Page 11 of Carter
Carter shoved me back against the wall, shielding me with his body as the scuffle spilled closer. “Stay behind me.”
His voice left no room for argument, and for once, I didn’t want to argue. The heat of him, the controlled violence in his stance—it should’ve scared me. Instead, it steadied me.
The man broke free, sprinting down the hall. Carter pushed off the wall, ready to chase, but his gaze cut back to me first. Just for a breath, just long enough to leave me dizzy.
“Harper—”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, though my pulse was a drumbeat. “Go.”
And then he was gone, a shadow tearing after danger, leaving the scent of salt and steel in his wake.
I leaned against the wall, my hand pressed to my chest, trying to catch up with my own breath.
I’m fine. No. Not even close.
Because if the ring was back, if Carter was in their crosshairs… then so was I.
And something told me this time, we were both in deeper than before.
11
Carter
The second Harper saidGo, my legs were already moving.
The bastard tore through the corridor, knocking over an IV pole and scattering a tray of syringes like shrapnel. People screamed, ducking back into doorways. My boots pounded the linoleum, every step narrowing the gap.
A red rose ink flashed on his wrist as he shoved the crash bar at the end of the hall and burst into the stairwell.
Bad move.
The heavy door swung shut behind him, but I caught it with my shoulder, driving it wide. Concrete walls, echoing footsteps spiraling down. I vaulted the first set of steps, closing in fast.
He glanced back, eyes wild, teeth bared. He recognized me. They all did, sooner or later.
“Stop!” My voice cracked like a whip, but he only ran harder.
Third flight down, he yanked a scalpel from his pocket and slashed backward, the blade catching the light. I twisted, felt the air shear past my ribs, and slammed my forearm intohis spine. He hit the wall, but the bastard kept his feet, lashing out with the blade again.
I caught his wrist mid-swing, torqueing hard until the scalpel clattered to the concrete. He roared, tried to drive a knee up into my gut, but I blocked, shifted, and hammered him against the railing.
“You think hospitals are hunting grounds?” My voice was a growl in his ear. “You threaten her—any of them—and you don’t walk out breathing.”
He spat blood, sneering. “Orders aren’t about you, soldier boy. They’re abouther.”
The words burned hotter than the fight. Harper.
Rage sharpened everything. I yanked him forward, shoved him chest-first into the rail, zip ties already in my hand. The plastic cinched tight, locking his wrists behind him. He fought, cursed, but the fight was gone.
I leaned close enough for him to hear the steel in my voice. “You just made your last mistake.”
By the time backup stormed into the stairwell, he was face-down on the concrete, wrists bound, blood dripping from a split lip. My chest heaved, sweat streaking down my back, but my eyes went straight to the top of the stairs.
Harper.
She stood there, wide-eyed, one hand gripping the doorframe. She hadn’t listened when I told her to stay behind.
Our gazes locked. For a second, everything else—sirens, shouts, the cuffed bastard groaning under me—fell away. All I saw was her.
