Page 34 of With this Ring (Mastered #7)

The pause stretched.

Too long.

Oh God. No.

Her heart stopped.

She saw it in the nurse’s eyes—the hesitation, the cautious way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

He wasn’t out of the woods.

Say it. For God’s sake, just say it.

Desperately, she clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking. Behind her, Stryker’s grip on her shoulder tightened fractionally, grounding her.

Finally, the nurse exhaled.

“He made it through the operation,” she said gently. “But he lost a lot of blood. We had to perform an emergency transfusion.”

Sasha nodded automatically, processing facts like she was collecting pieces of evidence. Around her, the tension in the room shifted a little. Hawkeye’s stance loosened slightly, and Inamorata exhaled sharply.

“Thank fuck,” Stryker said.

Gregorio had made it.

“He’s alive.” Her words were barely audible, and tears burned her eyes, clinging to her eyelashes.

But there was more, had to be with the way the nurse kept watching her.

The way the air in the room felt too still.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Sasha’s voice was steady, but clipped, a blade’s edge away from breaking.

The nurse shifted again.

“There was some organ stress,” she admitted carefully. “He coded once on the table, but the team got him back quickly.”

Coded.

The word sank its teeth into her. Stryker muttered something under his breath—a curse, maybe a prayer.

Her stomach turned, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it show.

“Oh, God.”

Stryker placed his hand on her shoulder again, and Hawkeye moved closer to the bed, a little protectively, as if trying to shield her from the news.

Inamorata tipped her head to one side, and it might have been the first time Sasha ever saw the woman’s usual efficiency replaced by quiet concern.

The nurse hesitated. “His vitals are stable for now, but he’s heavily sedated. We won’t know the full picture until he wakes up.”

Sasha let out a slow, measured breath.

So that was it.

They’d patched him back together, but they couldn’t guarantee a damn thing.

Her mind supplied worst-case scenarios faster than she could stop them.

Internal bleeding. Organ failure. Infection.

Her gut twisted.

He’d coded. He’d flatlined, his body shutting down, and she hadn’t been there.

She’d been out cold, completely useless, while Gregorio fought for his life on an operating table.

The nurse must have seen the shift in her expression because her voice softened. “We just need to give him some time.”

Time.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Time meant waiting. Waiting meant thinking. Thinking meant drowning in the knowledge that she was the one who’d pulled him into this.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was the one who’d gotten him involved.

And now he was in the ICU, tubes and machines keeping him stable, because she hadn’t been careful enough.

“He’s the toughest son of a bitch I know,” Stryker said quietly, reassuringly.

She thought of the wound he still had on his abs, one that had never made him flinch though it must have been horrifically painful.

Blinking against the burn behind her eyes, Sasha asked, “When can I see him?”

The nurse hesitated. “The ICU has strict visitation—”

“I don’t care,” Sasha cut in, her voice sharp, the panic slipping through before she could pull it back. “I need to see him.”

“We’ll make it happen,” Hawkeye interjected quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The nurse softened, but didn’t bend.

“They need to stabilize him first,” she explained. “Probably a few hours, maybe more. If all looks good, you might be able to sit with him for a bit.”

Hours.

She hated the way the word settled in her heart, like lead.

But pushing wouldn’t help. She knew that.

Slowly, she unclenched her fists, forcing herself to nod, to breathe.

“I’ll let you know as soon as it’s possible,” the nurse added.

Sasha gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

The nurse lingered another moment, as if debating whether to say something else, then gave her a small, tight smile before leaving.

Moments later, Inamorata followed her from the room.

When they were alone, silence rushed back in behind her.

Sasha sagged against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

Stryker finally released his grip.

“We’ll ensure he has the best care on the planet,” Hawkeye promised.

“He’s hanging in there,” Stryker said.

That wasn’t enough.

She had to get out of this bed and out of here.

Inamorata opened the door a little, and she and Hawkeye excused themselves. There really wasn’t any sense in them hanging around.

“You still need to call your parents,” Stryker reminded her. “You need the support.”

Was that what she was going to get?

She sighed over the pounding headache.

“Anyone else?”

“Damien. From the Den. He’d want to know about Gregorio.”

“Do you have his contact information?”

She shook her head, then regretted the movement.

“I’ll take care of it. Anyone else?”

Even though she and Gregorio had shared something hot and combustible, she didn’t know much about his ordinary life.

His parents had been killed in a car bomb explosion when he was a child.

To her knowledge, he didn’t keep in touch with any of the foster parents whose homes he’d been shuffled between.

As far as close friends, she had no idea.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe Damien knows.”

“On it.”

She tried to get out of the bed to find her phone, but the room wobbled beneath her.

“Stop pushing it, tiger.” Stryker captured her upper arms and helped her to sit back down. “Where you going?”

In frustration, she squeezed her eyes shut. “I need my cell phone.”

“You got it.”

After grabbing the device, he brought it to her.

“Thank you.”

“You might need this.” He pulled out her gun from his waistband.

“How…?” She blinked.

“Figured you wouldn’t want any questions from the hospital staff.”

And she definitely didn’t want it to be confiscated. “I owe you one.”

“Way more than that.” He flashed her the smile that had ensnared at least a dozen women in the few years that she’d known him.

He tucked it into her plastic bag of belongings and closed the closet door.

A few moments later, Inamorata was back, along with two men in suits.

FBI, according to their credentials.

Since she was no longer employed by Hawkeye, Inamorata owed her nothing. But the woman stayed, regardless, off to the side, her presence reassuring.

“Just a few questions, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

Did it matter if she wasn’t up to it?

Sasha answered dozens of questions, most of them repeats, phrased in slightly different ways.

She had very little information about the case, just information she’d found in the ledger and the burner phone. “And I understand the phone has been turned over to you?”

“Affirmative,” the older man replied.

Then they asked about Ashley, and she repeated exactly what she’d told Stryker and added, “I have no idea if she’s involved, or why she would be.”

“Anything else you can think of?”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if that could force back the never-ending pounding in her head. “You may want to talk to Brenda Santos when you can. She can get you a description of the man who threatened her. I believe he was at the house on at least two occasions.”

“We have agents en route.”

“Do you have Felix in custody?”

“Afraid I can’t say one way or the other.”

“So it’s a one-way street. You get information, but you don’t give any?”

“Thanks for your time, ma’am. If you think of anything else…” He pulled out a business card from inside his suitcoat and offered it to her.

When she didn’t accept, he dropped it on the table next to her bed.

The two men left, and once the door was closed behind them, Inamorata said, “They picked him up less than ten minutes ago.”

Sasha nodded in appreciation.

How Inamorata knew stuff, she had no idea.

“Get some rest,” the woman said. “I’ll stay on top of things here. As soon as I can get you in to see Gregorio, I will.”

“I…”

Inamorata raised one of her very carefully sculpted eyebrows. No matter the time of day or night, she was impeccably put together.

Sasha settled for, “Thank you.”

“You might not say that when you see our invoice.”

She winced. Since she’d dragged Gregorio into this, the bill was definitely hers.

“I’ll have accounting hold it until you’re out of the hospital.”

“Generous.”

At the door, Inamorata paused and looked back. “Per Stryker, we sent a team to Ashley Lakin’s house.”

She braced herself.

“There’s no sign of her or a struggle.”

Sasha frowned.

“We’ll keep checking.” She shrugged. “And so will the feds.”

Finally, she was alone, and the beeping and emptiness overwhelmed her.

Dropping her head onto the pillow, she allowed the tears to come, until she was exhausted.

She closed her eyes, willing all of this to go away.

A nurse came in to check on her, and Sasha asked how quickly she could leave.

“Right now, it would be against doctor’s orders. I wouldn’t try it until you can stand on your own, unless you want to get around in a wheelchair.”

And she wouldn’t get far without actual clothes.

Which brought her back to her parents and calls she didn’t want to make.

Knowing she couldn’t stall forever, she picked up her phone.

* * * *

Sasha heard her parents arrive before she saw them—less than forty-five minutes after she’d told them what hospital she was in.

There was a sharp click of hurried footsteps on the floor and a murmur of voices just beyond the door.

Then the door swung open, and her mother was the first one through, a blur of familiar warmth and frantic hands, arms already reaching for her before words even formed.

“Oh, Sasha! Honey—thank God!”

Rosa DiLuce’s words were wrapped in emotion that she couldn’t hide.

Her mother gathered her close, her hug warm and desperate at the same time.

Then she pulled back, but kept hold of Sasha’s shoulders, as if she needed to reassure herself that Sasha was really okay. As Rosa swept her gaze over her daughter, tears swam in her eyes.