Page 55 of Reaper
He finds me.
The lethal chill in his eyes melts instantly. The defensive armor he wears like a second skin simply vanishes.
I don't wait for him to walk to me.
I cross the concrete bay in a dead sprint. I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the curve of his shoulder, not caring about the blood or the dirt or the audience watching us.
Wyatt lets out a harsh groan, his good arm wrapping fiercely around my waist. He crushes me against his bruised chest, burying his face deep in my hair.
He smells of sharp cordite, dry desert dust, and old blood, and it is the most beautiful, intoxicating thing I have ever breathed in.
"I'm here." His words are ragged and desperate against my ear.
I pull back just enough to look at his face. The bruising along his jaw is dark, purple, and angry. He looks exhausted down to his bones.
"You lied to me." My voice trembles as I reach up to touch his cheek. "But you left the GPS coordinates on the desk. I had to send Frost after you."
"I should have known you'd find the coordinates."A ghost of a smile touches the corners of his chapped lips.
"You're an idiot." I whisper, pressing my forehead against his.
"I know."
CJ clears his throat, his deep, resonant voice carrying easily across the concrete bay. "Well, Frost. It looks like you finally found the sixth member for Echo Team."
Wyatt stiffens instantly. He turns his head, his brow furrowing in deep confusion as he looks between CJ and Frost.
Frost leans against the shattered hood of the SUV, crossing his massive arms over his chest. The icy, unapproachable commander is completely gone. A genuine, profoundly arrogant smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah, about that." Frost looks directly at Wyatt. "Echo Team is officially standing up this week. We've got an empty spot. I don't know if you want it, but the team's complete if you take the sixth slot."
Wyatt stares blankly at his older brother. The absolute shock is written in the rigid set of his shoulders.
Frost isn't just offering him a job. He's offering him a home. He's offering him absolution for the sins of the past four years.
For four agonizing years, Wyatt has been a ghost. A killer operating alone in the dark, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now, the finest, most elite black-ops unit in the world is opening its doors to him. His brother is opening his doors to him.
Frost pushes off the hood of the SUV, wincing slightly as he stretches his lower back. He looks at me, his arrogant smirk widening.
"That's one hell of a woman you have there, brother." Frost shifts his gaze back to Wyatt. "You should have seen the way she ripped into me. Convinced me to cross the border and drag your ass home."
He wrinkles his nose in exaggerated disgust. "Now do me a favor, Addy, and take him to the medical wing. Clean him up. He stinks to high heaven, and he bled all over the back of my SUV."
"It's a rental, you jackass." Wyatt lets out a short, rough laugh, the sound catching painfully in his cracked ribs.
"It's the principle," Frost shoots back without missing a beat, turning to walk toward CJ and Sam.
I grip Wyatt's uninjured hand, my fingers lacing tightly through his. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't hesitate. The walls he spent four years building have completely crumbled into dust.
"Come on." I tug him gently toward the makeshift medical bay.
Wyatt looks down at me. The shadows in his eyes are gone, replaced by something steady, warm, and infinitely permanent.
"Lead the way." He shifts the heavy gear bag higher on his shoulder.
EIGHTEEN
Don't Put It Down
