Page 67 of Brotan

"Did Diesel send a message?" I ask, remembering the sucker punch I delivered before leaving.

Ash snorts. "Said no hard feelings about you knocking him out. Didn't expect less and he's glad you finally pulled your fat head out of your ass."

A laugh escapes me, then turns into a groan as pain shoots through my abdomen. "Sounds like him."

"Idiot was ready to tear New York apart brick by brick looking for you." Ash nods toward Maya, respect clear in his expression. "Until she found us. Doc's got bigger balls than most of our brothers."

"Don't I know it." I look at Maya, something fierce and possessive burning in my chest at the sight of her in my t-shirt, surrounded by chrome and leather and the hard edges of my life.

"She hasn't left your side," Ash says, watching my reaction. "Not even to clean up. Had to force her to change out of that blood-soaked dress."

I grunt in acknowledgment, unable to form words around the swell of emotion threatening to choke me. Emotions were beaten out of us in the camps—weakness that gets you killed. But Maya dragged them back to the surface, forced me to feel things I'd buried beneath violence and anger.

"You got a second chance," Ash says, moving toward the door. "Don't waste it being a stubborn asshole."

He slips out as silently as he entered, leaving me alone with Maya and thoughts I've spent a lifetime running from.

I watch her sleep, memorizing every detail I'd almost lost forever. The slight furrow between her brows even in sleep, the way her hair falls across her face, the steady rhythm of her breathing. This woman had seen the worst of me and hadn't run. Had witnessed the beast in all its fury and still looked at me like I was something worth saving.

As if sensing my thoughts, her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she looks disoriented, then her gaze finds mine and sharpens instantly.

"How long have you been awake?" she asks, straightening in the chair and wincing at what must be stiff muscles.

"Not long."

She's on her feet immediately, doctor mode engaged as she checks the bandages on my shoulder, fingers probing gently around the wound. "Any dizziness? Nausea? Pain level on a scale of one to ten?"

"I've had worse."

"That's not a number." Her professional mask slips, and for a second I glimpse the fear she's been hiding. "Dammit, Crow, I need you to take this seriously. You nearly died."

I capture her hand as it moves to check my abdomen. "I know."

"Do you?" Her voice cracks slightly. "Because from where I'm standing, you seem determined to throw your life away at the first opportunity."

"Not anymore." The words scrape my throat, raw but honest.

She stills, studying my face like she's looking for signs of a lie. I let her search, keeping my expression open in a way I never have before.

"Why go to Quinn's alone? Why not tell Hammer? Tell someone?" The questions rush out of her.

"Because he had you." The answer is simple, stripped down to its barest truth. "He had pictures of you at the bungalow. Watching you pack. He knew where you'd be, what you'd be doing."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. "So you sacrificed yourself. Again."

"Yes."

"That wasn't your decision to make."

"It was the only one I could live with."

She pulls her hand free, anger flashing across her features. "And what about what I couldn’t live without? Did you consider that?"

I hadn't. Not really. The realization must show on my face because her expression softens.

"You still don't get it, do you?" She sits on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid my injured side. "You think you're just a weapon. But last night proved you wrong."

"I am a weapon," I insist. "I've been one since the camps."

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