Page 76 of Code Name: Grit

Nothing about this fit what we’d believed about these organizations. There were layers of alliances and betrayals we hadn’t begun to understand.

“Hold still,” I told Grit as I adjusted the pressure dressing. The bleeding had slowed, but his face was growing pale from shock and blood loss.

“You need to stay awake,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Talk to me.”

His eyes focused on mine with effort. “About what?”

“Anything. Tell me about your house in Cold Spring.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Stone and timber. Overlooks the river. Peaceful.”

“I want to see it someday,” I said, monitoring his pulse while keeping pressure on the wound.

“You will,” he promised, his voice growing weaker. “When this is over.”

Through the cabin window, I saw we were approaching a clearing with a small medical facility. The helicopter began its descent, and emergency personnel was already visible below.

“Almost there,” I told Grit, whose eyes had begun to close. “Stay with me.”

As we touched down, the side door slid open and the waiting staff swarmed the helicopter, focusing immediately on Grit and Atticus.

“Gunshot wound to the upper left torso,” I reported as they transferred Grit to a stretcher. “Significant blood loss but pressure maintained for approximately twelve minutes.”

The medical team got to work, attaching monitoring equipment and starting an IV as they rushed him toward the building. I followed, unwilling to let him out of my sight.

A nurse tried to direct me to another area for my own evaluation, but I shook her off.

“I need to stay with him,” I insisted.

“You need medical attention too,” she countered, gesturing to cuts and bruises I’d been too distracted to notice.

Tank appeared beside me, his expression grim but determined. “Let them help you. I’ll stay with Grit.”

Reality was beginning to set in—the adrenaline fading, leaving behind the full weight of what had happened. The kidnapping. The revelations about my father. The firefight. Grit’s injury.

“This is my fault,” I whispered.

“No,” Tank said firmly. “This is Giovanni’s fault. And Keller’s. And whoever else was playing games with people’s lives back there.”

A doctor approached, interrupting our conversation. “Are you family?” he asked me.

Before I could answer, Tank stepped in. “She’s with us. Security clearance Omega-Seven.” He flashed some kind of identification I hadn’t seen before.

The doctor nodded. “We’re taking him into surgery now. The bullet missed major arteries but caused significant tissue damage. I’ll have someone update you once we’ve assessed the full extent of the injury.”

“Thank you,” I managed.

As the doctor walked away, I turned to Tank. “Omega-Seven?”

He almost smiled. “It’s bullshit, but he heard what I was really saying. ‘Don’t fucking ask questions, and let her do what she wants.’”

Despite everything, I felt a moment of gratitude for these people who had become my unlikely family.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Now, we wait,” Tank replied. “And prepare. Because whatever was happening back there, it’s far from over.”

As we followed a nurse to a secure waiting area, my mind raced with questions. Cassio Belcastro had known who I was. Isaw it in his eyes when Giovanni made his accusations. Yet he hadn’t confirmed it, hadn’t exposed me.