Page 58 of Secret Mission

“Let him go,” Justice says while zip tying Thomas and his buddies extra tight. He removes anything from their pockets that could be used as a weapon or to free themselves as he goes, tossing them into a pile in my general direction. Standing, he activates his coms as he finishes. “This is Justice. Over.”

“Beast here. Over.”

“Found Truck. I'm sending you a pin. We have three tangos that we'll need additional transport for. Over.”

“Alive or dead? Over.”

“Alive,” he grumbles. “Unfortunately. Over.”

“You’re going to be sorry if you don't let us go,” snarls one of the guys in ops gear.

“Not as sorry as you'll be if you don’t shut up.” Justice lifts his leg and knocks the guy out with one well-placed boot.

Chapter Eighteen

An hour later - Karma, Vandemora

DonAzule Agave Farm

Truck is never more than two inches from me. Glued to me, even though he’s exhausted, the weariness is clear in his angular face. It’s like the stress has aged him within hours.

The same hollow look that I have. The mirror wasn’t a friend to me when I stopped in the bathroom to wash Truck’s blood off my face.

The concern for me is evident in the low, careful tone he uses with me. “Are you doing okay?”

I wrap my fingers around the steaming mug he presses into my hands—he made it without a word, like he knew what I needed before I did.

The heat seeps into my palms, grounding me, while the rest of me feels like it might come apart at the seams.

“I’m running on fumes.” The words barely make it past the tightness in my throat.

His hand trails down my arm, slow and deliberate, until his fingers find mine and curl around them. Warm. Solid.

I nearly exhale a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

We held hands on the boat—his grip steady as I drifted off—but this feels different.

He’s here, now, in the light of day, with his teammates coming, and still... he chooses this. Me.

A fragile heat unfurls in my chest, tender and unfamiliar.

I’ve never had anyone to lean on, not really.

The scrape of the chair cuts through the moment as he pulls it closer and drops into the seat beside me.

“Ally, we can do this later.”

I study his handsome face, searching his stormy blue gaze, taking my time to look at the flecks of green and gray. “No. It’s time to talk to your team.”

His brows knot, but he leans back in the chair without arguing. About this at least, but Truck’s refused to take care of himself.

The wounds all over his arms are angry. Still tinged with blood and ringed with mottled skin.

As my emotions well up, I shake my head. “You look like hell. I don’t know everything that happened to you after you pushed me away in the river, but there are hundreds of cuts on you.”

The bloodied cuts slash this way and that on his arms, his face, the backs of his hands.

“Shouldn’t you see a doctor?”