away from? Back to nothing?"
There's so much pain in those words that it physically hurts to hear them. But her face remains expressionless, like she's locked away everything that might make her vulnerable.
I know that trick too.
"That's your choice," I say, pushing myself to my feet despite the protest from my shoulder. "But you should eat something. Clean up. Figure out your next move when you're not running on adrenaline and fear."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Wasn't telling. Suggesting."
"Same difference."
Chaos appears at the van door, looking between us with confusion written all over his face. "Uh, Shadow? Luna's ready for you. And King wants to debrief once you're patched up."
I move toward the door, keeping my injured arm still. Rachel finally shifts, letting me pass, but I can feel her eyes tracking my movement.
"Why did you really do it?" she asks suddenly. "Take that bullet. And don't give me that 'it's what you do' bullshit. I want the real answer."
I pause in the doorway, looking back at her. She's standing now, chin lifted in defiance even though she must be exhausted and traumatized and running on empty.
She wants the truth? Fine.
"Because I've left people behind before," I say. "And I'm tired of living with the weight of it."
Then I step out of the van before she can respond, before I can see whatever emotion might flash across her face.
Chaos leads me into the clubhouse through a side entrance, avoiding the main room where the other rescued women are being taken care of. Luna has set up a treatment area in one of the private rooms, complete with professional medical supplies.
