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Her solemn pleas were evident in the way she whispered his name. The pain tore at Rafe’s chest. And it tore at him more than any bullet ever could. Her pain and sorrow touched him to the core. The pain he was feeling now was a mirror of what his sister was feeling. Of what his grandmother would feel. But he knew he had to do it. He knew he had to keep her safe. Keep all of them safe.
He just prayed to fucking God that Noah was up to the task of looking after his family. He trusted the kid. And he wished he didn't have to cause him the pain and guilt of knowing that he’d shot his mentor. If he knew Noah, the kid would carry this around with him for the rest of his life.
Rafe wished it didn't have to be like this. But there was no other way. Noah cursed under his breath again, and then Rafe could feel his friend move away from him. He could only assume that he was picking up Lucia, because bigger hands surrounded his sister’s and peeled them off his T-shirt. And then they were gone.
In the blink of an eye, his former life was over. He was no longer Rafe DeMarco, FBI agent, integral member of ORUS. Now, he was a dead man.
Dead man walking.
chapter 4
Keep your eyes closed. Breathe deep, breathe even. Do not open your eyes. Do not dream. For fuck’s sake, do not fall asleep.
For the next thirty minutes, Rafe laid still, presumed dead, while activity rained around him. Bullets, guns, footsteps. Cursing, shouting, running. Everyone around him was on the move. But he could do nothing.
What the hell had happened to Noah? Had he gotten Lucia out of there? Had his sister gone willingly? Was she okay?
Rafe knew she was safe with Noah, but that didn't stop him from worrying. His sister was strong, and now that strength would be tested. He'd sheltered her most of her life. After their parent’s death, he’d made it his solemn vow to take care of her forever. Look out for her, make sure no one ever hurt her. And now he had to entrust that to someone else.
That fact burned. He trusted Noah. Hell, he’d trusted the kid with his life. But the fact was Noah wasn't him. And now there was another problem.
Orion’s influence. He knew the kind of guilt Noah would be carrying around. And that wasn't to be helped at the moment. But Rafe knew that Orion would exploit that. Use it for his own gains. And Rafe wondered what would happen to the kid. Would he stay true? But it wasn't something that he could answer. Especially not from here, lying on the ground in the courtyard of the Del Tino mansion. Lying on his years of hard work in the rubble.
Footsteps approached, and though he was still as a stone, inside the tension coiled. He was ready for action, his senses attuned to any motion. But whoever it was crouched down next to him.
There was a quick press of fingers against his neck before a familiar voice said, "Well done, DeMarco. You can get up now."
Jackson Miller. They’d been in the same class at Quantico.
Rafe willed his eyes open and peered into the other man's gray eyes. " Calhoun? Is he okay? I stopped him from catching a bullet but I don't know if he made it out of the firefight."
Jackson clasped his hand and tugged him to a sitting position. Rafe coughed involuntarily as the pain lanced from his sternum through his ribs. Motherfucker. It hurt like a sonofabitch. One thing he had to say about Noah, the kid’s aim was true. Center mass, just like Rafe had shown him. Granted Noah had been a natural at all of it. Rafe could only hope he used those skills to protect his sister in the future.
Jackson handed him a bottle of water. "That was a gutsy move. Taking a hit like that. What if the kid had gone for a head shot?"
Rafe shook his head. “I trained him. He’s family. He couldn’t have shot me in the head."
Jackson pursed his lips. "He still made the kill shot though."
"Yes. Because he was trying to be efficient. He wasn’t angry, he was just doing his job. Or attempting to do it anyway. I thwarted that."
"Yeah you did. But at what cost?"
And that was the million-dollar question. The cost was his life. His family. Everything he’d ever loved. He’d sacrificed them to do the right thing. When he was finally able to stand, Jackson led him out of the courtyard.
"Most of the Del Tinos were gone. Low-level security was left to guard the house and lay down cover fire. We have them in custody now."
"All that and we still didn't get them?"
"We'll get there. C’mon, they want to debrief you."
Rafe had a vague idea of how this was going to go. This is where they'd have a conversation about how his old life was over.
He scowled at the thought of some higher-up in a suit telling him how this was going to go. He wasn't an idiot. He'd been the one to make the decision, and he’d done it knowing the personal cost.
An hour later he was walking through the underground entrance of the FBI’s New York City field office. It wasn't until just that moment that he realized he’d never walked in the front entrance before. He'd always been in the shadows.
He took the elevator to the 14th floor and walked down the dimly lit hallway to the intake room with no windows. He knew the drill. He’d done this often enough. The real question was what happened now. Rafe DeMarco was no longer. After what he’d done, there was no going back to his life. It was time to find out whether or not he still had a home at the FBI. And if not as Rafe DeMarco, then who?
