Chapter Forty-Two

Ghost

I handed her a bag with her dress.

Soaked through and stained with my blood, it was fucking ruined, but I'd grabbed it anyway. I knew which dress it was. I saw the look on her face when she'd said she'd wanted it back.

I'd taken so goddamn much from her, I wasn't going to leave the dress on board.

For half a beat, her expression had flipped, and I wasn't sure she was going to take it. Then she'd grabbed the tote and didn't comment.

I'd led her out of the suite, down to the lower deck, and gotten her on the tender. The blood we'd previously left on the seats had already been cleaned, and Ares and an upright, newly bandaged, still-enraged Helios were already on board.

Ares had nodded at us, Helios had glared, and fighting the spins, I'd ignored them both.

She'd remained silent.

That'd been five minutes ago.

Wishing she was on my lap instead of retreating into her own head as she sat next to me, I refrained from picking her up only because we had an audience. I knew she was spiraling, same as I knew she didn't understand my response to her when she'd gone in for that kiss.

Fuck , I'd wanted my mouth on hers.

But no way in hell was I crossing that line now. Not under the circumstances, not on the goddamn Solace, and not until she understood exactly who I was.

What I was.

What we were.

Then she could tell me to fuck off or she could ask—for permission, for what she wanted.

Either way, there weren't going to be any half measures.

Simon glanced back at me. "One minute. I'll get as close to shore as possible."

"Understood." We were going directly to the airstrip, and I could see the Gulfstream, but there wasn't a dock, and the weather was shit.

"Do you require assistance disembarking?"

I knew what the IDF captain was asking. Ares and I had returned the borrowed M24s once the Solace was in the bay. All we had between us now was my Glock. There was a good two to three hundred feet between shore and the Gulfstream, and it was all open. Simon wasn't asking if we needed help off the tender.

"Negative," I replied to the IDF captain before tapping my comm on. "November, copy?"

"Affirmative," the hacker answered.

Still fucking dizzy, I scanned the airport through the steady rain. "Sitrep?"

"We have you in sights. Talerco and Blade will meet you on the apron. No hostiles in the area. You're clear to proceed. No current air traffic. You'll take off immediately after boarding."

"Good copy." A swell hit the tender as Simon turned us closer to shore, and a wave of nausea hit me.

The hacker started to say something else, but I tapped the comm off and focused up.

Turning toward Safiya, I grabbed the tote she'd put between us and threaded it over her arm. "Rain's coming down, and we're not docking. I'm carrying you ashore."

Staring at her lap, ignoring the bag I'd put over her shoulder, she didn't comment.

I brushed her still-damp hair from her face and cupped the back of her neck. "You good?"

She sucked in a breath and stiffened. "I hear you."

Lowering my voice, hating that fucking knife mark on her throat, I stroked my thumb along her jawline. "Not what I asked."

Matching my quieter tone, she shivered, but still didn't look up. "Where are we?"

The tender beached. "British Virgin Islands."

"Why?" she asked, still not looking up.

"We'll talk about it later." I wasn't going to tell her we were getting on another plane. Not yet. "Time to move."

Simon had already cut the engine, and Ares was hovering by Helios as he stood.

I picked her up.

But the second I was upright, the tender swayed, my head fucking swam, and for a second, I saw stars.

"Ghost?" Ares called.

Mentally shaking it off, ignoring my left side that was now radiating pain, I pulled my number one closer and angled out of the cabin.

"You got her?" Ares asked, his voice coming directly from my six.

"Affirmative." Forgetting I hadn't answered him a second ago, I ducked my head against the rain in an attempt to shield her as Simon stopped me.

"Wait." The IDF captain draped a raincoat over her and gave me a warning. "Watch your step. Two-foot drop off the swim platform."

"Good copy." The boat swayed. I swayed. Then I stepped off.

My first leg buckled, my second sank knee-deep, my stab wound soaked the new bandage with a fresh gush of blood, and my boots filled with water.

" Ghost ," Ares yelled.

Her dangling feet hit the surface, a wave took her sandals, and she gasped. "Grayson!"

"We're good." Rain pelting, visibility shit, I kept her body out of the water and righted myself. "Moving."

She gripped me around the neck, and her raincoat blew in my face, but I was doing what I fucking promised.

Moving.

Water, sand, shore, apron, plane.

I fucking repeated it as my hearing tunneled.

Water, sand, shore, apron, plane .

I trudged out of the water.

I slogged across the sand.

I hit the rocks that served as a makeshift retainer wall.

Rain fucking blinded me.

My stab wound bled.

My number one was in my arms.

I held her tighter.

Ares said something.

Someone came across the apron.

I slipped on a rock.

My mind fucking slipped.

A hand gripped my arm from my six and gave me a shove.

I cleared the last rocks, my boots hit the apron, and Blade hit me.

The SEAL reached for my woman. "Let me take her."

"NO." No fucking way.

"You're not going to clear the airstairs, let alone get her on board in your condition."

I started to tell him I didn't have a fucking condition when her head whipped up.

I saw the exact moment she registered the Gulfstream 650 in front of us and what it meant.

"No!" Her face contorted with raw fear. "No, no, no!"

"Safiya," I clipped hard and short, but it was too late.

"No airplanes!" She jerked in my arms, her legs kicked to get down, and a foot made direct contact with my stab wound.

My knees hit the tarmac, my number one screamed, my vision went dark.

Lights out.