Page 100 of Knotted Laces

“Cam—” Athena’s fingers wrap weakly around my wrist, and I tear my eyes from the photograph.

“Hold on, baby,” I say as I open the first aid kit, grabbing a package of gauze, tearing the wrapper open with my teeth. “I need to get you to the hospital.” I press it against her side, hate the cry of pain she gives in response. “You’re?—”

“No hospital.” Another light squeeze on my wrist as she battles with staying conscious. “Lex is already on his way.”

I frown. “He’s not even in town.”

“Flew in yesterday,” she grunts when I press harder, her blood already seeping through the gauze. “Help with.” She hisses out a breath. “Case. Warehouse. Got them.”

“I don’t care. You?—”

POUND. POUND. POUND!

She smiles weakly. “See? Lex.”

And then she passes out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ats

“What the fuckdid you think you were doing going in there alone?”

I grit my teeth together, glaring at Lex as I hold still and allow the doctor to check her handiwork on my gunshot wound. “I didn’t go in alone,” I remind him.

He glares. “Fine. Didn’t goinalone, just stayed and did stupid shit after Sandra called it off.”

That I can’t argue with.

I want to, just because he’s yelling at me.

But he’s not wrong.

We staked out the warehouse all night, looking for an opening, but it was too dangerous. Not enough agents. Not a clear line of sight. Not the right time.

So, Sandra called it off.

Regroup.

Refocus.

Come back out and try again.

I’d been on board with that—up until I started slipping away to my car and saw the box truck pull in.

And the girls, scared and clinging to each other, dressed…well, dressed like they were going to be auctioned off, were being loaded into the back.

I knew if they were locked in, driven off…

We would never find them again.

I close my eyes, exhale, then wince as the doctor finishes with the wound at my side.

“Rest for minimum of four weeks,” she tells me, tugging my gown back down and the blanket back up. She peels off her gloves and tosses them into the trash before typing something on the computer parked next to the bed. “Longer if you push it,” she adds, giving me a look that communicates she knows exactly how I feel about someone ordering me to rest. “It’s not serious?—”

Lex makes a sound of protest, but she just keeps her eyes on mine, holding my gaze.

“It’s not serious,” she says again, “but you can sure as hell make it become that way.”

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