Chapter 20

I jolt up from the bed, my eyes wide and my heart racing as I turn to the newcomer.

Anger pulses through me, hot and bitter. Who the hell does she think she is? My eyes slide down her body, and unfortunately, her white lab coat means I want her here despite her condescending tone. Gritting my teeth, I turn back to Hunter, pressing a kiss to his shocked face before carefully sliding from the bed.

Rolling my shoulders back, I adjust my dress.

Well, at least she made her entrance with information I'd been unable to get from anyone else so far. I have no idea what she's talking about, but something inside of me is urging me to pretend, to fake it. That I'll get more information if I don't out myself as a fraud right off the bat.

So, keeping my back to the woman, I squeeze Hunter's hand, drawing his attention. His wide, confused eyes snap up to mine, and I give him a discreet head shake before mouthing, play along .

His brows crash together, and his jaw tenses, but he gives a tiny nod right back. I squeeze his hand once more, then slowly turn to face the doctor, who's eyeing us with questions written all over her stern face.

Stepping forward, I extend my hand. "I don't believe we've met yet…" I let my words hang, cocking a brow, channeling Gage's power ego.

She straightens, clasping my palm firmly. "Doctor Leclerc, Ms. Moreau, it's so nice to finally meet you."

I barely stifle my flinch and slowly slide my hand from hers. Why the fuck do people keep calling me that? I thought Madeline's last name was Vega. Well, Vega-Torres, if she hyphenated. Or, I guess she could have dropped Vega when she met Robert—

No. Wait.

I shake my head.

Get it together, Ella.

Stop talking to yourself.

Be professional.

Get answers.

No.

Stop. Talking. To. Your. Self.

Every word is accentuated with an internal clap in my head, and it finally shakes me from my thoughts, but not before the doctor notices. The doctor who, like almost everyone else I've met here, has a French accent to some extent. Everyone except Oliver.

I smile to myself as I think of the sweet, little goofball who'd led me here the second Evelyn said Hunter was okay. She'd had to go back to Madeline to prepare for the debrief, and Oliver had been kind enough to bring me to the MedBay.

Or, maybe I half-dragged him.

You're doing it again, Ella.

Stop talking to yourself.

Fuck, I'm spiraling.

With a fake as fuck smile, I step back toward Hunter and grab his hand, hoping he can keep me tethered to the present. "How is he?" I ask, my hand shaking but my voice steady.

Hunter gives me a weird look but squeezes my hand.

She closes the distance between us, her eyes idly scanning Hunter but mostly me. "Are you okay, Ms. Mo—"

I hold a hand up. "I am not your patient." I don't know who these people think I am, but clearly, they think I'm important. I hate it. "He is." I point to Hunter. "What the hell happened? Is he okay? Will he make a full recovery?"

I hadn't even bothered to talk to the doctors when I got here. I merely sobbed out Hunter's name to the first scrub-wearing person I found, and they pointed me to the third door on the right, their face a mask of pure shock. I honestly don't even know if it was a woman or a man. I didn't-don't-care.

I flew into the room, fell to my knees the second I saw his sleeping, pale face, and cried myself to sleep.

Now, I'm awake, I'm piecing myself back together, and I need answers. So many answers, I want to scream my head off.

"Um, I'm not sure," she says so fucking un-reassuringly, it's not even funny. I think I snarl, and she quickly snatches his chart from the foot of his bed. "I apologize," she murmurs, swallowing thickly, her eyes flicking from mine to Hunter to the chart. "I'm just a little surprised to finally be meeting you, is all."

"What is—" Hunter starts, his words trailing off. I give him a look, and his mouth snaps shut, but I don't miss the threatening glare he shoots me while she's distracted.

With a huff, I look back at the doctor and wave her off with a coy smile. "I'm here sooner than planned." Because I'd never planned to be here.

Ever.

I don't even know where here is. Underground, apparently. I suck in a slow breath, suppressing a shiver. I hate being underground.

She nods, her eyes skimming his chart before dropping it back down and rounding the bed opposite me. With a smile, she slides her stethoscope from her neck. "I'm just going to check a few things, then I'll give you both the full rundown."

Hunter grimaces as she guides him to sit up and breathe deeply. My heart contracts painfully in my chest, but I never release his hand. I still can't believe he almost died. I almost lost him before I even had the chance to tell him how much I love him, want him, need him .

Never again.

I watch as the doctor checks over the stitched-up incision on his upper left chest, near his shoulder. He grits his teeth and looks away, avoiding both our eyes. Leaning forward, I smooth his long, messy hair from his handsome face, drawing his gaze to mine. The doctor presses on a particularly sensitive spot, and I shoot her a glare before kissing his forehead.

Hunter chuckles softly, and not for the first time, I'm shocked at how easy this is. Being with him, the transition from best friends to… more . It feels right. It feels perfect.

Except for the fact that everything around us is imploding.

Literally.

I bite my cheek and inhale slowly.

One thing at a time.

"Well, Mr. Morris," she chimes, taking a step back.

"Just Hunter," he cuts in, running a hand across the blankets, his face a mask of discomfort. My brows pinch, but I don't say anything. "You can call me Hunter."

She nods. "The gunshot wound was in your upper left chest, and it was a close call, but thankfully, it just missed your right ventricle. You did lose a significant amount of blood because the wound was through and through, but we got you into surgery quickly. During the procedure, we carefully repaired the damage and stopped the bleeding. You'll be in recovery for the next few days, and as long as you continue responding well to treatment, I don't see any reason why you can't go home within the week. We'll continue to monitor your progress, but the outlook is positive." She pats his shin, and I finally take a breath. "You were very, very lucky."

"A week?" I gasp, clapping a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. I squeeze my eyes shut, berating myself for already looking weak when I meant to fake the hell out of this interaction. But…a week? Seriously? I thought…

"I know," Hunter murmurs, tugging me into his side. "I know what you thought. Me too."

I blink my eyes open, my hand falling to my side as I glance down at him. "I said that out loud?"

He smirks and shakes his head, brushing my hair from my face. "No. I just know my girl."

His girl.

Fuck.

I soften and turn back to the doctor, who's eyeing us skeptically. My smile drops, and I cock a brow. God, I probably look insane.

She clears her throat and moves toward the door. "We're not equipped for long-term recovery. As I said, as long as he continues to improve, I'll feel comfortable sending him home. If not, we may need to discuss sending him to a larger facility."

I want to ask about this facility. How it exists. Where it exists. Why it exists.

I say nothing but nod and murmur my thanks. I move to turn back to Hunter, but she pauses, her hand wrapped around the door handle. "Also, Ms. Moreau," she says, her voice taking on a sharper quality once more. I flick my gaze to hers. "Your mother said it's time for the debriefing and to please meet her in The Chamber."

And then she leaves without another word.

My mouth falls open, and my brows crash together as I stare after her, my heart in my throat.

"What the fuck is The Chamber, Ms. Moreau? " Hunter snaps. "And where the hell are we?"

My mouth clicks shut as I slowly turn toward him. My throat bobs with the force of my swallow. "The Intensive Care Unit of the Les Beaux Voyous Compound, apparently."

"Ella," he grunts, shooting me a tightlipped glare. "Explain."

With a sigh, I sink into the chair I'd been napping in and grip Hunter's hand tightly. I can't seem to let go. "I don't even know where to start," I breathe.

He gives me a soft look. "At the beginning, baby."

His words are so similar to Madeline's that I cringe, my eyes burning all over again. "I don't really know much. I woke up here while you were in surgery and then passed out again." I shake my head, those first few moments, or fuck, hours, hazy. "I don't know how much time passed, but then, I was looking at my mother."

Hunter sucks in a sharp breath and bolts upright before groaning loudly. "What the fuck?"

"Christ, Hunter!" I snap, jumping up and fluffing his pillows before adjusting the bed so he can sit normally. "Is this okay?" I murmur.

"Ella," he grunts, batting my hands away from his bed and tugging me toward his face. "Tell me."

So, I do. I tell him everything that's happened so far, which is literally everything and yet nothing. When I'm done, I'm back in my chair, my head smashed into his thigh as I sob for my missing men, my Diablos.

I've tried to ignore the throbbing, twisting pain, but it's impossible. I miss them. I'm terrified for them. I just want them back.

"I need them, Hunt," I rasp. His hand smoothes down my hair as I continue to cry, releasing all the hurt so I can hopefully think straight for whatever's bound to come next.

"I know you do," he murmurs calmly. "What does your heart say?" I look up and sniffle. He wipes my cheeks. "Does your heart say they're dead?"

I wince at his blunt question but pause, really digging inside myself for those moments, those painful memories. I remember seeing them fighting, killing Eric, battling with gun-wielding, masked men. I don't remember seeing them fall or get shot. I didn't hear anyone scream in pain.

I also didn't see them get taken the way I was.

Because in those seconds, all I saw was Hunter.

But deep inside my soul, I feel like I'd know if they were dead. I know it's silly, but I'm connected to them. All four of them, five if I count Hunter, and I do. They're my soulmates, my happily-ever-afters.

"My soul, my gut, tells me they're alive," I rasp. "It also says they need me."

He bobs his head as if he knew that, too, and tucks my messy hair behind my ear. "And what do you want to do about that, my love?"

My love?

Fuck. He's killing me.

His fingers trail over my chandelier earring, and my heart pangs, thinking of Maddox. Hunter's brows crash together as his fingers slide down until he's gripping my necklace.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes colliding with mine. "The trackers!"

I jolt upright, a grin spreading across my face. " The fucking trackers !"

I grab his cheeks and slam my lips to his. Hunter groans, pulling me into his body. For just one second, I lose myself in him. His taste, the soft caress of his mouth against mine. For just one second, I let myself breathe him in as if he's filling me with the hope I need to go on.

We pull apart, breathless and giddy. My forehead lands on his. "What's next?" He murmurs. "What do we do?"

"Well," I breathe, standing upright. "I need to go to this meeting and find out everything I can about where and what I am. And then, I need to leave."

"Who," he grunts, his eyes narrowing as he starts to shift his blankets. I arch a brow. " Who you are, not what ."

I grimace, stepping back. "Yeah, I don't know, Hunt. The way these people talk about me and look at me." I shrug. "I'm kind of feeling like a sideshow freak instead of a nameless ex-orphan."

His brows waggle as he tosses his blanket off his legs. "You're not nameless, Ms. Mo— "

"Don't say it!" I cut in, slashing my hand through the air. "I'm fucking tired of that name already, and I don't even know what it means." My eyes crash together as he shuffles down the bed and swings his legs over the side. I jump forward, shoving him back. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He bats my hands away. "Going with you, obviously."

"The fuck you are, Hunter!" I shout, then proceed to look like a crazy, overprotective mother as I hen-hover around, trying to coral him back to bed when he tugs on wires. "Hunter! No!"

"Ella," he grunts, pausing with a heavy breath. His face is tight, and I know he's in pain, but he also looks irritated. "Baby, I'm fine. The doctor even said it—"

"She said—"

"—it herself that the injury was minor and—"

"And you almost bled out!" I screech, interrupting his annoying mouth again.

He rolls his eyes. "Look, Mom, no hands," he chuckles as he slides from the bed to his sock-covered feet.

I screech again, wrapping my arms around his waist as he wobbles. "For fucks sake!" I snap. "Just, shit, just hang on a second." With a huff, I make him lean against the bed. "If you're insisting on coming with me, we'll need help."

"Now we're talking," he laughs, though he sounds out of breath. "If they're all looking at you like you're the queen, go demand some royal assistance."

I wave his words off and turn toward the door. "Princess," I grumble, Madeline's words flitting through my brain.

Princess of the fucking Bay.

"What?"

"Nothing!" I snap.

"Where are you going?" he calls.

I smirk at him over my shoulder. "This job calls for an Oliver."

"Who the fuck is Oliver?" he bellows at my retreating back as I slam his door shut. Just before it clicks, I hear him groan in pain.

Fucking insufferable, annoying men. Can't even stand a cold, but they get shot, and all of a sudden, they want to play superhero.

Don't they know period pains have already made us invincible?