Page 32 of Whispers and Warriors
Bash’s offerhung in the air, a playful challenge laced with a serious undertone. Bash knew the importance of being able to escape captivity, having seen firsthand the cruelty of those who sought to exploit the weak.
Emma’s gaze drifted to the side, her teeth chewing her lower lip as she considered his offer. Bash could see the gears turning in her mind, the determination to prove herself warring with the fear of failure.
Her heart raced as she considered Bash’s proposal, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The idea of being tied up, even in the safety of the cabin, sent a shiver down her spine. It was a test, she knew, of her strength and resilience. A chance to prove to herself, and to the men who had become her family, that she could face any challenge head-on.
But even as the determination surged through her veins, Emma didn’t think breaking free from being tied up by Bash was the same as breaking free if someone else tied her up. Not to mention what if she panicked, the memories of her past captivity overwhelming her senses? The thought of disappointing Bash, of seeing the concern and pity in his eyes, made her stomach twist into knots.
She trusted him implicitly, knew that he would never push her beyond her limits. But the fear of failure, of exposing her weaknesses, was a powerful force. Emma’s gaze drifted around the small room, taking in the weathered walls and the flickering candlelight that cast dancing shadows across the floor. The gentle rocking of the ship beneath them was a reminder of the journey they had embarked upon, the unknown dangers that lay ahead.
Emma drew in a deep breath, the salty tang of the sea air filling her lungs. She met Bash’s gaze, her vision already cloudy as more tears began to grow. “Maybe... maybe another night,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m worried I might make noise, draw attention to us. We can’t risk it, not now.”
The words felt heavy on her tongue, a part of her longing to seize the opportunity to test her mettle. But the rational part of her brain, the part that had kept her alive for so long, knew that discretion was the better part of valor. They were on a ship full of strangers, their true identities and purpose carefully guarded.Any undue attention could jeopardize their mission, their very lives.
Bash’s expression softened, understanding dawning in his piercing green eyes. He nodded slowly, his hand reaching out to give hers a reassuring squeeze. “Another night then,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “When the time is right, when we’re somewhere safer. I’ll hold you to that, Emma.”
The use of her real name, spoken with such tenderness and conviction, sent Emma’s heart fluttering. It had only been a few hours, but she was acutely aware of how much she liked hearing her name on their lips.
Emma allowed herself to relax back into the bed, the warmth of Bash and Liam’s bodies bracketing hers again.
In the stillness, she could feel the rise and fall of their chests, a soothing rhythm that lulled her into a sense of peace. Even the pitching of the boat on the waves was enchanting. The room was quiet, save for the gentle whisper of their breaths, and for a moment, Emma could almost forget the horrors that lurked beyond the walls.
THIRTEEN
Rushing through the ship,Alex gripped the medical bag tightly, calculating what type of injury could have occurred that required his attention. No one on board knew he was a medic, which meant Chris bursting in demanding he get going was a terrible sign.
The urgency of the summons echoed in his mind, pushing him forward faster. These men didn’t have their own medic, which led him to believe they usually died.
Bursting onto the deck, Alex’s gaze immediately fell upon the injured man writhing on the ground, groans of pain escaping his bloodied lips. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the salty sea air, assaulting Alex’s senses. He moved swiftly to the man’s side, dropping to his knees beside him, trying to ignore the way memories of the days just after the bombs threatened to return to him.
“I’m here, I’ve got you,” Alex assured, his voice calm and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His trained eyes quickly assessed the situation, taking in the deep gash on the man’s forehead, the blood flowing freely down his ashen face. “What happened?”
“He tripped when the ship lurched, smashed his head face first into that column,” a man Alex knew as Steven pointed to a pole near the mast. “Fucking box of haul slipped off the top deck someone and landed on his chest. We got that off while you were called. Never seen a head bleed that much from a simple strike.”
With a nod, Alex wondered if the story was true as he stole a moment to ensure the man’s chest rose and fell with ease. Thankfully, the man’s breathing was fine which meant the fallen box didn’t puncture a lung—but it may have broken some ribs.
He couldn’t help but feel there were too many pairs of eyes on him, but he wasn’t going to stop and count right now. Not when head wounds could take time to staunch the bleeding when there was this much coming out.
Alex’s hands moved with practiced efficiency as he rummaged through his medical bag, retrieving saline solution, gauze, and a bandage. Twisting the lid on the solution, he thanked god he had that instead of just alcohol because this would hurt a hell of a lot less on an unconscious person. Grabbing the gauze strips, he tore the package and set it on the man’s head, pressing to stop the bleeding, knowing it would make him up.
The man’s eyes fluttered open as soon as Alex put pressure on the injury. He appeared glazed over with pain and confusion. “Wh-what happened?” he croaked, his words slurred.
He snapped gloves on each hand, noting that they would need to find more soon. “You took a nasty hit to the head," Alex explained, his fingers gently probing the wound. “But don’t worry, I’m going to patch you up.” He flashed a reassuring smile, his cocky smirk not suited for this situation.
Alex worked with focused determination, meticulously cleaning and dressing the wound. His fingers expertly maneuvered through medical supplies, his mind racing with questions and concerns for the patient’s well-being. His browfurrowed in concentration as he carefully tended to the wounded area, his thoughts consumed by the task at hand.
The injured man hissed in pain as Alex applied more pressure to the wound, but gradually relaxed under his skilled touch. “You’re going to be okay,” Alex reassured him, his voice soothing. “Just rest now.” Swapping gauze, Alex blew out a sign of relief that the wound was smaller than it appeared, not that he could do stitches right now. It was more like a chunk out than a split open.
As he finished securing the bandage, Alex pulled the gloves off. “Can you tell me your name?”
A small groan. “George. Hated that name since I was a kid.” His lips twisted into a smirk that quickly became a grimace.
“I’m going to check your eyes now.” He didn’t have a light, but he went about lifting George’s eyelids and watching as the pupils thankfully dilated just a bit. It wasn’t a perfect check, but it was better than not checking it. “You should be okay, without an x-ray there’s no real way to know about your ribs. Lift your shirt?”
George’s fingers tugged the hem of his shirt perfectly, further confirming he was okay.
Alex didn’t see any immediate signs of internal bleeding, and at the very least if he’d broken ribs, they weren’t open breaks and no more care was needed.
“I can’t tell if anything is broken, so get back to your cabin and wrap your chest—really all we can do for broken ribs any way. Take a day or two off, and then I want to check you over again. Any tiredness or vomiting, come get me right away. Out here on the ocean my supplies are limited, but I will do everything in my power if something is worse than it appears.”
