Chapter Forty

Friday fell asleep as soon as they’d finished making love. Striker knew she wouldn’t wake up again. Her time had run out. Part of him was relieved, for her sake, that she wouldn’t wake. He didn’t know what the poison would do to her, now that it was active, and he didn’t want her to experience any more pain. This was better, he assured himself. She could sleep through it. That was good, right?

No. Nothing about this situation was good. Nothing.

He sat with his back to the wall, the blanket tent covering them and the woman he loved in his lap. One arm was wrapped tight around her, the other pressed flat over her heart, counting the steady beats. They were strong, her breaths even. There was no visible change—yet. Her lips were still the palest pink. Her skin was still warm. Only the darkening circles under her eyes indicated something was very wrong.

He’d dressed her in his T-shirt because he didn’t want anyone to see her naked. Someone was bound to check on them at some point, especially when they found Kane Duggan dead.

He’d dressed in his jeans and boots, ready to run with her if the occasion allowed. And he hoped it did. He wanted to take her back to the Red Zone. He wanted her in his bed. He didn’t know how long the poison took to work, and he wanted her somewhere safe. Somewhere he could watch over her. Somewhere with people who cared whether she lived or died. He wanted to take her home, to mourn her.

“Damn it.” His eyes stung, and he blinked them hard. He needed to focus. He needed to watch over his woman.

She’s just sleeping, the diamondback said.

Yeah, buddy, she’s just sleeping. He swallowed the knot in his throat.

We take care of her. His reptile snapped free of his body without being called, something Striker didn’t like one bit. It meant he didn’t have as much control over the diamondback as he’d thought.

The rattler slid under Friday’s shirt and curled around her.

Warm here. The diamondback almost purred the words. Don’t worry. I take care of her.

It was impossible to reply. Instead, he brushed Friday’s silken blond hair from her forehead. She was so beautiful, inside and out. Four days. He’d only had four days with her.

“This is bullshit!” He roared the words, hearing them echo off the walls.

Everyone he loved had been taken from him. Three years earlier he’d woken up to find out his family had been dead for decades. Now this. Friday. The only woman he’d ever loved. More than that—she felt like the only woman he ever would love. She felt like she belonged with him.

She does. She belongs to us.

What will we do when…? He couldn’t finish the sentence. Not even as a silent whisper to his other half.

She just sleeping.

Pulling her closer, he willed it to be true. Willed her to wake and laugh with him again. He poured the full force of his personality into his desire, thinking that maybe his will alone could keep her with him. How could someone completely change his life in just four days? And she had. She’d turned it upside down. He was a different man with Friday. One he liked. She gave him something to live for in this new and strange world. Something other than the fear of being discovered, or the drive to protect his team.

She gave him hope.

Hope of a future filled with love. How was he going to live when she took that hope with her? He would be half a man, because she had the rest of his soul tucked deep inside of her.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered. “Don’ leave me, bébé. Please don’ leave me. I’ll do anything. Just don’ leave me.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Please, God, please.”

He’d never felt as helpless in his life. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t do anything for her except hold her and love her. And beg. “God, please…”

He’d do anything to keep her there. “Maman told me you did miracles, God, please…”

A shuddering blast made the earth rock beneath him. His head snapped up. He held Friday tighter. There was shouting, running. Another blast from farther away. Two more. This was no mine accident. His senses were sharp. Alert. He strained to listen, to make sense of the chaos. He heard tires squeal, and adrenaline surged through him. Gunfire. Another blast, this one much closer. The walls shook. He called to his diamondback, and the reptile returned to his skin.

Striker pushed himself up the wall and out of the tent, until he stood with his woman in his arms. He waited. More gunfire. This time from inside the building. Another blast. It sounded like a grenade. Hope soared. His hold on Friday tightened. He heard running feet. Shots fired. Something slammed against his cell door.

And then it swung open.

And Mace walked in.

Striker’s knees almost gave way.

“About fucking time,” he snapped at his second-in-command as he strode toward the door.

“Good to see you, too.” His eyes went to Friday.

“She ain’t dead yet. We need to get back to base. Maybe there’s something Doc can do.”

His best friend didn’t say anything, but he also couldn’t look Striker in the eye. He didn’t care if anyone thought his efforts were wasted. She wasn’t dead yet, and he was taking her home.

“We got a car out front.”

They jogged along the corridor as a war raged outside.

“I hope it’s armor plated.”

“What would be the point if it wasn’t?”

Together they pushed through the doors into the twilight. At the sight of his team guarding their car, he swallowed hard. This was his family, and they’d come for him. They provided cover while he ran for the car and secured his woman inside.

Mace climbed into the driver’s seat. “The rest of the team will meet up with us at the airport. Sandi and I will cover you two.” He hit the accelerator.

They wove through chaos, past burning buildings and guards firing weapons. The main gate had been blown to hell. Jeremiah crouched behind what remained of the wall, picking off the enemy with his rifle. He flicked a salute at the car as they raced past.

“Duggan?” his second-in-command asked as he slammed past a makeshift barrier, making the guards dive for cover.

“Dead. My diamondback took him out.”

“Any evidence?”

They couldn’t afford for even a hint of their genetics, or abilities, to get out.

“Nothing. We’re good.”

Sandi glanced back at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. He looked away. This wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, give up hope entirely until it was definitely over.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. “We’re going home, bébé,” he whispered as Mace sped through the streets of La Paz.