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The ground medic cuts him off. “The old man says he rides.”
“Come on, then.”
I hop in, planting my ass in an empty spot, unable to see Marisol’s face. With her arms strapped down, I can’t even hold her hand. The helo lifts off and leans forward, racing across the island.
No one is talking to me, not the helicopter medics nor the ground crew at whatever hospital we’ve flown to. When I try to follow the gurney to wherever it’s going, a man in scrubs shoves me into an empty waiting room with no more information than critical but stable. I swear to god, I’ve never felt more helpless.
I stand in the middle of the room for god knows how long, staring at the blood on my hands. Screams fill my ears, but I don’t know if they’re real or just in my head. Images flood my mind, flipping back and forth between Marisol’s bloody dress and PFC Swells’ broken neck.
The screams get louder, and blackness creeps into the edges of my vision. There’s not enough air in this room. I step forward, needing to escape, but my legs fail me. My body drifts to the floor, where all I can do is cover my ears to stop the screaming.
I’m lost.
My muscles cramp, straining under the constant tension, but I can’t uncurl myself from this ball on the floor. I can’t move, can barely breathe. Silent sobs rack my body until a wet nose nudges my neck. A warm, furry body slowly climbs on top of me, curling into a ball just as I have.
The snout keeps digging at my hands until I release my ears. Threading my fingers through the fur, I wrap my arm around the comforting warmth until I hear a yelp of pain. That’s when my eyes finally open.
“Piper!”
She’s here, and she brought me out.
Releasing her, I roll to my back to regain my equilibrium, careful not to jostle the injured Mali too much. Despite the pain she’s in, Piper doesn’t get off me. She tucks her snout against my neck until I’m strong enough to sit up.
When I do, I notice four people in the room. Knot, Ruiz, Otero, and a man in a wheelchair. Borrero. My cheeks burn in shame, and I angle away from the men who witnessed my breakdown.
I help Piper climb off and rise to my feet, embarrassed at having an audience. “That was beautiful,” Otero says, surprising me. “I have known soldiers who suffer day terrors. Your Piper is remarkable.”
Uninterested in talking about my PTSD, I kneel beside Piper, scratching her head and looking her over. “I don’t have any news about Marisol. I assume she’s in surgery.” Turning to Ruiz, I ask, “What did the vet say about Piper?”
“She’ll be okay but sore and need to rest for a few weeks.”
Borrero rolls closer, an IV bag hanging from a pole on his chair. The man is pale and gaunt compared to Marisol’s pictures of him. Being used for target practice will do that to a man.
I’m pretty sure Borrero should be in a bed somewhere. Despite his condition, the man maintains a core of steel. “You saved my daughter.”
Eyes misty and with a heavy heart, I look toward the surgical suite doors and shake my head. “I haven’t saved anyone.”
Knot clears his throat, and I realize, for the first time since starting his company, that the man is out of the loop. “Someone, please explain to me what happened.”
Borrero speaks first. “I called El Gran as you requested to ask—”
Otero stops Borrero’s explanation with a hand on his shoulder. “I believe this is my story to tell. Gentlemen, if you would have a seat.”
All of us obey, and the old man launches into the story. “Senior Cruz and his son may think me an old fool, but you don’t get to be in my position without much wisdom. I would have liked to deal with them sooner but couldn’t until I learned how many of my men were corrupted by their promises of riches and power.”
Knot scoffs, and the old man chuckles, amused. He’s probably unused to people who don’t piss themselves in fear around him.
“No, Mr. Knot. I am not a good man, but even criminals live by a code. Cruz sought to enslave another Copa’s daughter after I declared her off-limits. Cruz and his son defied my promise of protection. Those men are now dead, and those loyal to them will be weeded out.”
“Does she know?” I ask the old man.
Otero stares at me for a long while. “Only you and her father do.”
“Know what?” Knot asks.
Instead of answering, Otero turns his glare toward Ruiz. “I trust what I saw today means you care for the girl enough to trade your life for hers?”
Ruiz answers, “I would have gladly died with Adolpho to ensure the threat to Marisol ended.”