Chapter 17

Agony.

That's what this was. Following the Scarab as it got incrementally closer but knowing they wouldn't catch it before it reached Russo's yacht was nothing short of gutting. And there wasn't a damn thing Kian could do but stand there.

Seeing the boat pitch up and down, wondering if it would simply capsize with the next huge wave felt like a non-stop heart attack. He'd actually shouted out her name when the Scarab had bounced up at some ridiculous angle then plunged forward, spraying a gallon of water over the deck. The asshole piloting the boat had somehow managed not to sink it on the spot, but it had been close.

The guy had slowed down even more after that. Had obviously realized he wasn't going to make it to Russo's vessel in one piece if he didn't take the increased bad weather into account. But even with the reduction in speed, they wouldn't catch the thing.

Waylen was pushing their yacht as hard as he could. Probably doing permanent damage to the engines. Not that Kian cared. All that mattered was that they were gaining. Painfully slowly, but still gaining.

Had the guy in the back just toppled overboard?

Kian blinked, then inhaled. No doubt about it, the asshole was gone. Just disappeared in that last huge swell. As if he'd completely lost his balanced. Or had someone give him a shove.

Blake. It had to be.

Which meant she was still alive. Still able to be saved. He started deep breathing. Expanding his lungs as much as possible to take in more air because he knew this would end in some kind of desperate water rescue. Whether it was a weird link to Blake or just one of those eerie premonitions that happened in the heat of battle, he knew he'd have to go in the water after her.

He saw Russo's other vessel more clearly, now. A huge yacht that made this one seem small. One of those mega ones that celebrities rented, only this one was probably the result of blood money. All those drugs and weapons he'd sold for profit. It bobbed in the water a few hundred meters ahead, the lights casting dots across the angry waves.

The Scarab slowed, again, as it closed in on the boat, silhouettes moving along the deck. Armed. Ready. Not that Kian could see what kind of weapons they were packing, but it was some type of rifle, the long barrel visible in the backlight. Porter was already taking up position near the front. Probably hoping to down a few of them before they could grab Blake. Assuming Waylen could get them close enough.

Not that it mattered when the driver turned a moment later, then jerked as gunfire sounded above the storm. Not loud, like it should have been, but there had been a distinctive popping sound before the guy shuddered then fell. Slumping over the wheel in the process.

The boat yawed left as it sped up, crashing through the next wave as it rushed toward the yacht. A damn collision in the making. The men on the deck started racing along the railing, waving at the boat, before shouldering their weapons.

A lone figure rose near the stern. Shaky. Noticeably smaller. Her hair whipping in the wind. She shuffled to the edge, looking as if she was going to jump when her body jerked backwards, and she tumbled over the edge, quickly disappearing beneath the waves.

"Waylen!"

Waylen angled the boat toward the impact zone, somehow getting a bit more speed out of her. Kian kept his gaze glued to where Blake had vanished, counting off each second in his head. If she was still conscious, she'd last a good minute underwater. Maybe two with her training. If she'd been knocked out…

Not that it mattered when the Scarab rammed into the yacht, exploding on impact. Sending a massive fireball fifty feet in the air. Wood and fibreglass showered down across the water as smoke mixed with the howling wind.

Waylen danced the yacht through the debris, getting close enough Kian dove off the side — started swimming through the waves. Blake bobbed to the surface, looking as if she gulped in a lungful of air before the next wave bowled her over — dragged her back down.

He kept working, fighting the current as it tried to pull him backwards — increase the distance. Not happening. Not when he knew she wouldn't last much longer. What had looked like a bullet strike before she'd fallen overboard.

Thirty seconds, and he'd only covered half the distance — was barely making headway. Another twenty, and she breached the surface, again. Raising bound hands out of the water for a few moments before sinking, again. One huge wave cresting over her, what looked like a chunk of wood hitting her in the head.

He dove beneath the surface, covering the last of the distance underwater. Searching for any sign of her. Pieces of both boats churned with the tide, crashing into his ribs as another caught his thigh. He went deeper, trying to avoid the roll of the waves and the crushing debris, when a flash of white caught his attention.

He veered toward it, pushing harder when he recognized her hoodie. What looked like limp arms floating amidst the dark current. She didn't move when he grabbed her around the waist, kicking to take them both to the surface. Water sprayed across his face as he sucked in a breath, already towing her toward the boat.

Waylen pulled up alongside a minute later, Porter reaching over to help lift her onto the deck. Kian dropped in a moment later, rolling her to her back as he checked her vitals.

No pulse.

No breaths.

He got her into position then started compressions, nodding at Porter to give her two breaths after he'd finished thirty. Restarting when she didn't respond.

Porter paled, glancing up at him. "Kian…"

"She wasn't under that long. Still lots of time. Don't fucking quit on me now, Porter."

"I'm not… Just tell me when to breathe, again."

Kian kept working. "Now."

Nothing.

"Come on, sweetheart. Don't let that bastard win." He reached the end when she coughed, spitting out water as she tried to gulp in air. He turned her, waiting until she'd emptied most of it onto the deck before propping her against a few lifejackets. Because despite being back, she wasn't close to fine. Not with an obvious gunshot wound, a likely concussion, and what looked like burn marks on her other shoulder. Most likely from a taser.

He yanked his shirt over his head, balling it up then pressing it against the wound. She cursed, eyes rolling slightly as she started to drift off.

"Stay with me, Blake. I want to see those gorgeous baby blues."

Her eyelids fluttered, remaining half-open as she stared at him through a curtain of lashes. "Glad I stayed on the boat where it was safer."

He laughed. He couldn't help it because despite everything, she was still sane. Still his.

"Me, too. Those other marks from a taser?"

She nodded. Or at least, she tried. Barely moved her head, but he got the message. "Fuckers were waiting underwater. What happened to the Scarab?"

"It didn't make it. Took out Russo's luxury yacht in the process. Looks like you won."

"Never thought winning would hurt so much. I…"

She drifted, again, barely rousing when he rubbed her sternum. Hard.

Kian looked over his shoulder at Waylen. "I need my damn medic bag."

Waylen nodded. "Two minutes. Raider's on the way."

Two minutes. Which was a hundred and nineteen seconds longer than it should have been. And enough time she could slip into a coma. Maybe bleed out if the damn bullet had struck a major organ.

Kian put more pressure on the wound as Raider pulled the other boat up alongside. Lane jumped out, carrying his bag, before dropping it beside Kian. He had it open and was handing Kian a saline bag and some Quick Clot inside of another sixty seconds.

Lane leaned over. "Coast Guard's five minutes out."

Kian nodded. "She needs blood. Porter, any idea what type she is?"

Porter shook his head. "Sorry. It never came up."

"Figured as much, but it was worth asking. Lane, take over for Waylen. Let him know he's my first donor."

Lane took off, only to have Waylen drop down beside Kian a moment later.

His best friend shook his head. "Let me guess. You have no idea what blood type she is."

"Guess it's your lucky day."

"The curse of being a universal donor."

"It's either you or me, buddy. Unless you want to be the one to set up the direct transfusion."

Waylen rolled up his sleeve. "I'll just bleed for you."

"Thought you'd see it that way."

Porter glanced off to the left. "Coast Guard's nearly here. We can transfer over to their vessel. Should be easier for you to treat her. We'll head for Molokai's general hospital. They can airlift her if it's necessary."

Kian merely nodded, blinking when the scenery shifted. The accumulated blood loss starting to take a toll. Not that he'd pass out before he'd gotten her stable. He could die later. When it was convenient.

Lasting until they walked through the hospital doors was one of Kian's shining achievements. Having Waylen catch him before he face-planted onto the floor, one hell of a lucky break. Waylen muttered something about Kian being too stubborn for his own good, but all he heard were the doctors rattling off Blake's vitals. One of them yelling for more blood. There was a flurry of activity — doctors and nurses pouring into the room — then they were rushing her off. Talking about X-rays and whether they'd have to transfer her once the storm passed.

Porter came up alongside — gave Kian's arm a squeeze. "I won't leave her side. You have my word. You focus on not dying because she'll have my balls if she wakes up and you're not the first face she sees."

Kian snorted. "Just, keep her safe. Until I see Russo's body, I won't trust this is over."

"That might be hard. Storm took most of the bodies away. We might never know for sure."

"We'll know because if the bastard isn't dead, he'll come for her. And I'll be waiting if he does."

Porter chuckled. "Right. The guy about to bleed out is going to be waiting for the mafia kingpin. How about you worry about breathing, and I'll worry about doing my job. And if by some wild chance Henry Russo is still alive, he'll be dead before he steps one foot into her room."

"I'll hold you to that. And I'd hate to have to kill you if she gets hurt on your watch."

"Glad to know I mean enough to you it might actually pain you to pull the trigger, Fox. Rest. I'll keep your team updated."

Kian relaxed back, finding enough energy to nod at Raider. His buddy rolled his eyes but took off after Porter. Not so obvious the marshal might realize Kian had sent a teammate as backup, but enough Kian wouldn't worry. Not that Porter wasn't badass enough. Kian simply felt more at ease knowing two top-notch warriors were watching her. Would keep her safe while he couldn't.

Waylen stopped at his side, giving him a long, slow once-over. "For a medic, you really know how to fuck yourself up. Did you seriously get some of that from when you were underwater?"

"Shut up."

"Porter's right, ya know. No way we'll ever know. Which means, you might need to stay at her side permanently."

"Smart ass. Like I wasn't already planning on that."

"Then, you better let them treat you because you look like a fucking ghost."

He wanted to say he didn't care. That Blake's safety was all that mattered. How the doctors needed to focus on her, first. But the words wouldn't form on his tongue. Everything around him growing dimmer.

He thought Waylen called for one of the nurses, but all he heard was the echoed beat of Blake's heart on the monitor as he slowly closed his eyes.

Kian came back around what could have been minutes, hours, or even days later. Though, a glance at one of the windows suggested it was still dark outside. Not even a hint of daylight. He had blood and saline drips in his arm, bandages on his shoulder and thigh. Not that he could see all of them, but he felt the tug of the tape when he tried to move — had pain shooting through his chest simply shuffling an inch.

He'd definitely bruised some ribs when he'd gotten hit with that debris. But pain meant being alive, so he'd take it.

He stared at the ceiling for a while, drifting in and out when that eerie quiet he'd encountered in the forest settled over the room, not even a ticking clock or a monitor beeping in the background.

Obviously, they weren't concerned he was going to drop dead. Though, it made sense. His injuries hadn't been severe, and if he'd treated the blood loss like Blake had suggested, he wouldn't have ended up on the gurney to begin with.

Her name had him bolting upright. Ignoring the pull of stitches and the way his chest squeezed tight, making his next breath nothing more than a choppy gasp. Was Porter still watching her? Had something bad happened? What might explain why he was alone. That maybe his buddies had needed to provide backup.

He flung back the sheets, rolling his eyes at the stupid hospital gown covering his body. That damn opening probably baring his ass. But he could worry about modesty later. Once he was sure this wasn't another emergency in the making.

It took a few tries to swing his legs over the edge — sit up. But after gaining some momentum, he managed to scoot his ass to the edge — touch the floor. The fact he was barefoot didn't help, either. Opened up the possibility of more injuries if he wasn't careful. And based on how shaky he was, avoiding obstacles would be more luck than skill.

It didn't stop him from shoving off the bed. Taking a few stumbling steps when his muscles didn't work right. Nearly dropped him to the ground. Leaning on the IV pole helped. A good reason not to yank the lines out quite yet. Using that pole as a brace got him across the floor and over to the door. He peeked out, then slowly opened it.

Nothing.

No teammates, no nurses. Not so much as a janitor mopping the floors.

That didn't bode well.

Got him running through a bunch of scenarios, none of them good. What if Russo had managed to get off the boat before the explosion? If he really had someone — or a few someones — loyal to him from within the Coast Guard, they could have snuck him onto the vessel during the rescue attempt. When the boat had been searching for survivors. Leaving Russo to make his way to the hospital once everything had quieted.

Kian scanned each direction then struck off. It wasn't fast and it wasn't pretty, but he got his feet moving. Was able to drag his ass down the corridor. His first choice led to the staff parking lot. The next, a storeroom. By the time he was working on his third, he was exhausted. Had to stop every several steps just to breathe — find the energy to keep moving.

He definitely should have taken a moment to stem the bleeding when it started. But at the time, Blake's safety had been more important. Was still more important.

A mental pep talk, and he was walking, again. Bearing some of his weight on that damn pole, despite the fact it teetered back and forth. What he suspected was a loose nut holding on the base. The one with the wheel that occasionally clattered against the floor like those crappy shopping carts. He gave the thing a shake — got all the castors working — when the hairs prickled on the back of his neck.

He wasn't ignoring his instincts, again. Not when he'd been right all along about Russo. And this felt like another full-blown premonition. The reason he'd woken when he had. That link to Blake like when he'd known he'd have to go in the water after her. Only this was darker. More sinister. Like when he'd been heading for an ambush in the field. Every hair standing on end. The muscles in his gut tightening.

He paused at the next junction, hoping that link would direct him. It sounded crazy, but he didn't care. Not when he'd had an instant connection to her from the start. Why he'd jumped so far, so fast.

A scuff.

Off to the left.

Not much. Probably just a shoe catching a lip in a doorway, but he headed that way. Scanning each tiny window in every door that he passed. He reached another corridor then turned right when hinges creaked in the distance.

Adrenaline started kicking in. Had him moving faster. Steadier. He hit the next intersection at a decent pace, barely resting any weight on that pole. A shadow disappearing around the bend off to his right had him laser focused. He followed behind, stopping at the corner before peeking around. Blinking a few times to ensure he wasn't dreaming. Imagining the entire scene. Because he swore Henry fucking Russo was standing at the door two down on his left. Hand resting on the handle before he turned it — disappeared inside.

Kian should call for help. Pull the fire alarm. Something to get his buddies searching for him because he had nothing. Not weapons, no backup. Hell, no clothes other than that flimsy gown. The one with his ass hanging out the back.

So, moving ahead wasn't his wisest decision. But he couldn't chance the bastard would find a way to escape in all the confusion. What would have the entire hospital trying to evacuate if he pulled the fire alarm. And Kian knew if Russo got away this time, he'd disappear. Be that shadow hanging over Blake for the rest of her life.

Kian stopped at the door, taking a quick peek through the window. Some kind of locker room. Which made sense. If Russo wanted to blend in, he needed scrubs. Not to mention he might luck out and find an ID tag that had been left in one of the lockers.

Kian took a moment to slip the lines out of his arm before flipping over the pole, praying he'd been right about the nut. Seeing it halfway off was the lucky break he needed to have any chance at coming out of this alive.

It only took a few twists before the base fell into his hand. He removed the holder and bags on the top, giving the stainless steel pole a twirl for good measure, then moved back to the door. A couple deep breaths, then he was easing the door open, grinning when it didn't make a sound. The room was dark, only the faint glow of some form of light filtering in through a distant set of windows.

He darted to the right, sticking to the shadows. He didn't think there was another exit, which meant Russo was inside. With Kian. And the bastard wasn't leaving unless Kian was either unconscious or dead.

A squeak had Kian zoning in on the guy. Heading for the locker sets over in the far corner, hoping that stupid pole would be enough.

A few more steps, and he was at the end of the row — had Russo's silhouette in view. The asshole had his back to him, too busy rooting around in a locker to notice. Not that it gave Kian much of an advantage when he spied a gun tucked into the back of the man's pants. A fucking game changer. All it would take was Henry sensing his presence, and he could fire before Kian got off a single swing of his pole.

He could double back. Pull that alarm. True, he hadn't noticed one, but there had to be one close by. Maybe in the room.

Having Russo turn as he slipped on a lab coat and clipped an ID onto the front had Kian moving. Sliding over to that first row. If he could reach the edge of the lockers before Russo, he might be able to surprise the man as he made a beeline for the door.

It only took Kian several seconds to backtrack — ready himself at the end of the first row of lockers. A cock of the pole, and he was primed, listening to the slight scuff of Russo's feet across the floor. Just enough to broadcast his progression through the room.

Kian waited until the man was practically abreast of him before stepping out — swinging that pole like a bat. He hit Russo in the arm, knocking something out of his hand as the man reeled backwards, crashing into another set of lockers. Kian moved with him, hitting him, again, once he'd recovered enough to orient himself — get that pole in the right position.

He caught the fucker in the chest, this time, doubling him over as he tumbled onto a bench. Russo clawed at the surface, regaining his balance quicker than Kian had hoped. But it didn't matter. Kian was in the zone, Blake's bruised and bloody body wavering in the back of his mind. No way he was stopping until Russo wasn't a threat.

Russo managed to get his hands in front of him, partially deflect the next blow. But it connected hard enough to tip him off the seat and onto the floor. Kian rounded the bench, his next swing knocking the gun out of Russo's hand. It clattered along the floor and under the next locker. The stroke of luck Kian needed. Especially, when his knee buckled on his subsequent step, and he crashed into the metal doors.

He gave his head a shake, poking Russo in the gut with the end of the pole when the guy lunged at him — landed a punch to his ribs before the end connected. The hit dropped the guy. Not quite out cold, but he was groaning. Barely moving.

Another stroke of luck because Kian was sliding down the locker as both legs gave out. His ass smacking the floor next to Russo. He kept that pole at the ready, each breath sending jolts of pain through his chest, as the doors burst open, Porter, Waylen and Lane busting through.

Lights flickered to life, temporarily blinding him before the men were there, grabbing Russo — cuffing the man's hands behind his back.

Porter leaned over him, mouth pinched tight. Eyes narrowed. "For the love of god, Fox, what the hell were you thinking? How the fuck did you even get out of bed? And why aren't you wearing any pants?"

Kian snorted, nearly blacked out, before blinking Porter into focus. "I…"

That's all he got out. One word.

Porter yelled something he couldn't make out, the scenery fading, again, like it had earlier.

"We had it all set up. I had a feeling that fucker hadn't died in the explosion, so we made a corridor. Had Blake's room staked out. All the nurses and doctors moved out of this wing so Russo could corner himself. Then, Waylen realizes you're not in your damn room, and all hell breaks loose. Didn't you think it was strange you hadn't run into a single freaking nurse?"

Kian shrugged. At least, he thought he did. "Blake…"

Another one-word answer, and this one drained him even more.

Porter sighed, moving off to one side when a couple doctors appeared. "You're insane. Completely reckless. But, we've got him. And I'll be personally flying his ass back. On a private freaking jet. Now, let them get you back to bed before I have to tell Blake you're even worse off than she is."

Kian wanted to ask how she was. Tell them to just take him to her room, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Waylen moved in beside him as they shoved his ass in wheelchair — started pushing him down the hallways. He said something about him being as nuts as Blake. That they were the perfect match, but it got lost to the darkness. To the squeak of the wheels against the floor as he closed his eyes, content that he could rest for a few minutes without worrying she'd get hurt. But this was far from over, and he had no plans of letting his guard down for the foreseeable future.