Page 30

Briar

It’s been four days since the gunfire, four days since Asher shoved me into his truck and slammed on the gas, four days since I saw Orion bleed out in front of me. Yet in some ways, it feels like it was only minutes ago. I still can’t get the image of him collapsing, that dark red pool of blood staining the ground, out of my head. Even now, in this quiet safe house, the memory chases me through every waking hour. I’m pissed I can’t see him. I know he’s at the hospital, and every hour on the hour I ask if I can visit. It’s always the same answer. “Not until he’s stable.”

I’m pacing in the small living room, glancing at the front door with every second that ticks by. The rotating group of men on watch—Orion’s team, apparently—have kept me here, insisting I’m not safe until the rest of the Russians are caught. A handful of them, including Jason, managed to slip away during the raid. Word is the others were either captured or shot. But that doesn’t lessen my anxiety. Jason’s still out there. My mind plays his face over and over, that unhinged desperation in his eyes.

Gunner spent one entire day here, cleaning his guns at the kitchen table while I tried to read a magazine, the tension thick as we both pretended normalcy. He’s brusque but not unkind. Then Ranger arrived the next day, a charming grin in place, and opened the door with Jeb in tow. I gasped when I saw Jeb fluttering his wings, squawking a half-formed greeting. I rushed to him, loving the fact that I had my bird with me now.

I learned more about each man as they drifted in and out: how some of them had once been in the military together, how Dean formed this security firm that tackled high-risk operations. It distracts me from the fact that Orion’s in the hospital, in surgery and recovery for days now, fighting to mend a bullet wound that nicked his liver. Lucky, they say. Lucky it didn’t kill him. But that thought alone makes my chest tighten.

Today, it’s Asher on watch, the one who pulled me from the van and got me here in one piece. He’s kinder than I expected a special-ops guy to be—gentle in how he moves, calm in how he speaks. We’re sitting in the kitchen, sharing a plate of scrambled eggs I attempted to cook, when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, eyes flicking with what looks like relief.

“Good news?” I ask, trying not to look too eager.

Asher nods. “It’s Dean. Orion’s awake and stable. He asked if you want to visit.”

My heart lurches. “He—he wants to see me?”

“Obviously.” Asher rubs the back of his neck.

Emotions swell inside me—an uneasy mix of joy, anxiety, and a raw ache I can’t quite put into words. I force a breath. “Please. Can we go now?”

Asher’s already standing, gathering his keys. “We’ll have to be quick. You’re still not a hundred percent in the clear with the Russians. But I think it’s important.”

We drive in relative silence. My thoughts spiral the entire way: What if Orion hates me for leaving the safe house that day? What if he resents that I ended up in the Russians’ hands again because of my foolishness? And then the more pressing fear: what if he’s still in pain, hurt beyond what the doctors can fix?

The hospital is a stark white structure, cold and clinical. Asher parks in a restricted bay, flashing credentials that Dean must have arranged. I clutch my jacket against me, following him through the corridors, heart hammering. Nurses and doctors pass in a blur. My chest feels tight, my steps heavy.

Finally, Asher stops outside a private room. The door’s closed, a small sign reading Authorized Personnel Only . “I’ll wait out here,” he says, offering an encouraging nod. “Take your time.”

I swallow hard, pushing the door open. The room is dim, a single overhead light and the soft glow of machines. A wave of antiseptic hits me, and I blink against the sting of tears when I see Orion in the bed, propped up, bandages swathing his side. He looks pale, his lips thin, but there’s still a fierce glint in his eyes. My heart twists painfully.

This brave, brave man. He’s shuffling a deck of playing cards in his hands and he stops when he sees me. “Briar,” he says, voice hoarse. He tries to shift upright, wincing as he does.

I rush forward, stopping at the edge of the bed. My first impulse is to throw myself into his arms, but I hold back, afraid of hurting him. “Orion,” I manage, tears prickling. “You—you’re okay. Thank God.”

He offers a faint, lopsided grin. “I’ve been better.” His tone is subdued, breath shallow. “But I’ll live.”

My gaze drifts to the strong man in the hospital gown, the IV lines in his arm, the monitors tracking his vitals. Anger flares inside me—at Jason, at Heath, at the Russians. At myself. If I hadn’t left that day…

“Sit,” Orion says, interrupting my swirling thoughts. It’s not really a request; it’s an alpha command, soft but insistent. He pats the side of the bed. “Sit, Briar. We need to talk.”

My emotions churn, but I comply, gingerly lowering myself onto the mattress near his hip. His presence is overwhelming, even injured like this, and the memory of him hitting the ground with blood pouring from his side flashes through my mind. I blink it away.

Orion’s gaze bores into me. There’s a storm there—anger, confusion, and something deeper. “Why did you leave the safe house that day?” he asks, voice raw. “You could’ve—” He breaks off, grimacing. “You did end up in danger.” He winces again. “Is it because you overheard me on the phone?”

I look away, shame burning my cheeks. The white sheets beneath my fingers feel cold. “Orion, I—I can’t…”

He inhales, nostrils flaring. “Briar, please. Just tell me.”

My jaw clenches. Tears sting behind my eyelids again, and for a moment, I consider lying. But this is Orion—if anyone deserves the truth, it’s him. I raise my eyes to meet his, my voice trembling. “I overheard you on the phone with Dean. You told him…” I swallow, “that you had no feelings for me.”

His face falls with my words, darkening his expression. “I’m so sorry you heard that.”

I nod, a shaky breath escaping. “You said… you didn’t care about me. That I was just a job. It hurt. So I left. I thought I was just complicating things. Also, I saw the picture of Jason at the zoo, and thought…” my words fall away.

Orion’s hands curl into fists. Slowly, he lifts one hand to brush against my arm, as if he needs the contact. “I never meant it,” he says, voice trembling with anger—anger at himself, maybe. “That was a lie I fed Dean so he wouldn’t pull me off your watch. There’s a rule against getting close to a client. I was worried he’d see how I felt and reassign me.”

My heart thuds. “You… lied to him so you could stay with me?”

His face contorts with frustration. “Briar, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to overhear that. I told Dean I didn’t care so he wouldn’t question my judgment, wouldn’t split us up. But I do care. More than I should.”

Tears slip down my cheeks, but this time they carry a fragile mix of relief and lingering hurt. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that?”

He grimaces, shifting slightly. The monitors beep in protest as he moves. “Because I was trying to do my job— protect you. I didn’t want you thinking I was crossing a line. And I sure as hell didn’t want Dean to reassign me.”

A shaky laugh escapes my lips, half-sob, half-disbelief. All this heartbreak because of some twisted sense of duty.

Orion’s hand slides further up my arm, thumb brushing away my tears. “You scared the hell out of me,” he mutters, eyes searching mine. “When you left, and then you got taken… I nearly lost my mind. And then they shot me, and I—I couldn’t protect you.”

I press my hand over his, my throat tight with emotion. “I was so afraid you’d died,” I admit, voice breaking. “Every night, I couldn’t sleep, wondering if I’d made the worst mistake of my life by walking out.”

His jaw sets. “Don’t blame yourself. If I’d told you the truth from the start…” He trails off, pain flickering in his eyes. “Look, I don’t know what happens next, but you have to believe me: I never meant those words. I’ve had feelings for you from the moment I realized you were more than just a client.”

My breath hitches. If my heart could leap out of my chest, it would. Orion’s gaze is so intense, so raw, that for a second I can’t speak. Finally, I manage, “I believe you.”

He exhales, relief flashing across his face. Slowly, he tugs at my hand until it rests over the sheet, atop his. The tension in the room eases, replaced by an unspoken promise hovering between us. Even with IV lines and hospital beeps, even with his bandaged side and the fear that Russians are still lurking, there’s a sense of rightness in this moment.

Careful not to jostle his injury, I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his. He smells like antiseptic and faintly of the cologne he always wears, the one that lulled me into security every time he held me. A soft whimper escapes me, half relief, half heartache, but Orion’s other arm circles around my shoulders, pulling me close.

We sit like that, hearts pounding in tandem, as the chaos of the outside world remains at bay. Eventually, he shifts, wincing at the pain, but he keeps me near. His breath ghosts across my cheek.

“There’s still danger,” he murmurs, “still Russians out there. Jason… I want to keep you safe, but I need you to trust me. Never doubt me again, all right? No matter what you overhear me say.”

My lips quiver with a watery smile. “I won’t. Next time, I’ll ask you straight up.”

A faint chuckle rumbles in his chest. Then he winces, a reminder that he’s not out of the woods yet. We both know our problems haven’t magically vanished. Jason’s still at large, the Russians aren’t fully dealt with, and Orion’s stuck in a hospital bed for who knows how long. But for the first time, I’m not lost in confusion over where we stand.

We’re together, whatever that means in this dangerous world. And I’ll hold on to that truth as long as it takes to bring us both home.