Page 95 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
Not when her life depends on getting this right.
twenty-nine
Alina
What the hell am I doing here?
The thought crashes through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. I'm supposed to be investigating Jenny's death, not playing soldier. Three days of brutal training has left every muscle screaming, a physical reminder of how far out of my depth I really am.
I sit up on the edge of the medical bed, wincing as my body protests the movement. The quiet of the room emphasizes how alone I am right now.
"Dammit," I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. My shoulders ache from Asher's shooting drills. My legs burn from Jax's evasion techniques. Even my mind feels bruised from Cole's endless situational awareness scenarios.
Paper crinkles in my pocket as I shift—Jenny's client list. I'd been ready to confront Kade with it, force him to see what I'd been working on before he hijacked my life.
Senator Richardson's aide.
The CFO of Meridian Banking.
The Chinese ambassador's son.
All linked to the same escort service. All with connections to shipping companies operating through the Port of Oakland—where Apex Solutions clears its tech imports.
Three of those men dead within weeks of Jenny's murder. All "accidents" or "suicides."
The medical bay door swings open, and Kade's massive frame appears, immediately dominating the space. My body tenses despite the pain, anger flaring fresh and hot in my chest. I fold up the list and put it in my pocket.
"How are you holding up?" His voice is low, careful. He's carrying a tray with pain medication, a water bottle and some cream.
I straighten my back, ignoring the protest in my muscles. "I'm fine."
He sets the tray on the nearby table. "That's not what Remy's report says."
"Since when do you care what's actually true?" The words come out sharp, cutting.
Kade's jaw tightens, the only indication that my barb landed. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
"That was the point of the last three days, wasn't it?"
He pours a glass of water, movements controlled and precise.
"Take these," offering me pills and the water.
I accept them without meeting his eyes, knocking back the medication in one swift motion.
"Thank you." Professional. Distant. Like he's been with me ever since our confrontation.
"I brought ice packs for your ribs," he adds, gesturing to the tray.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I reach for the pain cream on the table, twisting to apply it to my back. A sharp twinge makes me gasp. My muscles lock up, refusing to cooperate.
"Let me help." Kade doesn't ask, just steps closer.
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." He takes the cream from my hand, his touch clinical. "This isn't about us."
I bite back another retort, too exhausted to argue. As Kade applies the cream to my sore back, I stare fixedly at the opposite wall. His hands are strong, the pressure firm but careful. I hate that it feels good. I hate that I need his help.
