Page 28 of Code Name: Tank (K19 Sentinel Cyber #4)

DRAGON

T he first thing I became aware of was the steady beeping of machines.

The sound cut through the fog in my mind like a lighthouse beacon, pulling me toward consciousness.

My throat felt raw and dry, and my chest tight with an odd pulling sensation that made breathing feel deliberate rather than automatic.

I tried to open my eyes, but the effort felt monumental. My eyelids were heavy, weighted down by whatever medication they’d pumped into my system. When I finally managed to crack them open, harsh fluorescent light made me wince.

Hospital. I was in a hospital.

Memory came flooding back in fragments—a spray of bullets, pain exploding through my body as I hit the ground.

Tank.

I turned my head slightly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to pull me back under, and saw him.

He was slumped in a chair beside my bed, his head tilted at an uncomfortable angle against the high back.

Even in sleep, one of his hands rested protectively on the edge of my mattress, fingers brushing mine, as if he couldn’t bear to break the contact completely.

He looked exhausted. His hair was disheveled, stubble darkened his jaw, and there were deep lines of fatigue etched around his eyes. He wore a white K19 polo shirt and jeans, but nothing could hide the bone-deep weariness that spoke of days spent keeping vigil. How long had he been here?

I tried to speak, but only a hoarse whisper emerged. “Tank.”

His eyes snapped open immediately, the alertness of someone who’d been sleeping with one ear open. When he saw that I was awake, his entire face transformed. Relief. Joy. Love.

“Piper.” My name came out as a prayer on his lips. He leaned forward, his hand covering mine completely. “Thank God. How do you feel?”

I tried to assess my condition. There was a tube snaking from my chest, its clear plastic disappearing beneath bandages. An IV line fed into my left arm, and monitors tracked my vital signs with insistent beeping. Everything felt distant and muffled, like I was experiencing it through thick glass.

“Alive,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “What happened? How long?—”

“Three days,” Tank said, his thumb stroking across my knuckles. “You’ve been in and out since surgery, but this is the first time you’ve been truly lucid.”

Three days. No wonder he looked exhausted. “Have you been here the entire time?”

Tank’s sheepish expression was answer enough. “They tried to make me leave. Hospital policy about visiting hours. I may have been less than cooperative about that.”

“Tank,” I said, my voice still scratchy.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, then caught my skeptical look. “Okay, maybe I haven’t been eating much. But Alice brought me coffee and sandwiches yesterday. And Admiral stopped by, though I didn’t let him wake you.”

Despite everything, I felt my lips curve upward. Of course he’d refused to leave. This was Tank—steadfast, protective, unwilling to abandon someone he cared about. The complete opposite of?—

“Flint,” I said suddenly, my memory sharpening. “Is he?—”

“Alive and recovering. Atticus got him out.” Tank’s expression grew more serious. “Hartwell is dead, Piper. The hostiles took him out.”

I closed my eyes and nodded. Maybe there’d come a time when I could cry for the man, but right now, there were too many unanswered questions.

“According to Flint, Hartwell got mixed up with the Zaristani. Apparently, they were blackmailing him,” he added. “That’s all I know right now.”

The information should have brought relief, but all I could focus on was the man beside me. The man who’d stayed for three days, who’d refused to leave my side, who’d fought to save my life even when everything was falling apart around us.

“I’m thirsty,” I whispered, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

Tank immediately reached for a cup on the bedside table, adjusting the straw so I could grab it without straining. “Small sips,” he said gently, his free hand supporting the back of my head. “The nurse said not to rush it.”

The cool water was heaven against my parched throat. When I’d had enough, Tank set the cup aside and smoothed my hair back from my forehead with such tenderness it made my chest ache in ways that had nothing to do with my injuries.

“You saved me,” I whispered.

His jaw tightened. “I almost lost you. When I saw you…” He stopped, his voice choked with emotion. “I’ve never been that scared in my life, Piper. Not in combat, not during the worst missions I’ve been on. Nothing compared to the thought of losing you.”

The vulnerability in his voice brought me to the tears I couldn’t cry for James. This strong, capable man who’d faced down enemies and survived countless dangers was admitting that losing me had been his greatest fear.

“But you didn’t,” I said, squeezing his hand as firmly as I could manage. “I’m here. We’re both here.”

“When you said you loved me in the helicopter,” Tank continued, his green eyes holding mine, “I thought you were saying goodbye. I thought those might be the last words we ever spoke.”

“I wasn’t saying goodbye.” The certainty in my voice surprised me. “I was telling you the truth. I do love you, Tank. More than I thought was possible.”

His breath caught. “Piper?—”

“I know I’ve been guarded. I know I’ve held back because of what happened with Flint, because trusting someone completely felt too dangerous.

” I paused, gathering my strength. “But you’ve proven over and over that you’re nothing like him.

You stayed when things got complicated. You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself.

You’ve never once made me feel like I was too much trouble or too broken to love. ”

Tank lifted our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “You’re not broken, darlin’. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

“I don’t feel very strong right now,” I admitted, suddenly aware of how small and fragile I felt in this hospital bed, dependent on machines and medications.

“Are you kidding me?” Tank’s voice carried a fierce conviction.

“You insisted on going on that rescue mission even though you suspected it might be a trap. You trusted me to take care of you when you were bleeding and scared.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “That’s not weakness, Piper.”

Tears stung my eyes. “Hartwell. He was like a father—” Crying made everything hurt worse, but I couldn’t stop the floodgates of sadness once they opened.

Tank reached for the tissue box on the nightstand and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. “You’re not alone, Piper. I’d never hurt or betray you. I love you, and unless you tell me to leave, I never will.”

“I would never tell you to go.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I could live without you, Piper Drago.

I love your brilliant mind and your fierce independence and the way you challenge me to be better.

I love that you never back down from a fight, even when you probably should.

” His smile was soft and warm. “I love that you trust me enough to let me take care of you.”

“Tank,” I whispered, “I need you to know something too. What I feel for you—it’s not just because you saved my life. It’s because of who you are. Your integrity, your kindness, and the way you see the best in people even when they don’t see it in themselves.”

He was quiet for a moment, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns on my hand. “How do you feel right now? Physically, I mean. Are you in pain?”

The change of subject was so typically Tank—putting my well-being first. “Everything seems far away because of the medication. But I can feel the chest tube, and my side aches where the bullet hit.”

“The pain medication is keeping most of it at bay, but if it gets worse, you just tell me. The nurses said you can have more if you need it.”

I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, and Tank immediately stood to adjust my pillows. “Better?” he asked before sitting back down.

“Much. Have you been sleeping in that chair this whole time?”

His guilty expression was answer enough. “The nurses offered me a gurney, but I wanted to be right here in case you woke up.”

“That’s so like you,” I said softly, my heart swelling with emotion. “Taking care of everyone else before yourself.”

“Not everyone else,” he replied simply. “Just you, Piper.”

The words wrapped around my heart. I wanted to stay in this moment forever, but practical concerns crept in. “Tank, how bad is it, really? The damage?”

“The doctors said you’ll make a full recovery.

The bullet missed the major blood vessels, and your lung reinflated perfectly after surgery.

You’ll have physical therapy, and you’ll need to take it easy for a few weeks, but…

” He paused, his expression growing tender. “You’re going to be fine, darlin’.”

Relief flooded through me. I’d been afraid to ask about the extent of my injuries, afraid of what the answer might mean for my future.

“Will I be able to go back to work?”

“Eventually, yes. Though I’ll tell you this right now. As soon as you’re well enough, you and I are going off on our own. I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “You said you wanted to see the ocean, and I told you I’d take you anywhere you wanted to go. The Caribbean, Pacific Coast, Mediterranean—as long as you stayed with me.”

“God, that sounds so good.”

My gaze drifted to the windowsill, where I noticed several flower arrangements for the first time. “Are those…?”

“From the team,” Tank said, following my line of sight. “The big arrangement is from Admiral and Alice. The purple ones are from Doc and Merrigan, and the sunflowers are from Atticus —he said they reminded him of your sunny disposition.” He chuckled.

“That’s so sweet of them.”