Page 33 of With this Ring (Mastered #7)

Pain lanced through Sasha, sharp and immediate, clawing through her ribs like an iron band tightening around her lungs. Her ankle throbbed with each heartbeat, her skin burned as if she’d been dragged across concrete, and something was constricting her wrist.

Forcing her eyes open a fraction, she made out the IV tubing snaking away from her arm.

What the hell?

She curled her fingers into the stiff, unfamiliar sheets that carried the distinct scent of industrial bleach. The steady beep… beep… beep of a heart monitor threaded through her senses, dragging her fully into awareness.

The overhead fluorescent light was too bright, too sterile, burning behind her eyelids even when she squeezed them shut again. The air around her reeked of antiseptic, barely masking the metallic sting of dried blood—her blood, Gregorio’s blood…

Gregorio.

The name jolted through her consciousness like a lightning bolt, obliterating everything else. Her eyes flew open despite the stabbing pain it caused.

This wasn’t the SUV. This wasn’t the Santos house.

Hospital.

The realization snapped her into place with crystal clarity, and a new wave of panic surged through her.

She had to find him.

Sasha forced herself fully awake, but the movement rocketed a dull, nauseating ache through her skull. She gritted her teeth against it, pushing up on her elbows—

“Whoa there, tiger.” A warm, steady hand pressed against her shoulder, catching her before she could fully collapse from the sharp, breath-stealing pain that lanced through her ribs.

The edges of her vision went white, and she gasped.

Every part of her—her ankle, ribs, hands—screamed in protest.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a no.” The voice was familiar, tinged with both amusement and concern.

Through the haze of pain, she focused on the man beside her. Stryker. His usual cocky grin was replaced by concern as he carefully eased her back against the pillows. In his free hand, he held out a paper cup of coffee like a peace offering.

“You almost hit the floor pretty spectacularly back there, tiger.” Though his mouth quirked up at one corner, his eyes were serious as they swept over her face with quiet assessment.

Hit the floor?

Was he serious? Since she couldn’t remember anything after she was prevented from following Gregorio, maybe he was serious.

“You passed completely out. Not exactly your most graceful moment.”

Sasha swallowed, her throat desert-dry and scratchy. “I don’t faint,” she protested weakly.

Stryker’s eyebrows shot up, and genuine warmth crept into his expression.

“No? Then I suppose I imagined having to catch you before you cracked your head open?” His voice held a gentle teasing note that took away some of her fear.

“And I definitely didn’t have to carry you in here while you were doing a very convincing impression of Sleeping Beauty. ”

She tried to glare at him, but suspected it came across as more of a weak grimace.

He just extended the coffee cup closer to her face, the rich aroma cutting through the antiseptic hospital smell. “Here. I had them make it exactly how you like it—strong enough to strip paint and sweet enough to rot teeth.”

She hesitated, then took the coffee with trembling fingers. The warmth seeped through her cold hands, grounding her in the moment. But the brief comfort vanished as memory crashed back with brutal force.

“Gregorio.” His name came out as a desperate whisper. She snapped her head toward Stryker so fast the room spun. “Where is he?”

Stryker’s playful expression sobered instantly, the change making him look dangerous for a fleeting moment before his features softened with compassion. “Still in surgery.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her stomach plunged, and the coffee nearly slipped from her grip.

“The docs say he lost a lot of blood,” Stryker continued, his voice steady and calm, as if he could transfer some of that steadiness to her through sheer force of will. He reached out to stabilize the coffee cup in her shaking hands. “But he’s strong. Too damn stubborn to give up without a fight.”

He nodded at the IV in her arm, then at her ankle, still propped on a pillow and wrapped so tightly it looked mummified.

“You, on the other hand, don’t go ripping those IVs out just yet.

Doctor’s orders.” He tipped his head to one side.

“And mine. I’ll tell you everything I can, but you need to stay put. ”

Sasha pressed her lips together, fighting back the sharp, irrational spike of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. She was supposed to be by Gregorio’s side, not lying here useless while he fought for his life.

“What about my office manager?”

He scowled. “Office manager?”

“Ashley Lakin.” Quickly, she brought him up to speed, telling him about the odd things that had happened at the office and her home, the way Ashley had been overly concerned about Sasha’s whereabouts this weekend, and the phone call that came seconds before all hell broke loose at the Santos home.

“She was trying to warn you?”

The thundering in her head became a hammer. She would never have believed that Ashley was capable of betraying her. But even then—

She choked on a sob. “And I’m convinced that was a gunshot that cut her off.”

“We’ll check it out.”

No matter what, Ashley hadn’t deserved to be executed.

The door swung open, the sound sharp against the backdrop of steady beeping from her monitors.

Hawkeye walked in, his presence filling the small room with quiet authority. His expression was carefully neutral, but she caught the flash of concern in his eyes as he took in her condition.

Sasha straightened despite the protest from her ribs, squaring her shoulders. To hell with being treated like an invalid. “Debrief me.”

Hawkeye turned a chair backward and dragged it next to the bed then took a seat facing her.

Sasha hated this. The feeling of being sidelined, being handled like she might shatter. She’d been on countless missions. She was a professional who’d seen worse.

But her heart had never been invested before.

She forced herself to breathe through the frustration, counting each inhale and exhale while she waited for Hawkeye to speak.

“FBI’s officially involved,” he said finally, watching her reaction closely. “We turned over the photos you took at the house.”

“And the burner phone?”

“Burner phone?”

“Yeah. It’s with my personal one inside my jacket.”

Stryker inclined his head toward a small closet.

“Mind if I get it?” Hawkeye asked.

“Please do.”

Her belongings were in a large, opaque plastic bag, and he dug through her jacket until he found the two devices. “The bigger one,” she said.

He pocketed the phone. “Good job, DiLuce.”

If she lost Gregorio, none of this would have been worth it.

“Org Crime is on the case. I’ll see they get it soon.”

Meaning after Hawkeye conducted their own forensics. Probably for the best. Bureaucracy moved slow, allowing Argentum time to plan and react. Hawkeye was able to act much quicker. “What else do we know?”

“Mrs. Santos is safe,” he assured her. “She’s still at the safehouse. Her husband hasn’t contacted her.”

Sasha squeezed her eyes shut. “And the Hawkeye agents at the Santos property?”

“One injury on our side. Two dead on theirs.”

Thanks to Gregorio.

If she lost him, she’d never recover.

She cut off that train of thought. He was going to make it, if only through the sheer force of her will.

“The rest of the Argentum thugs?” she pressed, proud that her voice remained steady.

Hawkeye’s expression tightened, and Stryker shifted, his easy charm replaced by coiled tension.

“Gone.” Hawkeye’s response was clipped and succinct.

Sasha gripped the coffee cup harder, the heat now burning against her palms. She shouldn’t be surprised. Argentum didn’t generally leave loose ends. “And no leads on Felix Santos?” She was guessing not, if he hadn’t contacted his wife.

Hawkeye and Stryker exchanged glances.

“None,” Hawkeye said finally.

“If we don’t get to Santos first—”

“There’s no we in this equation,” Stryker cut her off, his voice gentle but brooking no argument. “You need rest.”

“You don’t understand. My office manager might have been killed over this. And Gregorio…” Not to mention the injured Hawkeye agent who’d been on surveillance.

Frustration and fear crystallized into determination. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the way the room tilted. “I need to—”

Stryker moved faster than she would have thought possible. His gripped her shoulders with surprising gentleness despite the absolute authority in his hold. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin hospital gown, steadying her even as she tried to shake him off.

“You,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level, “are running on adrenaline and determination. And considering you collapsed less than an hour ago, you’re not going anywhere.”

Sasha set her jaw, meeting his gaze with stubborn defiance.

But Stryker didn’t back down, his hands remaining steady on her shoulders until some of the fight drained from her. Only then did his grip ease, though he stayed close enough to catch her if she tried anything foolish.

“Call your parents,” he said, his voice gentling. The sudden shift from command to compassion caught her off guard. “They deserve to know what’s happening.” A shadow of understanding crossed his features. “And they’d want to be here. For both of you.”

She swallowed hard and looked away, unable to hold his knowing gaze. Stryker knew both of them from their time at Hawkeye, and he’d heard every word she said to Gregorio in the SUV.

Still, the thought of calling home made her chest tight. Stryker was right—her parents needed to know. But calling them meant her sister would hear about it too. And they’d find out about Gregorio. “It’s complicated.”

“Avoiding it won’t make things easier.”

Her fingers clenched in the thin hospital blanket, and she twisted the fabric until her knuckles went white. “Fine.”

Stryker nodded, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Good.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Because you’ll need clothes anyway. That hospital gown isn’t exactly your best look.”

Before she could summon a suitably scathing response, the door swung open again. Inamorata entered, her movements efficient and purposeful.

“We got a hit on Santos’ location.” Ever efficient, she spared no greetings, no preambles.

Sasha jerked upright, every nerve suddenly on high alert. Stryker’s hand returned to her shoulder, steadying rather than restraining this time.

“Traffic camera caught him near Salt Lake City.”

Finally.

“Feds will be picking him up. He’ll be safer in custody than he will be out there alone.”

“When that happens, I will want to update Mrs. Santos,” Sasha said. “Get her back home when it’s safe.” Hopefully he’d cooperate with the investigation and testify against Argentum. In a perfect world, the couple would be approved for acceptance into the witness protection program.

The door opened again, and a nurse entered.

“You wanted an update.”

“Yes,” she said before anyone else could speak.

The nurse offered a small, careful smile that revealed nothing.

“Mr. Conti is out of surgery.”

Sasha’s lungs locked. The words seemed to echo in the suddenly too-small room. Her fingers curled deeper in the blanket, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the steady beeping of the monitors. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.

“And…?” Her question was a desperate whisper.

The nurse hesitated, and Sasha’s world teetered on the edge of a knife.

Stryker’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on her shoulder, offering silent support as they waited for the news that would either save or shatter her.

“He’s—”