Page 49 of Defending Van

It wasn't that they wouldn't have worried if he’d been stabbed and was bleeding out, but it was clear from the man’s tone that he wasn't badly injured.

“She stabbed you?” Grover said with a snort. “At least I only almost got shot.”

Maybe he’d laugh about this later—because he supposed it was amusing that a highly trained special forces operator got stabbed by a wisp of a woman with absolutely zero training—but right now, all he could imagine was what Makayla had been feeling when she’d defended herself against a perceived threat. She wasn't a fighter, not like that. She fought to survive, to rebuild herself, to heal, but she didn't like causing others pain. Her heart was too big and soft for that. On top of having to kill that woman to escape, she was likely struggling big time with what she’d done, and that sucked any amusement out of the situation.

“I'm fine by the way,” Lefty said, although there was a tinge of amusement along with the concern in his voice.

“Are you following her?” Van asked. Lefty was clearly okay, and he needed eyes on his girl. Just because he knew that Asahi Watanabe’s guards weren't in this part of the forest didn't mean he wasn't as worried as hell about his girl. He needed her to know she was safe now, and instead of knowing rescue was right behind her, she still thought she was alone and fighting for her life.

“No, I don’t want to spook her. If she thinks she delivered a death wound, she won't run as far or as fast. She looked in rough shape,” Lefty added gently, and Van knew that gentleness was for his benefit.

“Got her,” Trigger announced. “She’s coming right for me. Van, get over here now. She’s probably going to freak when she sees me, but she knows you, she’ll trust you.”

Taking off at a dead run for Trigger’s location, he tried to keep listening to the other man, but it was hard to hear much of anything through the fear pounding inside him. Makayla had killed a woman, and that would affect her. She’d be upset when she learned she’d stabbed one of the men here to rescue her, even if she hadn't inflicted much damage. She’d be worrying more about everyone but herself, and he needed to be there to worry about her.

It wasn't something he could explain, not even to himself, she needed to be worried about, and if she couldn’t do it for herself, he’d do it for her.

“Whoa there, honey.” Trigger’s words came through the earpiece he wore, and he knew that the man had made contact with Makayla.

“Stay away from me,” Makayla’s shrieked words were loud enough to echo through Trigger’s comms.

“It’s okay,” Trigger soothed. “I’m a friend of Van.”

“O-of Van?” Makayla asked, and he could hear the hesitation in her voice. She wanted to believe that these were people she could trust, but she didn't want to do anything to risk her safety.

“Ask her what I made her promise me,” he ordered Trigger.

“I've got Van in my ear, he said to ask you what he made you promise him,” Trigger said to Makayla.

“T-to fight. To do whatever I h-had to so that I lived, to not th-think about it until after,” she rattled off.

“You did that, honey,” Trigger said. “We know you killed the woman to get out.”

Makayla’s horrified gasp was also loud enough to echo through the comms to him. “The man I just stabbed, he was one of you.”

“It’s okay, he’s okay,” Trigger rushed to reassure her, but Van could hear Makayla’s harsh breathing, realized she was hyperventilating, and pushed himself harder to get to her.

Less than two minutes later, he spotted her. She was leaning against a tree trunk, her entire body trembling violently as air sawed in and out of her chest. Blood stained the black uniform she wore, and even though he knew it wasn't hers, Van felt his chest constrict in fear. Because it could so easily have been her blood shed. Her long brown locks were a mess, tangled and matted around her head, with bits of leaf and twig stuck in them. Her bare feet were filthy, and she clutched a knife in one hand like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

“Sweetheart,” the endearment came out without any conscious decision on his part, and her head snapped in his direction. He saw the relief that filled her eyes the second she saw him, and it did something to him that he couldn’t explain. Despite having zero reason to, she trusted him.

“Van,” she said on a sob, and when she swayed badly, as if she were about to go down, he moved faster than he’d thought anyone was capable of and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and cradling her against his chest.

“You're safe now, Makayla,” he assured her as she pressed her wet face into his neck.

“You came. You're here,” she whispered, like she couldn’t really believe it. Then another sob broke out. “I killed someone, Van. I stabbed her twice. I don’t even know if she was working there by choice. What if she were a victim, too, and I killed her? I stabbed the man as well. I didn't know who he was. He just came at me, and I stabbed him. I wanted to live.”

His heart was cracking at her broken words, because he knew she felt those things deeply. She’d never fully get over killing the maid, even though he one hundred percent believed she did the only thing she could have to save herself. They didn’t have an address, so they couldn’t come for her. It would have taken time for Prey to get the intel they needed on Asahi Watanabe for them to locate this place. Makayla had saved herself, and she should never regret that decision.

“Not an innocent, Makayla. She was part of it. She knew what Asahi Watanabe was doing, and she made the choice to work for him anyway. She wasn't an ally, and she wouldn't have helped you. I'm proud as hell of you for what you did.”

Lifting her head, her blue eyes—which looked so much bluer as they shimmered with tears—searched his, seeking confirmation that what he was saying was true. “She wasn't a victim?”

“Wasn't a victim,” he assured her.

“And you know that for a fact?”

“A fact.”