That shut me up, so I relented.
Now I’m here, restless, waiting for Ruin’s call while Healer stands in front of me with a medical kit and a look that says he’s two seconds away from sedating me.
He left Heath in the infirmary—bullet to the shoulder. Took it protecting Lana, Hound’s Ol’ Lady. One of Hell’s Army’s intruders is dead. The other is chained up in our basement.
None of that is enough to pull my focus from my phone. I need confirmation there were only two attackers. That no one else slipped through. That no one reached the cottage.
“Christ, Wolf. Sit the fuck down.” Ryder’s exasperated growl finally stops me mid-stride.
With a heavy sigh, I drop onto the couch, phone still clutched in my hand. Healer steps in immediately, cleaning the wound with efficient, no-nonsense movements. He shakes his head every time I lean forward to check if my screen lights up.
“She’s fine. Relax,” he mutters. “And stop moving.”
I don’t. From the corner of my eye, I see Ryder scanning the boxes stacked along the walls. Most of it is my father’s junk. Years of hoarded cables, busted radios, half-finished projects. Things he never got to fix once the wheelchair made even simple tasks impossible.
Ryder crouches in front of one bin overflowing with wires and old electronics. Of course he does. The man can’t resist a circuit board even after we’ve just survived a firefight.
Minutes pass in tense silence.
I grab a wipe and clean the dried blood from my forearm while Healer finishes bandaging my bicep. The bullet went clean through—deep enough into my bicep to make my entire arm throb and tingle. I hiss when I shift it wrong.
“You good?” Healer asks, eyes narrowing.
“It’s just a graze,” I mutter, staring at my phone. “Burns, that’s all.”
He sighs. “I’d say distract yourself, but you’re already obsessed.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ll take some Advil.”
“Want me to send for Bel? Just in case?”
I shake my head quickly. “Don’t bother her.”
A sharp intake of breath cuts through the room. Ryder’s sitting stiff in the armchair, ears red, shoulders tight with… fury?
I don’t know what the hell that’s about, but he recovers fast and turns back to my laptop—when the hell did he grab that?—typing something with sharp, focused movements.
Finally, my phone rings. “Ruin?”
“Update?” he asks immediately.
“Ryder and I are back. Is Charlotte okay?”
“Yeah, she’s… okay. You want us to head to the clubhouse?”
I pause. Think. “No. Stay there a few more hours. I’ll sweep the compound fully before lifting lockdown.”
“Works. I’ll call if anything changes.”
A beat.
“Did she… see the place?” I force out. “I mean—”
“I’m sorry, Dane. I don’t think it went the way you expected.”
The words land heavy. Fuck.
“Okay. I’ll see her soon. Stay safe.”
