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Eating breakfast, drinking, wallowing, and punching the shit out of that damn punching bag are all I've done for three months. No way this fucker can hang with me.

Ducking his first blow, I shoot a big smile for him to see with his good eye, the other swollen shut. "Damn, man, you gotta be better than this. You're CIA. At least put some effort into it."

At the next swing, I lean to the side, which causes him to stumble at the force of his missed blow.

"Enough," Drake shouts, stepping between us. "Snowflake, you got your hit and your girl got hers." He leans to the side to wink at Fate. "Remind me to never piss you off."

"Don't leave him in the fucking jungle next time and I think you'll be fine."

He muffles a coughing laugh behind a fist against his lips. "Never a dull moment with you, Snowflake." Turning back to the bloody mess of Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker, his lips curl in a sneer. "Get yourself cleaned up and let's get this shit done. You’ll stand in the corner to listen only. If you say one damn word"—he angles his head to Fate and smiles—"I'll let her have another go at you."

With a tight grip on the fucker’s arm, Drake drags him down the hall.

"Can someone explain what the hell is going on? Fate, what has gotten into you?" Mac shuffles toward us, confusion and fury written across his furrowed-brow glare.

He can wait.

Turning to face her, I cup Pops’s cheeks. Searching her eyes, I find the fire from earlier gone, only blue shining back at me.

"You okay?" I whisper as I brush both thumbs across her freckled cheekbones. "We can do this another day if it’s too much."

"No," she says through a heavy exhale. "I want to get it over with. I'm okay. Actually, I feel better after hitting him. Is that bad?"

With a chuckle, I pull her close and stroke the length of her hair. "Hope not, because I feel fucking fantastic. Been wanting to do that since Raider told me what really happened."

"What did happen?" asks a slightly annoyed, mostly tired voice at my back. "Someone fill me in, now."

With a sigh, I kiss Pops on the head and tuck her against my side. "When Pops didn't get on the chopper, the CIA was pissed. They said it would be wasting government resources to try again and didn’t want to compromise the rest of her mission by allowing the boys to come back for me. So they left us, mostly to prove a point, I think." Drake stalks back into the room, his eyes on me. "There wasn't anything the boys could do. Their hands were tied."

"That fucker in there was the one who laid everything out crystal clear. If we went in for Nash before they gave the green light, they would sever all my contracts with the CIA. We were forced to wait," Drake says as he glares with his arms crossed over his chest from the opposite corner. Dude must work out ten hours a day to stay as fit as he is. Guess if you're dealing with the CIA and other pencil dicks who think their title gives them bigger balls than they actually have, you have to stay large to invoke fear.

Mac looks between the three of us, his head on a damn swivel trying to take it all in. "So what you’re saying—"

"They punished him," Fate interjects beside me. "They knew he was there, that he came back to save me, and they left him because of me. Because I didn't follow their plan."

"Left us," I correct and kiss the top of her head. "Once they had solid proof that the general was close, Drake and the guys went in. Even then they had to wait, couldn’t attack until they had a visual on the general himself."

"Why did they wait so long? When the truck pulled up and he got out, why didn't...?" she says beside me with a voice so soft it shreds my heart.

I know what she's thinking. If they had reacted faster, she wouldn't have been taken, wouldn't have been in that truck fighting for her life, and maybe the general would be standing trial for his crimes instead of dead and rotting in the jungle.

"We didn't know," Drake replies as he takes a hesitant step toward us, his frown morphed from the normal disapproval to regret. "We didn't know Snowflake was sick, had no fucking idea they would take you. It was my call to wait until we had everyone in place. The CIA tied our hands on when to get you out, but I’m to blame for what happened after that fucker arrived at the camp."

The room stills, engulfed in uncomfortable silence. Hell, this must be why he’s allowed so much paid time off and for me to recover here. It's only now, with him staring from across the room, that I notice the guilt behind his hard eyes.

"You didn't know. No one could’ve expected what happened that day." I run a hand over my hair and shake all the what-ifs out of my head. "None of it would’ve happened if you could’ve come get us sooner."

"But then that fucker would still be out in the world, on the run, evading us like he had for years." The room drops a few degrees as Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker walks back into the room with toilet paper stuffed up his swollen nose. "She accomplished what she wanted. Not sure why everyone is fucking pissed at me for it. It all worked out. The general is dead, the second-in-command is nowhere to be found, and you two are back. Well most of you." He shoots a pointed look down to my right leg and smirks.

Fate lunges toward him, catching me off guard at her quick attack. Thankfully Mac doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her back.

"Little help," he says through gritted teeth as she thrashes in his arms. "I think this time she's going for the jugular."

"Let me go, dammit," Fate seethes.

Pulling from my own anger-laced haze, I wrap both arms around hers to hold them tight against her side. As she struggles against me, I whisper in her ear, "He's not worth it."

Her fight dies but her labored breaths continue to hammer against my chest. Looking up, I find all eyes on me instead of her.

"She's okay. Let's just get this over with. And you." I nod to the asshole who keeps baiting us. "You say one more word, if you breathe too loud, I'm putting a bullet between your eyes. Understand?"

Gripping her sweaty hand, I pull her to the couch and sit. Mac and the other FBI agent follow suit and sink into the deep leather chairs across from us.

"Miss Haley, I'm Patrick," says the FBI guy I don't know. "I'll make this quick and easy. Start from when you landed in Lagos."