LOGINThe warehouse on the south side smelled like rust, old oil, and fear.
Perfect.
Declan led me through the main floor to a back room where two men sat zip-tied to metal chairs. Both were bloodied—noses broken, lips split, eyes swollen. My men had already started the preliminary work.
Good.
I was in no mood for patience.
The first driver—a wiry man in his thirties with a shaved head—looked
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THE FIRST TIMEJAMESONI locked the door.The sound of the bolt sliding into place was final. Definitive. No more interruptions. No more waiting. No more excuses.Just us.Cat stood in the center of my bedroom, the midnight blue gown clinging to every curve, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder. The moonlight streaming through the windows caught the fabric, making it shimmer like water.She was breathtaking.And she was mine."Four weeks, Cat," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "I've been waiting four weeks for this."She turned to face me fully, and I saw the nervousness in her eyes—but also the desire. The want."So have I," she said softly.I crossed the room slowly, giving her time to change her mind. Time to tell me to stop.She didn't.When I reached her, I cupped her face in
CATARINAFour weeks later, I sat in Dr. Sullivan's office watching him cut away the cast that had been my prison for what felt like an eternity."Almost there," he said, his voice cheerful. "How are the ribs feeling?""Better," I said. "Still tender, but manageable.""Good. That's what I like to hear." The cast saw whirred, and I felt the vibration through my arm. "You've been following the physical therapy exercises I gave you?""Every day."That was a lie. I'd been doing them twice a day, desperate to regain my strength as quickly as possible.The cast finally split open, and Dr. Sullivan carefully removed it. My arm looked pale and thin compared to my other one, the skin dry and flaky.But it was free.I flexed my fingers experimentally, then rotated my wrist. A dull ache, but nothing I couldn't handle."Take it easy for the first few days," Dr. Sullivan wa
CATARINAA week had passed since the coordinated strike, and I was starting to feel almost human again.Almost.My ribs still protested every movement, and the cast on my arm was a constant reminder of my limitations. But at least the swelling around my eye had gone down completely, and I could move without wanting to scream.Small victories.I stood in front of the mirror in Jameson's bedroom, staring at the bra in my good hand like it was a personal enemy.This should not be this difficult.I'd taken down armed men. I'd survived a car crash that should have killed me. I could handle a goddamn bra.I slipped my good arm through one strap, then tried to maneuver the other strap over my casted arm. The fabric twisted. The clasp dangled uselessly behind my back, just out of reach."Son of a bitch," I muttered, trying again.The bra slipped.I caught i
JAMESONDr. Sullivan arrived within the hour, his medical bag in hand and his expression professionally neutral despite the blood still staining my jacket."Let's have a look," he said, gesturing for me to sit at the dining room table.I lowered myself into the chair carefully, my shoulder screaming in protest. Cat hovered nearby, her good hand gripping the back of another chair, her eyes fixed on the blood-soaked bandage Declan had wrapped around me in the field."Mrs. Connelly," Dr. Sullivan said without looking up, "you might want to sit down. You're still recovering yourself.""I'm fine," she said, but I heard the strain in her voice."Cat," I said quietly. "Sit."She glared at me but obeyed, lowering herself into the chair beside me with a wince that told me her ribs were protesting.Dr. Sullivan cut away the makeshift bandage, and I felt Cat tense beside me as the wound was revealed—an angry, bleeding hole in my shoulder where the bullet had punched through."Clean shot," Dr. Su
CATARINAA few days had passed, and I looked less like I'd been hit by a truck and more like I'd merely been in a serious bar fight.Progress.The swelling around my eyes had finally gone down enough that I could see out of both again—a small victory that I was pathetically grateful for. The deep bruising had faded from angry purple to a mottled yellow-green that was almost worse to look at.But my ribs still screamed with every breath, every movement, every goddamn shift in position.And my arm was still trapped in this fucking cast.I stood at the window of Jameson's bedroom—our bedroom now, I supposed—watching the sun rise over the compound. Today was the day. The coordinated strike against the Russians and Isaac.And I was stuck here.Useless."You're pacing again," Jameson said from behind me.I turned to find him already dresse
JAMESONTrue to my word, I returned forty-five minutes later with two bags from Portillo's and a determination to finally have the conversation we'd been dancing around for weeks.Cat was exactly where I'd left her—propped up against the pillows in my bed, looking small and vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.Her one good eye tracked me as I crossed the room, and I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward when she spotted the bags."You actually got them," she said."I told you I would." I set the bags on the nightstand and carefully arranged a small tray across her lap, making sure it didn't press against her ribs. "Though I have to warn you—if you make a mess, I'll have to give you another bath."Her eye widened slightly.I leaned in, my voice dropping. "And I might even join you this time."The color that rose in her cheeks was worth every second of the ten







