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Hawk’s warning comes a split second too late. I whip around, rifle snapping up, but it’s too late. The first round slams into my shoulder, knocking me back a step. The second and third punch through my chest, driving the wind outta my lungs. I feel thewicked heat of blood soaking my shirt, strength leaching outta my muscles like sand.
I hit the dirt like a sack of potatoes, head swimming as more bullets rip into me. Someone’s hollering my name, pawing at me. Hawk, I think dimly.
“Stay with me, brother! Don’t you fuckin’ clock out… Evac’s coming. Just hang on!”
I try to speak, to tell my boys to leave, but all that gurgles up is blood choking my throat. The coppery smell of my own mortality fills my nose.
So this is how I go? Face-down in some godforsaken jungle, life leaking away from my bullet-ridden body. Darkness clouds my vision and I welcome it, the promise of the pain ending.
But even as I feel myself fading, one image stays crystal clear. Big brown eyes in a heart-shaped face. A smile full of secrets. The sound of her laugh, bright and pure.
Natasha. My angel.
With a monumental effort, I claw my eyes open. Fix her in my mind like she’s the only thing keeping me in this world. I made her a vow. Promised I’d come back to her.
And goddammit, a few extra holes won’t make me a liar.
Her smile, her fire, the way she looks at me like I’m the only man in the world… I want a lifetime of that. I’m not letting these fucking cartel steal my future with my woman.
So as the void closes in, as the chaos around me blurs to static, Icling to her like a lifeline. A beacon in the dark guiding me home.
Wait for me, baby. I’m coming back.
Eight
FROST
Pain. It’s my whole fucking world, the center of everything. White-hot agony radiates from every goddamn hole those bastards put in me. Each shallow, wheezing breath feels like shards of glass in my lungs. The stench of blood and antiseptic clogs my nose, making bile rise up the back of my raw throat.
Fragmented memories flash behind my closed lids - rapid gunfire, searing heat as metal tore through me again and again, Hawk’s frantic shouts as he dragged my sorry ass to cover.
“Stay with me, brother! Don’t you fucking dare tap out!” His normally steely calm was shattered, naked fear bleeding into his voice. “We’re getting you outta this shithole. Just hang on!”
I tried telling him to go, to leave my useless ass behind. Not worth the risk of losing an entire team. But all that came out was a wet, gurgling rattle.
Then the darkness is too strong and I sink into its cold embrace,Nat’s name a silent scream trapped behind my blood-coated teeth.
* * *
Time blurs into endless agony and hazy half-consciousness. I surface in bits, catching threads of tense, hushed conversations.
“…too much damage … not sure he’ll … need a fucking miracle…”
“…stubborn son of a bitch … better pull through … or I’ll kill him myself…”
When I finally claw my way back to life, it’s to a hospital room and a stern-faced doctor flipping through my chart. He glances up, taking me in with a mix of pity and disbelief.
“Mr. Corsi.” He shakes his head, grinning. “You should be in the morgue. The extent of your injuries…” More incredulous expression and headshaking. “You’re looking at a long road to recovery. Physical therapy, a shit-ton of meds. And that bum leg might need a cane,” he adds bluntly. “The damage is… extensive.”
He shows me X-rays, each one a map of broken bones and destroyed muscle. But it’s not until he peels back my dressings that the brutal truth hits me like a sledgehammer.
Thick, ropey scars crisscross my once-powerful body, leaving the skin livid and raw. Smaller, neater lines from the surgeons’ blades trail alongside them like some kinda macabre parallel. The strong, virile body Natasha loved to explore and caress is ravaged beyond recognition. Christ, what woman would even beable to stomach the sight of this mangled wreck, let alone touch it, kiss it…
Acid surges up my throat and I look away, unable to face the proof of what I already knew deep down - that I’m no longer fit to stand at Natasha’s side. How can I keep her safe like this? A broken shadow of the man I was. My baby girl deserves the whole fucking world, someone who can worship and treasure her the way she should be. Not some fucking scarred cripple.
The doctor barely leaves the room, that I grab my phone off the nightstand with a shaking hand. My eyes meet a flood of increasingly frantic messages from my girl.
“Jacques, please… I don’t understand what’s going on. Just let me know you’re okay…”
