Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Asher came to in a panic, fighting for his life and suffocating. Trapped in the dark, a snake in his throat. Dying alone. Jesus. Not again . Pressure from that collapsed support beam clamped down hard on his chest. His arms were pinned. There was no way to move or fight back. No room to twist or turn. He was trapped.

"Easy," a familiar voice rumbled close to his ear.

Alex? Thank God. No, that can't be right. How'd he get to Somalia?

"Didn't expect you'd wake so soon. Hold still. He's removing the ventilator as fast as he can. Give him a minute."

Whoever ‘he' was. But ventilator? They didn't use ventilators on just anyone. He must've died. Asher stilled, willing to trust his boss and shaking like an addict in withdrawal, but calmer now that he knew he wasn't in Somalia. The tug in his lungs intensified until, shit, he choked. Coughed. Spit. Couldn't fucking breathe.

"I've got you, Asher. Hold on. Almost done."

At last. That damned someone else pulled the snake all the way up and out of his throat.

"There you go. Steady breaths. Easy, Asher. You've got this."

"I do?" he meant to ask, but his throat was so raw, his words got lost in a coughing jag. Holy shit. He couldn't stop panting like a frigging racehorse. Finally, he was breathing. Kind of. He sucked in as much air as he could, sweating like a damned horse, too. Cool air had never felt or tasted so good. He needed more, but his throat was sore. As much as he wanted to fill his lungs to the max, they didn't seem to have the capacity.

Alex still braced an arm across his chest. Asher had no idea why until he felt the snakes around his wrists loosen. Snakes, ha. He'd been restrained, wherever he was. That meant he'd struggled. Also explained why he hadn't been able to move or fight back. Okay then. Problem solved. Alex still had a good hold on him and Asher didn't mind. He needed answers. But first…

He welcomed the oxygen mask some guy placed carefully over his nose and mouth. A blonde nurse. Name tag: Ted. Not Veronica Tippetts. Thank you, God.

Alex finally stepped back when the blood pressure cuff on Asher's left biceps kicked in and inflated. He closed his eyes and focused on slowing his heartbeat. Breathing in. Breathing out. Hot damn. He was alive. Not sure how that happened, but he was definitely breathing and his blood was pumping and… The gift of a second chance at life overwhelmed Asher. He brushed a hand over his face, thankful for the scruff on his chin, even for the sudden tears in his blurry eyes. He was not going to break down in front of Alex. Uh-uh.

Time to redirect his emotions. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips and thought about Marlowe. Yup. First order of the day, as soon as he was back in the States, he was kissing the stuffing out of that woman. A pleasant sensation purred through his mangled body at the thought. He felt better just thinking of her.

"On a scale of one to ten, what's your pain level?" Ted asked kindly. The guy was efficient and concerned and built like a wrestler.

"No pain, but why the restraints?" Asher croaked, lifting his right arm. Big mistake. The spear was gone, but the slightest movement in his chest hurt like a bitch.

"Because spec ops guys like you come up swinging when they first come to, even if they're badly injured. Feel better now?"

"I'll live."

"Are you sure no pain? Doctor's orders. I've got OxyContin and Percocet. Your choice."

Asher shook his head, weakly, but enough to get the message across. "I don't do drugs," he rasped.

"I'll take it from here, Ted. Thanks," Alex cut in. "Is Doc Hardy still on shift?"

"Not sure what his schedule is today, but I'll check for you. Anything I can get for you before I go off shift? A beer? A keg? A dozen hot chicks and I don't mean chicken wings?" he asked with a devilish grin. "I can get anything you want, so now's your chance. Ask." Spoken like a true US Army supply guy.

"Thanks, but I'm good," Asher whispered.

"You're damned lucky, is what you are, brother. You must have one helluva guardian angel watching over you."

Asher looked up at the fierce guardian angel responsible for him being in a hospital instead of a morgue. Damned if the office scuttlebutt wasn't true. Alex could work miracles.

He lay there, content to listen and breath, wondering how Alex got him out of Jamah's rathole and how he'd survived. He now knew precisely where that spear had implanted itself. He wanted details about the exfil, who got him to safety, and how the hell they'd dealt with that long-damned spear. The moment Ted finished and closed the door behind him, Asher turned to his boss. "Where am I?"

"Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Ramstein Air Base, Germany."

"How'd I get here?" It was getting harder to talk.

"Decker Edison was in the vicinity. He flew us all here."

That was damned vague. Asher stared Alex down. "Seriously? Didn't we leave him at Andrew's?"

Alex cleared his throat. "He flew into Syria by private jet."

"Not buying that. Americans are non-grata in Syria."

"Doesn't mean we're not there."

"Why would Decker do that?

"Simple. I have connections in the Middle East, and I own more than one company. I needed him to get a couple things done for me, while we hit Jamah."

Looked like he also had connections in Germany. That didn't surprise Asher. Alex was a leader like no other. Of course he owned more than just The TEAM. He had the money and he knew people, exceptional people. Shakers and movers like him branched out. They diversified. They made things happen. Or maybe they were movers and shakers… Ah, who the hell cared?

One more question then Asher had to shut up. "How'd you guys move me?"

"Wyatt blasted a hole in the ceiling and roof. Deck dropped an acetylene torch through the hole. While I shortened that spear, he lowered a gurney, and then flew us here."

Okay, maybe two more questions. "Where's everybody?"

Alex looked at his watch. "They should all be home by now."

"How long have I been here?"

"Forty-eight hours, give or take a few hair-raising hours in surgery. Anything else you want to know?"

Yes, Asher had questions, but just waking up had taken a lot out of him and he could hardly speak. "Just one more," he hissed, tapping his fingers against his blanket. "How's my girl?"

The corners of Alex's mouth twitched with a barely suppressed smile. "If you mean Marlowe, she's staying with Kelsey until we get you home. Even then, she's welcome to stay with us as long as she wants. Last I checked, the wives were fixing her hair, and Lexie was reading to her, don't ask me what."

"She's touchy about her hair." Or lack of it.

Alex nodded. "She's touchy about a lot of things. Marlowe's been through plenty, Asher. That's why she lashes out. Your challenge is to be there for her no matter what she throws at you."

It took Asher everything he had left to nod and whisper, "Harley gave her a dog. A p-puppy. She said she didn't want it but… he gave it to her anyway." He was slurring his words by then. Probably a good time to shut up. He gave up the fight and closed his eyes.

Alex wasn't finished. "Harley has a way with broken dogs and damaged people. Don't give up on Marlowe. The only tool in her relationship toolbox right now is a hammer, and she thinks every problem's a nail, including you. You're going to have to stand up to her."

"Ah-huh," Asher replied groggily, his voice thicker by the second. There were more questions to ask. Important questions, like where the hell was Jamah? How many stitches did it take to close all the damage that spear caused? Most importantly, how was he still alive?

Alex wasn't snarling death threats or orders; which Asher took to mean he'd dealt with Jamah. Sleep beckoned like a heavy drug, and Asher felt himself going down a little too quickly, but, yeah. Marlowe. Kissing her was the last thought on his mind. That and something about hammers.