Chapter 8

8

brYAN

T he roar of the chopper’s blades grew louder as the Cerberus extraction team approached, kicking up dust and debris. Bryan squinted against the wind, his arm steadying Sara as they moved toward the landing zone. Her weight leaned into him just enough to remind him of the bullet graze she was too stubborn to let slow her down.

“I’m fine, Bryan,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible over the din.

“I’ll decide that,” Bryan replied, his tone sharper than intended. He didn’t have the patience for her bravado, not after what they’d just been through.

The chopper touched down, and two operatives leapt out, their sharp gazes sweeping the area. One of them, Kane Chaplin, approached with a confident stride. His eyes flicked between Bryan and Sara, pausing on the way her arm rested against Bryan’s shoulder.

“Doc,” Kane greeted, his voice neutral but his expression anything but. “Sara. You look like hell.”

“Feel like it, too,” Sara muttered, but her lips twitched in what might have been a smile.

Kane’s sharp gaze lingered on them for a beat longer before he gestured toward the chopper. “Let’s get you onboard.”

Bryan didn’t wait for permission. He guided Sara toward the open door, his hand firm on her waist. She shot him a glare, but she didn’t argue, her energy clearly waning.

Inside, Bryan settled Sara into one of the seats, ensuring the harness was snug. She swatted his hands away when he lingered too long.

“I’m not going to fall out, Bryan,” she said, her voice laced with exasperation.

“Humor me,” he replied, his tone softer now. “I’ll be right back.”

Sara frowned but didn’t argue, her eyes tracking him as he stepped back out of the chopper. Kane was waiting, arms crossed and a knowing look on his face.

“She’s not used to letting people take care of her,” Kane remarked. “But you seem to be doing just fine.”

Bryan’s gaze hardened. “What’s your point?”

Kane grinned, holding up his hands. “No point. Just an observation.”

Bryan let the comment slide, turning his attention to the crates the operatives were unloading. Supplies—medical kits, food, and clean water—were stacked neatly and ready to be distributed to the village that had sheltered them.

“Make sure these get to the elder,” Bryan instructed one of the operatives. “I’ll oversee the handoff.”

Kane raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest as Bryan moved toward the villagers waiting at a respectful distance. The elder stepped forward, his expression a mix of gratitude and concern.

“Doctor,” the elder said, bowing his head slightly. “You and your woman are too kind.”

Bryan shook his head. “You helped us when you didn’t have to. This is the least we can do. Make sure you get them uncrated and then burn the crates. You don’t want the militia or the cartel to know you helped us.”

He spent the next several minutes explaining the contents of the crates and answering questions about the medical supplies. The elder listened intently, his gratitude evident in every word he spoke. Bryan couldn’t ignore the pang of guilt that tugged at his chest. These people were caught in a battle they hadn’t asked for, their kindness putting them at risk.

When he returned to the chopper, Sara was still watching him, her expression unreadable. As he climbed in beside her, she leaned closer.

“They think you hung the moon,” she said softly, a hint of warmth in her tone.

“They’re good people,” Bryan replied, his gaze settling on her. “And they deserve better than what they’re dealing with.”

Sara’s lips parted as if she was about to say something, but she closed them again, leaning back in her seat. Bryan didn’t press. There would be time for that later.

The inland compound was remote and secure, surrounded by dense jungle and equipped with all the necessities for a brief stay. Bryan helped Sara into one of the rooms, her limp more pronounced now that the adrenaline of their escape had worn off.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the cot.

Sara rolled her eyes but obeyed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. “You’re bossy.”

“You’re stubborn,” Bryan shot back, pulling out the medical kit. “Let’s call it even.”

He knelt in front of her, his hands deftly unwrapping the bandage on her thigh. The wound was healing, but the edges were still raw, the angry red a stark contrast against her pale skin. He cleaned it carefully, his touch firm but gentle.

“You’ve got to stop running around like you’re invincible,” Bryan said, his tone more frustrated than he intended.

“And you’ve got to stop hovering like a mother hen,” Sara retorted, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Bryan’s lips twitched despite himself. “One of us has to keep you alive.”

“I’m doing just fine,” she muttered, though she winced as he secured the fresh bandage.

“Debatable,” Bryan replied, leaning back on his heels. “Now rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“I hate when you pull rank,” she grumbled but stayed put.

The next few days passed in a blur of planning and recovery. Sara spent hours poring over intel, her brow furrowed in concentration as she pieced together their next move. Fitzwallace and Seth checked in regularly, their voices crackling through the satellite phone.

“You need to wait,” Fitzwallace urged during one call. “Rushing this will only get you killed.”

“We can’t wait,” Sara shot back, her voice firm. “The longer we sit here, the more time they have to regroup. Right now they’re scattered, and they’re down at least ten or twelve well-trained guys.”

Bryan watched the exchange silently, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. When the call ended, Sara turned to him, her eyes blazing.

“They don’t get it,” she said. “This is our chance.”

Bryan straightened, his expression unreadable. “Then let’s take it.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You’re agreeing with me?”

“I’m agreeing that we can’t sit here forever,” Bryan said. “I also know you well enough to know you’ll take these bastards on by yourself if you have to. But we do this smart. No unnecessary risks.”

Sara hesitated, her usual confidence wavering for just a moment. “You’re serious?”

Bryan stepped closer, his voice steady. “If you’re doing this, I’m going with you or blowing the whistle with Fitzwallace and pulling rank as your Dom when it’s time to get the hell out of here. If I have to do that, when we get to wherever I say is safe, you’ll owe me ten.”

The air between them was charged and was heavy with the emotions that swirled between them. Bryan held her gaze, his hand brushing hers briefly before pulling back.

“You can’t just pull rank like that. We don’t have a contract, and I don’t have a collar.”

Bryan paused. He knew for submissives, especially those to who submission seemed to be in direct opposition to their skill sets, a collar was important, even more so than a contract.

“I’ll get someone working on a contract. As for a collar…” He walked over to his bag, reached in and pulled out his only clean shirt. He cut it into strips, braiding them together and using his class ring from his medial school as the center piece. He returned to her and lifted her hair. “Hold this.” She reached up to hold her hair up and he wrapped the makeshift collar around her neck, tying it in a secure knot in the back before taking her hair and releasing it to tumble down her back.

“You do know there’s supposed to be a whole ceremony where you offer me your collar and I accept…”

“When we get back to Chicago, you can arrange whatever ceremony you want, and I’ll get you a proper collar…”

“You don’t have to do that…” she said softly.

He leaned down and kissed her gently and possessively. “I know, but I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to call you mine.”

“We haven’t known each other…”

“I don’t care, Sara. I know how I feel. I love you. I’d burn the world down for you if that’s what it took. I’d go through the gates of hell and snatch you from Satan’s grasp…”

She laughed. “I get it. You love me.”

“I do,” he admitted.

“Thank god, because I love you, too, and thought I’d be some kind of pathetic loser…”

“Call yourself that again, and it’s a minimum of ten.”

“You really liked that spanking thing,” she chuckled.

“I did. Far more than I thought I would, but then again, it would seem my sub not only liked it, but she also needed it.”

Sara nodded. “I did.”

“Then let’s get to work so we can get the hell out of here,” he said.

Sara nodded, her focus returning. “Let’s.”

Sara stood by the table, maps and blueprints spread out before her. The light from the single overhead bulb cast a golden glow on her hair, but her face was shadowed, unreadable.

“I’m going,” Bryan said firmly, crossing his arms.

Sara didn’t look up. “No, you’re not.”

“You can’t do this alone,” Bryan insisted, his tone steady but unyielding. “The extraction team has headed out again. There’s no one else—at least no one close enough to help in time. You need me.”

She straightened, her sharp gaze cutting to him. “Bryan, this isn’t a medical mission. It’s infiltration. It’s danger around every corner. You’re not trained for this.”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on hers. “I’m trained for a hell of a lot more than you think. And you said yourself that the cartel uses underground medics. That’s my in.”

Sara pressed her lips together, her jaw tightening. “It’s too risky.”

“And what about you?” Bryan challenged, his voice dropping lower. “You’ve been shot at, ambushed, and nearly blown up in the last week alone. You think I’m just going to sit here and wait for you to come back—or not?”

Her silence was telling. For all her sharp words and iron will, there was a crack in her armor—a crack he intended to widen, not to hurt her, but to remind her she wasn’t alone.

“We do this together,” Bryan said, his tone softening but losing none of its strength. “You trust me, right?”

Sara’s eyes flickered, the vulnerability there gone as quickly as it appeared. “Yes.”

“Then let me help,” Bryan pressed, stepping into her space. The tension between them sparked like static electricity, the unspoken emotions simmering just below the surface. “Would you let me do something this dangerous without you at my side?”

For a moment, he thought she might argue. But then she exhaled sharply, nodding once. “No, but you follow my lead.”

“Deal,” Bryan said, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips.

The cartel’s stronghold was a sprawling compound hidden deep in the jungle, its weathered walls lined with barbed wire. Bryan’s heartbeat quickened as he and Sara approached, their cover story rehearsed to perfection. His medical bag felt heavy in his grip, not from its weight but from the gravity of what they were about to do—and the weapons in the false bottom.

Sara glanced at him, her voice low as they neared the gate. “Remember, you’re a doctor they called in to take care of their wounded. Don’t say more than you need to.”

Bryan nodded, his jaw set. “Got it.”

The guards at the gate were predictably surly, their eyes narrowing as they took in Bryan’s clean clothes and medical bag. One of them barked something in one of the regional dialects, and Bryan’s rusty knowledge of the language kicked in just enough to catch the gist.

“He’s asking who I am,” Bryan murmured to Sara.

Sara stepped forward, her tone clipped but authoritative. “This is Dr. Mena. He’s here to treat your wounded. Let us through.”

The guard hesitated, his gaze flicking between them. Then, with a grunt, he waved them in.

Bryan kept his expression neutral as they entered the compound, but his mind was racing. The air here was different—heavy with sweat, fear, and the sharp tang of antiseptic. Makeshift beds lined one side of the courtyard, occupied by men with various injuries. Some groaned in pain, while others eyed Bryan and Sara with suspicion.

“Over there,” Sara murmured, nodding toward a corner where several men stood talking in low voices. “Start working. I’ll gather intel on the Cartel’s operations.”

Bryan’s stomach churned as she slipped away, but he focused on the task at hand. Moving to the nearest injured man, he introduced himself in the same language as the first guard, his tone calm and professional. The man grunted a response, and Bryan got to work cleaning and stitching a deep gash on his arm.

Time moved strangely in the compound, each minute stretching into what felt like an hour. Bryan kept his movements steady, his hands sure, but his thoughts were never far from Sara. He caught glimpses of her now and then, her figure blending seamlessly into the shadows as she moved through the compound, downloading crippling viruses to destroy their information hub. It wouldn’t stop them but it would put a dent in their ability to do much of anything until their systems could be restored.

She was in her element here—focused, sharp, untouchable. And yet, Bryan couldn’t shake the nagging need to ensure she was okay.

“Doctor,” a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

Bryan turned to see a man approaching, his dark eyes cold and calculating. He carried an air of authority, the kind that made Bryan’s stomach tighten.

“We’ve heard rumors,” the man said in English, his tone casual but laced with suspicion. “Americans sticking their noses where they don’t belong. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Bryan forced a calm smile. “I’m here to treat the wounded. Nothing more.”

The man’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment before he nodded. “Good. We’ll see.”

As the man walked away, Bryan’s heart hammered in his chest. Something about the encounter felt wrong, and the unease settled deep in his gut.

He spotted Sara near the edge of the compound, her movements quick and precise as she tucked something into her pocket. Their eyes met briefly, and she gave him the smallest of nods.

It was time to leave.

Bryan packed his bag quickly, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He made sure the false bottom would be easy to remove if needed. He made his way toward Sara, careful to avoid drawing attention. She was already at the gate, speaking quietly with the guards.

Just as they stepped outside, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night.

“Run!” Sara barked, grabbing Bryan’s arm, darting across the open area and pulling him into the dense jungle behind her.

They sprinted through the undergrowth, the sound of shouts and gunfire close behind. Bryan’s lungs burned, but he didn’t slow, his hand gripping Sara’s as they navigated the uneven terrain.

A burst of gunfire tore through the foliage, the bullets slicing dangerously close. Bryan yanked Sara to the ground, his body covering hers as they hit the dirt.

“Are you okay?” he panted, his voice low.

“Fine,” she hissed, her eyes scanning their surroundings. “Keep moving.”

They pushed forward, each step a calculated risk as the cartel’s men closed in. Bryan’s mind raced, his medical training useless in the face of their pursuers. But he trusted Sara. He had to.

Ahead, a steep ravine loomed, its jagged edges disappearing into darkness. Bryan hesitated, but Sara didn’t.

“This way,” she said, grabbing his hand, sitting down, pulling him down beside her as she scooted off the edge.

They slid down the ravine, dirt and rocks tumbling around them as they descended. At the bottom, they scrambled to their feet, their breath ragged.

The sounds of pursuit faded slightly, but Bryan knew it wouldn’t last.

“We need to keep moving,” Sara said, her voice tight.

Bryan nodded, his hand brushing hers briefly before they continued deeper into the jungle. The importance of what they’d done—and what was still to come—weighed heavily on his shoulders.

But as they disappeared into the darkness, one thought burned bright in Bryan’s mind: They were alive, and they weren’t going down without a fight.