Page 30 of Fighting for Valor
A woman screams, and I stop pacing my small room.
“Please, stop!”
I know it’s a mistake. I’ll be punished for interfering. But she sounds so young. So afraid. I pad down the hall, barefoot, until I reach the foyer. Fuck. She can’t be more than eighteen, and blood streams from a cut on her forehead. Zaman’s stripping off her abaya as she shakes in front of Amir Faruk.
“Isaad! Leave us,” Faruk orders, and I pause for a moment too long. “Now.” He crosses the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He hates getting them dirty. “You dare disobey me? Perhaps a few days in the well—”
“I am sorry, Amir Faruk,” I say as I bow my head and back away. “I will leave. I should not have disturbed you.”
The phone rings again, and I’m back in my bathroom, shaking. Pressing a black towel to the cut, I stumble for the table. “What? I said I’d be there.”
“Need a ride?” Ry asks.
My refusal dies on my tongue as the room pitches. Dammit. Not today. I take a quick step to the side and bang into the table. “Fuck.” The pain helps me focus, as does Ryker yelling into the phone.
“Answer me, Sergeant. Are. You. Okay?”
Shit. Most times, the dizzy spells pass quickly. Too many traumatic brain injuries over the years. Not to mention a scorpion bite behind my left ear that left me with lingering equilibrium issues. This time…I must have been out of it for more than a few seconds. “Sorry. I’m fine. Wet floor. Skidded and hit the sink.” How I come up with that lame ass excuse so fast, I have no idea, and I hold my breath.
Leave it alone, Ry.
“I’ll pick you up in half an hour.” He doesn’t give me time to protest before he ends the call, and I slam the phone down on the table.
Thirty minutes to pull myself together so I can convince Ry and Dax that I’m okay. If only I could convince myself.
By the time Ryker knocks, I’ve managed to calm down. My hands are steady, and I’m dressed in a pair of new jeans, a black Henley, and a pair of boots. The clothes feel like they’re strangling me. My entire wardrobe as Faruk’s prisoner consisted of loose tunics, flowing pants, and light shoes that were barely more than slippers. Back before we were captured, we used to call those outfits “desert pajamas.” But once Faruk got a hold of me, they were all I was allowed. Even after two months back in the States, I still haven’t gotten used to “normal” clothing again.
Tugging at the denim, I adjust myself, then enter the fourteen-digit code to unlock the door.
Ryker’s multi-hued eyes narrow, scanning me from head to toe before he nods. “About damn time.”
“Want to tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” I fidget with the shirt sleeve. The material’s soft—probably expensive—but it still feels rough on my skin.
“Boots.”
My eye roll triggers a sharp stab of pain at my temple, but I hide my wince. “And how long did it take you, asshole?”
“Ten days.” He scrubs a hand over his bald head, the scars, jagged and deep, covering half his scalp. “Couldn’t go back for Dax without ‘em. I tried. Showed up with my ruck and weapons, wearing scrubs and hospital slippers.”
The visual makes my lips twitch, almost like I want to smile, but I can’t.
“With Sampson?”
“Yeah.”
There’s less than ten feet of space between us, but it might as well be ten million. The first week or so after Ry and his team got me out, I don’t remember much. Fear. Gratitude. Disbelief. Exhaustion. And after that…the gulf separating me from Dax and Ryker was so large, I didn’t know how to cross it. Or how to be…me again.
I’m only in Seattle because I didn’t know where else to go. I could have stayed in Boston, but when I met Josephine—Joey—for the first time as Ripper, the look in her eyes…I would have been a constant reminder of what she went through.
“Wish I’d been there,” I say quietly, “to watch that fucker die.”
Ry heads for the windows and stares out over the city and the wedge of Lake Washington. “You were, Rip. You never stopped being our brother.”
Ryker McCabe doesn’t talk about his feelings. At least he never used to. “You’ve changed.”
He turns back, a half-smile curving his lips. “Yeah?” At my nod, he chuckles. “Finding someone who loves you will do that. Before I met Wren, I hadn’t laughed in…well…since before Hell.”
The gaping maw Faruk carved out of my soul aches as I realize that’s one thing I haven’t done since I got out. I can’t muster the emotion.
