Page 93 of The Bait

But then Harry scooped him up, his embrace impossibly tight, as if he thought Asher might disappear. Asher sagged in his hold, unable to stop his tears, and he sobbed with relief and gratitude.

Nothing else mattered, except that Harry was alive. He was here, and Asher would never let him go again. Heclung to him, and Harry picked him up and carried him toward the stairs.

Like no one was barking orders, like no bad guys were on their knees with guns pointed at their heads, like no one else existed. Like he needed to take Asher away from this terrible ordeal.

They reached the top, met by more combat men who lowered their guns when they saw who it was. It was bright daylight, the air fresh. Tears streamed down Asher’s face. “Harry, I love you. I love you.”

Harry stopped and smiled at him, still holding him tight.

Then Harry collapsed to the ground.

TWENTY

LONDON

Asher woke up in a bed,lights bright, machines beeping. The smell told him it was a hospital.

He remembered then . . .

Harry saving him. Carrying him up to safety, then crumpling to the ground.

He remembered the medic fussing over Harry, frantic, barking more orders and jabbing him with needles. They’d been carried to a helicopter. So many strange faces, so many noises.

Until there was only darkness.

And now he was here.

Not that he knew whereherewas.

Harry.

He needed to find Harry.

He sat up and a hand pushed him back down. “Stay there,” a man said. A doctor, accent English.

“Harry,” Asher tried, his voice hoarse.

The doctor smiled at him. “He’s right there.” Asherfollowed his line of sight and found a bed beside his, Harry’s big frame filling the bed.

He was so still, covered in white patches, hooked up to so many machines.

“Is he . . . is he okay?” Asher asked.

The doctor smiled again. “He will be, considering he survived this far. He’s rather resilient.”

Asher’s eyes burned with tears, and as he sagged back onto the bed, his own injuries making themselves known, but he never took his eyes off Harry.

And as the doctor asked Asher questions, checked him over, explained the extent of his injuries—fractured eye socket, broken nose, multiple lacerations, the list went on—Asher never took his eyes off Harry.

Even as the pain ebbed at his consciousness and as the chemical relief swept him under, Asher never took his eyes off him.

The next timehe woke up, Asher startled, checking to see if Harry was still in the bed beside his. The nurse reassured him that Harry’s condition was stable. He didn’t seem to have moved a muscle in the bed next to his, just completely still. A nurse came over and checked Asher’s machine.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “Your heart rate went up there.”

As long as Asher could see Harry, he’d be okay. He nodded, relaxing back, and the nurse seemed to realise. She gave him a smile. “He’s doing better,” she said quietly. Then her smile softened. “You know, we were told not to separate you. Said the big guy wouldn’t take it well if wedid.”

Asher half smiled, half cried. “Thank you.”

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