Greyson strode into the room, his gaze somber. “I was there. You did everything you could in shitty conditions.”
Tace stood and put his back to the wall, tapping his head several times pretty hard. “I should’ve saved him.” He shook his head, his eyes tracking nothing as he probably replayed the surgery.
“You tried,” Sami said, wanting to approach him but not sure if he’d snap her head off. “I know you did.”
Greyson sighed. “I’ll go round up a couple of guys to bury him. We’re getting drunk tonight, friends.” He smacked Tace on the arm as he walked by, his movements slow and weary.
Silence pounded around the small room with death just a doorway apart. “I’m sorry, Tace,” Sami murmured.
He lowered his chin, his eyes inscrutable. “What did you find in the storage area?”
She blinked, and warning ticked through her abdomen. He’d gone from pissed to calculating in a nanosecond. “Medicine, water, and guns.”
“A lot?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, chills suddenly attacking her. “Did the medicine I brought help?”
“Didn’t need it.” Tace wiped a hand across his eyes. “I lost that guy an hour before he died. There wasn’t a way to save him.”
Sami took a step back. “But you tried.”
“Of course I tried.” His eyes darkened. “Feel like shit that I couldn’t save him.”
Yet the medic had still used the situation for them to gain information. “I, ah—”
“We’re at war, Samantha.” His voice lowered with a matter-of-fact tone that cut right through her. “We had to go home with some sort of intel, and I figured out a way to get it.”
She nodded. “I know. Man, you’ve changed.”
“That’s the truth.” He scratched at the now-dried blood on his face. “You’re smart to stay the hell away from me. I’m sliding fast, and there’s no light at the end of the fall. Let’s help bury their dead and then commiserate and celebrate life with a lot of liquor.”
“You wanna get drunk?” she asked, the world tilting. Where had her compass gone?
“Why not? At the very least, maybe we can get information out of them when they’re drinking.” He looked down at his hands. “I need to clean up. There’s still blood on my hands.”
Chills clacked down her spine.
Chapter Nine
Fighting just to fight doesn’t last. Everyone needssomebody to fight for.
—Sami Steel
Sami kicked her legs out and settled her boots on the antique coffee table, her head swimming and her belly nice and mellow. The chenille couch cupped her butt, and the fire from the massive stone fireplace flickered soft light around the darkened living room. Even though they’d finished hours ago, she was still pleasantly full. “That was the best dinner I’ve had in a year,” she murmured. Nothing compared to her grandma Juliana’s chicken casserole, however.
Tace grunted in agreement next to her, swirling bourbon in a fancy crystal glass.
“I’m glad you liked the fish,” Greyson said, his head back on a matching chair, his face in profile with the fire on the other side of him. “I hope it was good enough you’ll both come back. In fact, we could use a medic, Tace.”
“No,” Tace said, tipping back his drink. “I belong at Vanguard.”
“We need a doctor.” After nearly two bottles of bourbon between the three of them, Grey’s voice had mellowed and lost the hard-cut glass sound it usually had.
“Yeah,” Tace agreed, leaning over to pour more alcohol in his glass. “Somebody better than me. I lost two of your guys today.”
Sami blinked several times and then patted his hard thigh, her heart hurting for him. Even though he said he didn’t feel emotions any longer, there had been a lost look in his blue eyes after the second guy had died. Lost and desperate. “Nobody else could’ve saved either one of them. You did your best.” She tipped a little on the couch. How many glasses of the potent brew had she knocked back? Not that it really mattered.
Tace drank his glass and poured another.
