Page 54 of Protected from Reprisal
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” With a final wrench at the plastic ties binding him, I stand and give him a swift kick for emphasis. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you. Or I may just kill you right now. The jury’s still out.”
Though I’m aching to get to Yara, I know I need to check in with the team. So I yank out my phone and send a quick text to Rafe.
Tango neutralized. Enemy, not friendly. Yara’s hurt. Send backup now.
Just as I’m about to shove the phone back into my pocket again, his response comes in.
Roger. En route. Already called 911. They should be there soon.
With that task out of the way, I race over to Yara.
Rage erupts anew as I look at her injuries up close.
She’s so hurt. Ah, shit, she’s so hurt.
Emotion balloons inside me until there’s no room left to breathe. Until my heart physically hurts and my throat is too thick to speak.
The first thing I do is yank the wadded fabric from her mouth. She coughs. Swallows. Her chin wobbles.
My voice sticks on the lump in my throat. “Oh, Tink. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s… it’s okay.” Her eyes are all shiny, making me feel like crying myself. “You’re here.”
“Yeah. I’m here.” Giving her a quick once-over, I add, “I’m just going to cut the rope, okay? I’ll hold you up, so you don’t fall. It’s going to hurt?—”
Yara blinks. Swallows again. “I know.”
Shit. Of course she does. Because she’s been tied up before.
Taking out my pocket switchblade, I wrap one arm around her waist while I work at the rope. While I saw away at it, I ask, “Where else are you hurt? Your ribs? Anything internal? I don’t want to make it worse when I get you down.”
She thinks for a second. “Just bruises, I think. And my fingers.”
“Okay.” I tamp down the urge to howl in anger. “I’m just about through. And now?—”
The knife bites through the last threads of rope.
Yara’s arms drop. A pained cry slips out before she can stifle it. As she stumbles forward, I gather her against my chest. She buries her face in my neck, her rapid breaths hot against my skin.
Now that she’s in my arms, some of my fear slips away. Not all of it, not when I don’t know what kinds of injuries could be hiding, but she’s here. Alive. With me.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as I lift her off her feet. Cradling her in my arms, I carry Yara to the other side of the room and set her down carefully. “I’m so sorry, Tink. So sorry.”
She shakes as I inspect her body, running my hands over her arms, her legs, her belly, carefully checking for injuries I might not be able to see. But all through it, Yara doesn’t shed a tear. Her eyes are damp with them, but she refuses to let a single one escape.
“Ace,” she whispers. She touches my face. “It’s okay.”
I rip a strip of fabric from my shirt, fold it into quarters, and carefully press it to the bleeding cut across her ribs. “It’s not. Fuck. He fucking?—”
“I’m alive,” Yara interrupts. “Because of you.”
Barely,I want to argue. Barely. If I’d been later getting here, if I hadn’t thought to look around the back of the house, if I’d waited seconds longer to shoot Kellogg…
But self-recrimination won’t help Yara now. And really, it doesn’t matter how I feel. All that matters is taking care of her.
In the distance, the shrill wail of sirens approaches. My phone vibrates in my pocket again. But I can’t give either my attention. Not now. Not when Yara is all I care about.
Setting my gun to the side so the police can see it when they come in, I put my arm behind Yara’s back and start to lay her down. “Just rest,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of everything. The police will be here any minute. Then we’ll get you to the hospital, get you all taken care of?—”
