Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I’m pacing in the small living room, glancing at the front door with every second that ticks by. The rotating group of men on watch—Orion’s team, apparently—have kept me here, insisting I’m not safe until the rest of the Russians are caught. A handful of them, including Jason, managed to slip away during the raid. Word is the others were either captured or shot. But that doesn’t lessen my anxiety. Jason’s still out there. My mind plays his face over and over, that unhinged desperation in his eyes.
Gunner spent one entire day here, cleaning his guns at the kitchen table while I tried to read a magazine, the tension thick as we both pretended normalcy. He’s brusque but not unkind. Then Ranger arrived the next day, a charming grin in place, and opened the door with Jeb in tow. I gasped when I saw Jeb fluttering his wings, squawking a half-formed greeting. I rushed to him, loving the fact that I had my bird with me now.
I learned more about each man as they drifted in and out: how some of them had once been in the military together, how Dean formed this security firm that tackled high-risk operations. It distracts me from the fact that Orion’s in the hospital, in surgery and recovery for days now, fighting to mend a bullet wound that nicked his liver. Lucky, they say. Lucky it didn’t kill him. But that thought alone makes my chest tighten.
Today, it’s Asher on watch, the one who pulled me from the van and got me here in one piece. He’s kinder than I expected a special-ops guy to be—gentle in how he moves, calm in how he speaks. We’re sitting in the kitchen, sharing a plate of scrambled eggs I attempted to cook, when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, eyes flicking with what looks like relief.
“Good news?” I ask, trying not to look too eager.
Asher nods. “It’s Dean. Orion’s awake and stable. He asked if you want to visit.”
My heart lurches. “He—he wants to see me?”
“Obviously.” Asher rubs the back of his neck.
Emotions swell inside me—an uneasy mix of joy, anxiety, and a raw ache I can’t quite put into words. I force a breath. “Please. Can we go now?”
Asher’s already standing, gathering his keys. “We’ll have to be quick. You’re still not a hundred percent in the clear with the Russians. But I think it’s important.”
We drive in relative silence. My thoughts spiral the entire way: What if Orion hates me for leaving the safe house that day? What if he resents that I ended up in the Russians’ hands again because of my foolishness? And then the more pressing fear: what if he’s still in pain, hurt beyond what the doctors can fix?
The hospital is a stark white structure, cold and clinical. Asher parks in a restricted bay, flashing credentials that Dean must have arranged. I clutch my jacket against me, following him through the corridors, heart hammering. Nurses and doctors pass in a blur. My chest feels tight, my steps heavy.
Finally, Asher stops outside a private room. The door’s closed, a small sign reading Authorized Personnel Only. “I’ll wait out here,” he says, offering an encouraging nod. “Take your time.”
I swallow hard, pushing the door open. The room is dim, a single overhead light and the soft glow of machines. A wave of antiseptic hits me, and I blink against the sting of tears when I see Orion in the bed, propped up, bandages swathing his side. He looks pale, his lips thin, but there’s still a fierce glint in his eyes. My heart twists painfully.
This brave, brave man. He’s shuffling a deck of playing cards in his hands and he stops when he sees me. “Briar,” he says, voice hoarse. He tries to shift upright, wincing as he does.
I rush forward, stopping at the edge of the bed. My first impulse is to throw myself into his arms, but I hold back, afraid of hurting him. “Orion,” I manage, tears prickling. “You—you’re okay. Thank God.”
He offers a faint, lopsided grin. “I’ve been better.” His tone is subdued, breath shallow. “But I’ll live.”
My gaze drifts to the strong man in the hospital gown, the IV lines in his arm, the monitors tracking his vitals. Anger flares inside me—at Jason, at Heath, at the Russians. At myself. If I hadn’t left that day…
“Sit,” Orion says, interrupting my swirling thoughts. It’s not really a request; it’s an alpha command, soft but insistent. He pats the side of the bed. “Sit, Briar. We need to talk.”
My emotions churn, but I comply, gingerly lowering myself onto the mattress near his hip. His presence is overwhelming, even injured like this, and the memory of him hitting the ground with blood pouring from his side flashes through my mind. I blink it away.