Brett gave her hands a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. Promise. Whatever it is… We’ll face it.”
We.He said it as if it was easy. Didn’t make his heart rate skyrocket, a cold sweat break out along his skin. Because she was sweating. Despite the releases, the shower, there was no denying the icy, nervous sweat chilling her flesh. Or the way her heart thrashed against her ribs. Like a bird struggling to break out of its cage. It was ridiculous. His team had been nothing but supportive. Had risked their lives for her without question. Showing them Brett meant more to her than an ex-lover shouldn’t freak her out.
That’s when she realized, it wasn’t them knowing that had her adrenaline pumping. It was this. The sudden meeting. Cannon bursting through the door. Cannon never lost control. Never reacted impulsively. Knowing he’d stormed down the hallway and walked in because he hadn’t been thinking things through—thatterrified her.
Brett gave her hand a tug as he started for the living room, walking into the open space then stopping cold. The other members of his team were back, but damn… While she’d been climbing Brett like a damn tree in the room, in the shower, his buddies had been battling their way here. There was blood. Soaked into clothes, staining shirts, some puddled on the floor.
Bishop had one hip braced against the kitchen counter, a wad of gauze pressed against his arm. The sleeve of his tee was drenched, though it appeared as if he’d only been grazed—maybe had a smaller caliber bullet go right through. Rigs lookedabout the same. Two spots on his shirt. One on his arm, another by his shoulder. High. Mostly like a groove across his flesh, but bleeding.
She turned to search for Ice, see if he needed help, then froze. Again. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare. Six was propped in a chair, skin reminiscent of that eerie gray color he’d had in the Jeep the last time she’d seen him—the night he’d saved her life. Taken a bullet meant for her. The skin on his forehead was creased, and there were bruised looking circles under his eyes. His torso was bare, highlighting strong, plated muscles across his chest and abdomen, more than a few scars marring the smooth surface.
But it was his shoulder. The one he’d apparently gotten fixed. That he’d gone to the clinic for—it was open, again. Blood oozing out. Torn black thread resting against his pale skin.
His gaze rose from somewhere on the floor and met hers—as if he’d felt her staring. A tight smile lifted his lips slightly, and he managed to wink before clenching his jaw as Ice dumped some powder on the wound then pressed down—hard.
Brett’s hand left hers as he darted to Ice’s side, nodding then moving off to get more of…something. She hadn’t heard the word. Didn’t hear anything other than her pulse throbbing in her ears. Drowning everything else out.
All her training. Years of going undercover. Knowing that she could be outed at any second. Executed on the spot or worse—tortured for information she probably didn’t have. That her life could end in a blink of an eye. And she’d accepted it. Hadn’t felt much of anything when she’d been forced to alter her plans. Eliminate an asset, or adapt her schedule. Move before she was truly ready. She’d done it all with the same cold indifference.
But standing there. Seeing the men she’d once pledged to keep safe. Brett’s friends. The only family he had left. Hurt. Bleeding. Because of her. Because they wanted to give her thesame unwavering devotion they gave Brett, broke down the defenses she’d gathered around her. Reduced her to those raw emotions she’d experienced with Brett.
Made her human.
Ellis closed her eyes, willing it all away. She couldn’t function this way. Couldn’t ask the questions she needed answered. Couldn’t make the tough decisions with her heart bleeding on her sleeve.
So, she took a deep breath. Then, another. Over and over until the chaos in her mind stilled. The tremors shaking her fingers lessened. She didn’t rush it. Aware that, once she opened her eyes, she needed to be strong. To have her feelings locked down. Tucked in a box and buried somewhere deep inside her.
Took a full minute to calm the pounding in her head. To gain control of her breath. To remove her feelings from the equation—except where Brett was concerned. She wouldn’t allow him to sacrifice himself for her. Even if it meant truly going rogue. She’d end this fight with McCormick.
The scene had changed a bit when she opened her eyes. Harlequin was patching up Bishop. Bandaging his arm all the while smiling. Apparently, Ice had been giving the woman lessons because the way she handled herself wasn’t the product of a few first aid lessons. She moved like Ice did. Efficient. Calculated.
Addison was helping with Rigs. Had pressure on the gouge in his shoulder. He seemed fairly indifferent, not that it surprised Ellis. Based on the scars crisscrossing his body, he wasn’t a stranger to pain. To getting caught in the crossfire. Which only left Six.
He still looked pale, but Ice had a needle out. Was threading it. All in all, it looked as if the initial emergency was over. Nothing left but to hear the report. Figure out what had happened. How they’d move ahead from here.
She took a step then paused, her mind finally sorting out what still felt out of place. Kameron wasn’t there. Ellis scanned the room, but the other woman wasn’t in the kitchen. Wasn’t tucked in a chair by the couch. Ellis turned to look down the hall, but even after a minute had passed, no one had exited the other bathroom. And there wasn’t a chance in hell Kameron was resting in one of the bedrooms. Not when her friends were hurt. Still bleeding in the living room.
A wave of fear hovered at the edge of Ellis’ consciousness. Close but still under control. A reminder that she was only a breath away from returning to the person she used to be. The one who wouldn’t be much use in this situation.
She cleared her throat, noting the gazes that darted her way then took a step forward. “Where’s Kameron?”
And just like that, every sound in the room cut off. Absolute silence. No breathing, no murmuring. Nothing but stern faces with grim smiles.
Ellis wouldn’t lose it. Wouldn’t let that fear overrun her. She closed some of the distance, stopping Brett from moving over to her with a fierce glare. “I’m only going to ask this one more time. Where the hell is Kameron?”
Bishop gently waved Harlequin back then straightened. “She was taken.”
Getting punched in the stomach hurt. Ellis knew. She’d been hit more times than she could count. Granted, a lot had been during training. So she knew how to overcome pain and keep moving. She’d been hurt in the field, too. But nothing—nothingfelt like the raw blow of agony through her chest. Stealing her breath. If it hadn’t been for the table on her right side to brace her hand—steady her weight—she would have doubled over. Maybe continued down to the floor.
Brett was at her side before she could snap out of it. Force the brutal roil of her stomach down. He took her head in bothof his hands, making her look him directly in the eyes. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
She frowned, managed a wheezing gasp, then moved out of his reach. She couldn’t think, couldn’t be the version of herself she needed to be with him touching her. Comforting her. She didn’t want comfort. The pain grounded her. Reminded her she had so much more to lose than her own life.
Brett frowned but nodded. He understood. Obviously didn’t like it, but he knew she wasn’t pushing him away. That she needed the distance in order to settle her emotions. Double lock that damn box they were supposed to be hidden in.
Ellis turned to Bishop. “This is the part where you all start talking, and you don’t stop until I know exactly what happened.”
Cannon sighed. “Ellis. We’ll?—”
