As Charlie leads me to the rear of my jet, my steps falter.
Chris' face is more youthful in his sleep. The lines on his forehead are relaxed and the way he pinches his lips together when he's angry makes him appear older than he is. I wish he could spend more of his time simply being him.
I know we're a long way away from stability.
Someone is after us—after me. And it doesn't feel like they'll be stopping anytime soon. For once, it was nice to forget the chaos, but it still found us.
It always finds us.
I'll need to contact Ryker. He's probably aware of the shitshow at the house already. If steam isn't pumping out of his ears, it will be when he learns the extent of the damage.
I loved that house, and now it's gone. We can rebuild, but it'll never be the same.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Charlie whispers into my ear as he curled me into his embrace. Like a moth to a flame, I'm drawn to him. Eagerly, I push closer, fitting my head against his chest. "Hey, hey, hey.... what's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Just glad we're okay," I say, clutching him tighter. "Do we know who attacked us? Iris is searching, but hasn't found anything, yet."
Charlie stiffens. His grip around my waist becomes so tight I'm plastered to his side. As he huffs a curse under his breath, I glide my fingers along his abs.
"Charlie... did I say something wrong?"
His head shakes, but he won't look at me. "I don't want you worried about what happened back there. I want you to focus on expanding our link and innovating. It's our job to keep you safe."
"Keeping my safe?" I narrow my eyes and squirm until he lets me go. The second I step away, a solid mask unfurls on his features. "How is not explaining what happened back there keeping me safe? How am I supposed to be safe when I don't know who's after me?"
This has never been. I've never not known who was on the other side of my attackers. The one who was goading the machines was a mystery, but they'd taken me head on.
Sending a bunch of armed men into my house in a wave of bullets and kevlar was a ballsy move. There are men and women who control the largest underground organizations in the world who won't come after me. It's not the machine they're afraid of—Ryker casts a longer shadow than them all.
And he takes no shit. You're more likely to wind up with a bullet between the eyebrows than you are to get your hands on me. He's spent the last decade insulating me from the blood and violence, but it doesn't mean I didn't see my fair share of death.
"Let us handle it."
Stubbornly, I shake my head, "No."
"No?" Charlie's right eyebrow raises. "What do you mean?"
"I mean no," my arms cross unconsciously and I become the picture of disobedience. "I'm not going to sit by and let you handle my problems."
"Blue... I'm asking you to let us do our jobs—not to pretend to be blind or deaf."
"Charlie, I—"
"Listen, we want and need you to be safe and not because you pay us." Charlie glances away from me, gathering his next words. "I'm in love with you, and if anything happened to you, I'd—"
He breaks off, swallowing down the rage flaring through our link. Red hot and suffocating, it swirls around in my head until my mind balks. Surprisingly, it fades away in a flood, angling back toward him like a tsunami calls the water from the shore.
Cupping his cheek, I angle his head down to latch our gazes together. He's doing his best to keep his mask in place, but it slips and I see the raw pain etched within. What cascades through the link is only a portion of what I know lurks in him.
"I'm in love with you, too, but I didn't bring any of you on board to take away my autonomy. I've worked my ass off to make myself and Ryker's world safe from others. Even with you all by my side, I won't walk away."
"I'm not asking you to walk away, princess. I'm asking you to trust us—trust me. We'll make sure you're untouched and cared for."
"I know, and I will do the same for you."
Chuckling, he shakes his head. "Don't try to get yourself killed again and maybe Chris won't be staring at you like he's going to take you over his knee."
The distinct scent of Chris' cologne washes over me. Instinctively, I sway toward him. I'm eager to feel his arms around me and sink into his body heat.
"Are we discussing spanking Blue?" Chris asks, voice low and directly in my ear. Shivering, I press closer. "I'd rather have you on your knees with my dick down your throat."
"Let's take this back to—"
Charlie's sentence breaks off as a soft pop echoes through the cabin. We pause, jumping apart to find the source. Nothing has changed in the aircraft except the slow creak of air escaping.
"Can you hear that?" I ask, sauntering toward Michael's sleeping form. He hasn't moved an inch, simply sprawled across the couch with his mouth open. Giggling, I kneel next to him to study the floor near his seat.
Aircraft damaged.
The air in my lungs wheezes out as Iris' message comes across my vision. I'm nearly unable to ask where. I can't get the words to leave my lips. Instead, I reach out to her in our shared link.
Her answer leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Wing, starboard side, and the fuselage.
"Something or someone hit the wing on the starboard side," Chris confirms, eyes trained out of a nearby window. Unfortunately, the anger he wears is back on his handsome features, and his smile is gone.
We didn't have long enough. I mourn its loss, but I don't have time to dawdle. Iris said the fuselage was damaged, and we can hear the air hissing out like a partially opened bottle of coke, but there are no holes in plain sight.
"Let's split up, search front to back," Charlie suggests, already moving toward the front of the plane.
I rise to do the same but stop when Michael's next breath shudders. He tries again—eyes closed—and stumbles a second time. Steadily, drops of blood fall to the pristine white carpet.
"Michael," I croak, afraid to touch him. He stirs and shifts, whining under his breath.
More blood pours out of him. It leaks onto the couch and dyes his shirt. There's so much of it and I can't comprehend where it's coming from.
"Michael!"
He jerks awake, but when his mouth fishes open, blood drools from his lips. Their pink changes to red, colored the shade by more blood escaping out of his throat. I fall at his side, ripping away his shirt.
A small hole rests on the right side of his chest. It's obviously some type of bullet wound. Clean and open all the way through, it was a clean through and through. Except, it cut through his lung.
"Blue?" Chris' voice is a buoy in a raging sea. I can hear it, but I can't think outside of saving Michael.
He's my third and an integral part of me. There's a sad smile on his face. I know he believes he's going to die, especially as he lifts a hand to trace my facial features.
"You're not going to die," I vow. "You're not. You're going to live."
Michael is not convinced. He continues to wear the same smile, studying me intensely. I won't let him die—I can't. I can't lose anyone else.
"We need to stop the bleeding," Chris rounds me and falls to his knees, easily removing his shirt and ripping it in half. He places half on the top and the other half beneath Michael's back, rolling him over to see the damage.
Beneath Michael's back is a gaping hole blown through the white leather. Blood bathes it a sickening carnival of color, seeping into the stitches, the hole and pooling near the wood inserts.
Oh, my... there's so much.
Adults typically can have anywhere from 10 to 12 pints of blood in their body, but losing more than five is usually fatal. He's already lost so much. What if I can't fix him?
I never should have let him go so long without augmentation. If we aren't fast, his only option will be to become like us. This isn't a choice I want to take from him, but I may have to.
"We can fix this," I mutter. "I can fix this."
"How long until we land, Iris?"
When Charlie speaks, my entire body jolts. I hadn't realized he was so close to me. I thought he was over near the window, studying the flailing debris on the damaged wing.
Who was shooting at us? Why hadn't they made themselves known or come up on the radar? Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I tore my gaze away from Michael long enough to catch Chris' eye.
He was thinking the same thing.
"We are set to begin our descent. If we experience no other damage, we will land safely within the next 10 minutes."
I'm thankful we've flown farther than I originally estimated. We simply need to get off this jet as quickly as possible, get to my home, and put Michael in the infirmary. The machines will do the rest.
They'll patch up the hole in his lungs and repair the damage done.
He's going to make it. I know he'll make it. I repeat those words a million times, hoping the reassurance isn't a dream that'll bleed into a nightmare shortly.
Time drags as it passes. Those 10 minutes make the list of the longest waits I've ever experienced, but this isn't over. Chris takes a defensive position in front of me and Charlie as the doors open.
We fall onto the hard black tarmac, rushing to the SUVs idling near a massive white hanger. Staff dressed in dark blue collared uniforms loiter near them, smiles in place. We hardly acknowledge them before thrusting ourselves into the cars.
I'm barely breathing as we barrel down the empty driveway and onto the isolated highway. We're driving so fast, the scenery blurs. Darkness cloaks over us and the rich green landscape.
Lights twinkle along the horizon, bathing the navy seas in a flash of white. There is no moon tonight. With only the stars as a guide, we follow the familiar route to a secluded portion of the island.
Elation thrashes through me as the oversized black stone fencing comes into focus. We're going to make it. Michael will be fine. He's breathing harshly, struggling harder with each passing second.
But as we circle the drive and pull up to my home, his heart stutters and all hell breaks loose.