Page 17 of Fighting for Valor
No one speaks, and Trevor offers a wry smile. “It’ll fuck you up big time. He’s in the dark. It’s hotter than hell. He’s probably restrained. Definitely alone. In an environment he doesn’t understand. And he can’t think straight. Then, someone comes. Tells him it’s going to be okay. That he’s going to be safe.”
“He wouldn’t believe that,” I growl. “Ripper’s too smart for—”
“He would. Maybe not the first time. But the fifth? The tenth? Breaking a man isn’t something you do in a day. Or a week. It takes months. Back and forth. Total agony, then drugged, relative safety. Eventually, he’ll believe any fucking thing they want him to. Because whoever’s in charge of him…well…they’ll be the one to make it all okay. Get him somewhere cool. Give him food. More drugs. Treat his wounds. And then…they’ll deal the final blow.”
Fuck. What the hell else?
After a pause, Trevor scrubs his hands over his face. “They’ll take away the one thing he’s been holding onto the whole time. Hope.”
“How?” Dax demands, but from his tone, I think he’s figured it out. So have I.
“They’ll tell him everyone he knows is dead. And that he killed them.”
The hanger’s deserted this time of night. Or morning. It’s almost 2:00 a.m., and none of us have slept. That’s what the flight’s for. We’re all in our separate corners, going through our rituals. Inara’s upside down in a head stand, West is cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed, Trevor’s on the phone to some of his CIA contacts, Dax sits with his arms around Evianna and her head on his shoulder.
Wren’s checking and double-checking every piece of tech. Laptops, coms, tablets, and cameras. She’s not going with us—I put my foot down—though we fought about it for an hour. Now, she’s not speaking to me. Can’t say I blame her.
Digging my hand into my pocket, I finger the small, black box I’ve carried around for two weeks.
“Wren? Sweetheart, I…need—”
She’s in front of me before I can finish the sentence. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” My heart takes up a frantic beat in my chest, and I step back. “I don’t—”
“You just said ‘I need.’ Pretty sure you’ve used those words exactly twice before.” She cocks her head, concern darkening her emerald eyes as she wraps her delicate fingers around my biceps—well, partly around them—and drops her voice. “I may be mad at you, but I still love you, Ry.”
I haul her against me and try not to crush her. She’s so tiny. So perfect. “Come outside with me for a minute?”
With a nod, she eases down to her feet and lets me put my arm around her shoulders.
The moon is almost full, and the airfield has a view of the water. It’s…beautiful. Hell, without the plane idling two hundred feet away, this could be almost romantic.
“I wanted to do this at home,” I say, my voice stronger than it has any right to be with how nervous I am. “Maybe take you to the Space Needle restaurant—it looks out over Puget Sound and spins slowly. You get a whole three-sixty-view as you eat.”
She smiles at me, and my whole world feels lighter. “You surprise me every day, Ryker McCabe. That sounds like an actual…date.”
“We skipped that whole part of the relationship.” I stare down at my boots. “You deserve a guy who’ll date you. Bring you flowers. Take you all the places you’ve ever wanted to go.”
When I meet her gaze, anger simmers in her eyes. “Don’t fucking tell me what I deserve. I love you. I deserve you. You’re the one who makes me happier than I’ve ever been. Who understands me. Who—”
The profanity—so unusual for her—has my heart shooting into my throat. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this.” Pulling out the box, I drop to one knee with a stifled grunt. “I love you, Wren. I didn’t think I could love anyone. Or that anyone could ever love me. And we’re about to go back to the place where…” I shake my head and open the box.
The platinum ring has four emerald-cut diamonds arranged in a haphazard line. “The guy who made this called it ‘beautifully broken.’ Back in Russia, after…all that shit, you said ‘maybe I didn’t realize how beautiful broken could be.’”
Wren’s eyes glisten, and she runs her fingers over the beads of her bracelet. Five times in a row before she blinks hard and focuses on me again. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything, sweetheart. Every single moment we’ve had together. And I want a lot more. All of them. For the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”
She nods, then holds out her hand. As I slip the ring onto her finger, a single tear rolls down her cheek. “I didn’t know if you wanted to…”
Pushing to my feet, I gather her against me and silence her with my lips on hers. My little bird. My partner. One day, my wife. I wish I had the words to tell her what she means to me, but this…this is a start.
“Come back to me, Ryker,” she whispers when I finally let her go. “Bring Ripper home, but make sure you come home too.”
“I will, sweetheart. I promise.”
Dax
