Page 77 of Damned
Chapter Thirty-Three
“On my way, brother,” Pagan snarled.
“Where are we going?” Bree had barely spoken with Kruze when Pagan pulled the phone away. She was in Kruze’s command center, his office, at his luxurious cabin. A row of handsome bookcases lined one wall. A solid oak desk faced the door. Behind the desk, a cork bulletin board boasted a ton of yellow sticky notes she planned to read some day.
But Pagan was angry. His finger was still on his earpiece when he told her, “I’m going out. You’re staying here. Call this number.” He slapped a business card at her with one hand, grabbed a large rucksack with the other. “Tell the man who answers Kruze needs medical assistance STAT.”
Her heart climbed up her throat. “He’s hurt?”
Pagan was already halfway out the front door, the rucksack slung over his shoulder “Yes, but don’t worry. He’ll be fine. He’s always fine. Chance is with him and—”
“STAT doesn’t sound like nothing to worry about. Those were gunshots I heard, Pagan! He’s been shot, hasn’t he? I’m going with you.”Try and stop me.
“No, you’re not. I’m taking the jetpack, and I’ve only got one. I can’t carry you and the supplies he needs. Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone. Stay. Here.”
She watched the door slam behind Pagan. “But I need to be there,” she told the solid oak. “What have I done? I never should’ve interrupted him. Kruze is injured because of me. He might be dying.”
Lord, no. Frightened out of her wits, Bree folded her legs and stared at the door, her heart locked on the man she loved. She couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. She should’ve gone with him when he’d left the cave earlier today. He should’ve told her he was leaving. She could’ve helped him track Berfende—somehow. She loved Kruze more than she’d ever loved any man in her life. Lord, she should’ve told him she’d marry him when he’d asked. But now—
Despair roared over Bree, shaking her like a rug caught in a mean dog’s teeth. She might never get another chance. It might already be too late. She wrapped her arms around her waist, sick to her stomach. She could lose him forever. Acid poured into her gut at that awful reality. Anxiety slapped her down. Like she could feel any worse?
She had to do something. She couldn’t just sit there and wait. Jumping to her feet, Bree raced up the masterfully crafted, polished oak staircase that took up an entire wall of the lavish living room. Throwing the door to Kruze’s bedroom suite open, she ran to his closets, searching, searching. Clothes, boots, jackets, winterwear—no, no, no! Lord, where were all of his guns? She spun on her heel, facing his California king bed. Where would a SEAL keep weapons? Did he have a special room? A vault or something just as impregnable. A safe?
That actually made sense. Bree opened every closet door and searched every dresser drawer, every wooden chest, every shelf, and every room she came across. Still nothing. How could a man who loved weapons not have left one where she could find it?
Bree remembered then. She was supposed to call the number on that business card. Running back to the office, she dialed as quickly as her shaking fingers allowed. The phone rang once. A gruff man with a deep, grating voice barked, “For God’s sake, Sinclair, the PJ’s already in the air! He’s coming to you on a gawddamned helo out of Loring. He’ll fast-rope down when he gets there. What more do you want?”
“I… I…” Bree shattered into a million pieces with the angry man she didn’t even know.
“Ms. Banks. Brianna. Is that you?”
“Yes. P-Pagan said to tell you STAT. Kruze is hurt. Berfendeshot him, and I… It’s all my fault!”
The man’s hostility turned to buttery maple syrup. “Ms. Banks, it’s me, Senator Sullivan. You did real good, and I’m sorry I yelled. Don’t cry, please, don’t cry, ma’am. I hate to tell you this, because I know it’s the last thing women want to hear at times like this, but Kruze needs you to calm down. Can you do that for him? For me?”
“Yes,” squeaked out of her. For the love of God, she was bawling her eyes out. Couldn’t think straight. How would she ever tell Robin her daddy died? That would kill her little girl. Just the thought of Kruze dying was killing Bree.
“Okay then, let me tell you what I know about the situation in Maine, young lady,” Senator Sullivan continued firmly. “Yes, Kruze has been shot, but his brother Chance is with him, and he’s already packed the wound with QuikClot. Do you know what that is?”
“No, what?” How would she ever know something like that?
“It’s a hemostatic agent that immediately stops blood loss and prevents hemorrhaging, Brianna. It causes a chemical reaction that rapidly absorbs the moisture out of blood and damaged tissue. Hell, I’m no scientist, I only know it supplies an injured body with everything it needs to slow the bleeding. Hence, its name, QuikClot. Plus Chance wrapped a CAT, a Combat Application Tourniquet, around Kruze’s neck, which, of course, he couldn’t wrap as tightly as he needed, but he had to do all he could to—”
“His neck?” Lord, that sounded horrible! “He’s bleeding out of his carotid?”
“Not sure, ma’am. But one of his HVTs got a shot off and nicked his neck. But Chance is a trained medic. All SEALs are. He knows what to do, and he only used the CAT because Kruze had a previous injury on his left side Chance had to deal with. He couldn’t keep pressure on Kruze’s neck and take care of that at the same time. Trust me. Things are not as bad as they sound.”
“Then why’d Pagan tell me to tell you STAT?” Bree was back in panic mode. Her body had turned into one gigantic, throbbing ache.
“Because a neck wound’s always life-threatening, and it’ll be dark in less than an hour in Maine. Pagan and Chance need to get him home before nightfall. I’m sure he’ll rest easier once he sees you.”
“I love him!” Lord, she was yelling at a United States Senator.
“I believe you.” The stronger her voice grew, the mellower his became. “It’s about time Kruze found what he’s been searching for. Sounds like you’re the one.”
“Pagan said the same thing.”
“I’m sure he did. Kruze Sinclair hasn’t been himself for years, young lady. We’ve all known something horrible happened, but he refused to talk about it. He must feel safe with you. Hope someday he’ll finally open up and tell you what’s eating him.”
