Page 68 of Damian
The convoy pulled out, headlights cutting through mist, wheels crunching against the cracked dock road. I scanned the rearview mirror from the SUV, my rifle across my knees, my shoulder throbbing where the bandage bled through more.
Gage’s voice carried over comms, dry but steady. “Hell of a night.”
“Not done yet,” I said. My gaze fixed on the horizon, where the first line of dawn burned against the water. “This is just the start. Luthor’s not running—he’s regrouping. And when he shows his face, I’ll be there.”
I leaned back in the seat, the hum of the engine mixing with the thundering in my chest. My team was intact. The girls were free. The mission was a win on paper. Some of the girls called their parents, who would meet us at the police station. I would be sure to tell them not to trust anyone.
But the only thing I wanted—needed—was to get back to the safehouse. To the woman who held my heart in her hands and her sister, who was our first rescue.
And until I saw them again, until I put my arms around them both, I wouldn’t let myself breathe easy.
91
Morgan
The knock came just after sunrise.
Ruby stirred on the couch, tangled in her blanket, eyes wide and startled. My heart slammed against my ribs as I rose, every nerve stretched tight. Three knocks—measured, steady. His knock.
I pressed a hand to the door, my voice catching. “Damian?”
“Yeah.” Just that one word, low and rough. But it was enough.
I wrenched the deadbolt and pulled the door open. There he stood—battered, blood still seeping through his shoulder bandage, sweat dampening his hairline—but alive.
My chest broke open with relief. I threw myself into him, arms wrapping around his neck, the familiar weight of him grounding me. He grunted when my embrace hit his injury, but his arms tightened around me anyway, holding on like he’d never let go.
“You came back,” I whispered into his chest, words muffled against the fabric of his shirt.
“I told you I would.” His voice vibrated through me, steady even though his body trembled.
“Thank God, it was you,” Ruby said, walking over and wrapping her arms around both of us. For a long moment, the three of us simply stayed there, hugging.
Finally, I pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes were darker, more tired, but they softened the moment they found mine. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ve been worse.” He tried for a smirk, but it faltered when I touched the edge of his bandage.
“You keep saying that like it’s supposed to make me feel better,” I muttered, tugging him toward the couch. “Sit. Now.”
Ruby sat next to him, her eyes shining. “Did you…did you save anyone?” she asked, her voice small.
Damian met her gaze, something raw flickering there. “Yeah, kiddo. We did.”
Her shoulders dropped, a mix of relief and sadness I didn’t know a sixteen-year-old should ever have to carry. She gave a small nod, then curled back up in her blanket.
I knelt in front of Damian, tugging at the straps of his vest until he let me pull it free. He hissed when I brushed too close to his ribs, and my throat tightened. “You can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, tears threatening.
His hand found mine, calloused fingers lacing tight. “I’ll keep doing it as long as I have to. But I’ll always come back to you.”
The words wrapped around me like armor, fragile and fierce all at once. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his, closing my eyes. His breath mingled with mine, warm and steady.
For the first time in days, I let myself breathe.
92
Morgan
Ruby’s soft breathing filled the room, the rise and fall of her blanket steady against the couch cushions. She’d drifted off again, exhaustion finally pulling her under.
