“Easy. Don’t try to move. You had a busy day. And I promise I’ll explain everything once you’re stronger.”
He shook his head, pushing onto his elbows only to fall back, his breath hissing out on a curse. “Not safe… I…”
“Trust me. You’re safe. At least, for now.”
“No, he…”
“Who’s he?”
Coulter faded, shaking himself back a moment later. “Ramsey. He killed Troy. Killed you…”
“Troy? Troy worked for Blackridge?” She’d heard about Troy getting mugged, dying, but she hadn’t connected him to Ramsey. “Is that why you were there?” She sighed when he drifted, eyes sliding shut.
Neve traced the line of his jaw, wishing she could crawl into the bed with him, but aware Gus had a point. She’d lied. Left him to wallow in his own pain. A sin he might not easily forgive.
He squeezed her hand, looking up at her again. “I went because he hurt you… I…” He paused, lifting one arm until she placed his palm on her cheek. “You’re real.”
“As a heart attack. Rest. We’ll talk later.”
He nodded, slipped, then roused one more time. “He saw me. Ramsey saw me.”
Neve closed her eyes as he drifted off.
Ramsey saw me…
A complication they hadn’t planned for, and while it meant they finally had their first lead, it also meant the real war had just begun.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eight days.
Eight long, exhausting days, and Coulter still felt as if he’d been run over by a truck, or maybe yanked out of the path of an inbound missile a fraction too late. Being trapped in the bunker hadn’t helped his disposition any. The constant hum of the HVAC, the underlying scent of disinfectant and stale coffee. How voices carried down the concrete corridors, not loud enough to make out any words, but enough to know he was never alone.
He’d only ventured beyond the medical wing a few days ago, and he had to admit, the place was impressive — reinforced doors, CCTV, with security systems and lock redundancies. The general had carved out a comms room, storage areas, and a weapons’ locker that rivaled any armory Coulter had seen. But the lack of windows gnawed at the man beneath the uniform. How every hallway felt like another dead end.
He closed his eyes, memories still lingering in the back of his mind. Troy’s message. The way Neve’s face had appeared out of the fog. Her looking him in the eyes, saying they’d talk.
He took a soothing breath, shoving the thoughts aside as he ran through his daily check — ribs bound as much as Darwin would allow — the pain still fresh, still like a jolt to his system if he breathed too deeply. The graze on his thigh burned, the shrapnel dressings tugging whenever he moved, and his torso was a patchwork of colors, but he was upright.
Alive.
Which was more than he’d expected when he’d crawled into that tree root. And all because of Neve.
His chest tightened, a stabbing ache hampering his next breath. The kind the meds didn’t touch.
The kind that ran soul deep.
She’d explained. The attack, the retreat. How they’d barely made it out dragging Kane with them. What Darwin had discovered inside Hyperion, and how General Esposito had given them all refuge and a choice — join or flee.
Of course, they’d chosen to stay. To fight. Exactly what he’d expect from a group of highly skilled warriors. From soldiers who’d become more than teammates — who’d become family. But it had come at a cost, and he’d been one of the line items she’d seemingly crossed off the ledger.
Not that he thought it had been an easy decision, but he couldn’t deny that it stung. More than stung. The kind of wound that never quite healed. That she hadn’t trusted him enough to ask him to be part of the team. To want him to help shoulder the load.
That maybe, she didn’t love him the way he loved her.
He leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand, dressed in clothes the guy they all called Shepherd had picked up for him. Coulter hadn’t quite figured the man out, yet, unsure if he was more of an Alfred-type soul, or if he simply hid his skills beneath a welcoming facade of fatherly warmth and easy compassion. If he’d shift from butler into a ninja-level fighter given the right motivation.
Coulter grinned at the thought, fairly certain Shepherd had a six-pack and a set of throwing knives hidden beneath his sweaters and endless cups of coffee. A throat cleared off to his left, and he turned. The sight of her stole his breath, hitting him straight in the heart like it had every time he’d opened his eyes over the past week.
