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Chapter 5

chapter

five

Pierce swiped his arm across his forehead to clear the sweat from his eyes and picked up his pace, wrapping his hands around a piece of rebar and pulling it. They were close. Nearby, Rhiannon had paused to pull off her outer jacket, tying it around her waist before continuing.

"Right there." She pointed through a small gap between the fallen beams and shattered drywall, just large enough to see the dark outline of a person beneath.

Pierce crouched down, trying to peer through the narrow opening. Raszta was still clawing and whining incessantly, his mop-like fur covered in dust. Pierce placed a soothing hand on his partner's back, giving him a reassuring pat. "Tell them we're here to help."

Rhiannon leaned in close to the opening. "Hey, there. You're not alone anymore. We're here, and we're going to get you out, okay? Just hang on."

An agonized whisper drifted back to them through the small hole. "Please... hurry. Please…"

"Stay with us," Rhiannon urged. "We're getting you out."

The gap slowly widened enough for Pierce to catch a better glimpse of the person trapped beneath. He was a man with military short blond hair and blue eyes, his face pale and streaked with blood, his breathing labored.

Almost there.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Pierce slipped his hands under the guy's shoulders and carefully pulled him free from the wreckage. The man cried out as his body shifted, but Pierce kept his movements steady and gentle, trying to minimize the pain.

Once the man was clear, Pierce laid him on the relatively stable ground nearby. The man's face was ashen, and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

"Thank you," he gasped.

"You're welcome," Rhiannon said. "Now, don't talk. Save your strength."

As she checked the man over for any obvious injuries, Pierce took a moment to really look at him. There was something familiar about the guy's face, though it was partially obscured by dirt and blood. His clothes were standard civilian fare, but there was a certain air about him, a way he held himself, even in pain, that spoke of military training.

Pierce's eyes narrowed. "What's his name?"

Rhiannon relayed the question.

The man blinked up at him, his gaze sharpening for the first time. "Gareth," he croaked. "Gareth Lawrence."

The name didn't immediately ring any bells, but that didn't mean much. The military world was vast, and not every name would be known, even among those with similar backgrounds. But there was something in the way Gareth said it as if he expected it to mean something to Pierce.

"Where was he headed?"

Rhiannon sent him a questioning sideways glance but asked the question.

Gareth hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. "I was just passing through," he finally said. "On my way to meet someone."

The answer was vague, deliberately so.

Fuck.

"Pierce," Rhiannon said sharply, cutting through his thoughts.

He blinked over at her.

"We need to get him out of here before the ceiling collapses. He's lost a lot of blood. I don't think anything's broken, but he's in shock."

Right. Whether or not the guy was lying didn't really matter right now. Not when they were all trapped in a time bomb of a crumbling structure. They had to move.

Together, they lifted Gareth, careful not to jostle him too much. As they carried him back toward the intact part of the gift shop, Pierce kept a wary eye on the surrounding debris, alert for any signs of further collapse. Every step felt like a calculated risk, but they managed to make it back without incident.

The group looked up as they entered, a mix of relief and apprehension on their faces.

Brooke rushed forward, her eyes wide with concern. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine," Rhiannon said. "We just need to get him settled and keep him warm. Can you get him a blanket?"

Brooke grabbed one from one of the shelves that had miraculously survived the initial quake. As Brooke draped it over Gareth, Pierce crouched down beside him, watching the man's face closely.

Gareth's eyes flickered open again, and for a brief moment, their gazes locked. Pierce saw something there—something that made his skin prickle with unease. But before he could decipher it, Gareth's eyes slid shut, and he fell unconscious.

"We need to search him. Now."

Rhiannon's eyes widened, and her mouth opened in surprise. "What? Search him? Why?"

He ignored her and gestured for Brooke and Dottie to step back, giving them some space.

"Is everything okay?" Dottie asked.

"Yes, it's okay. We'll take care of this," Rhiannon said quietly, her voice calm but firm. "Just give us a minute. Can you go check on Michael, please?"

Brooke hesitated, but Dottie gently took her arm and led her away, leaving them alone with Gareth. Rhiannon watched in silence as he carefully patted down Gareth's pockets. He was methodical, searching every inch of clothing.

"Pierce," she finally said on a soft exhale. "Stop. He's injured. Can't this wait?—"

He found a gun tucked into a holster at Gareth's side, and Rhiannon fell silent. A heavy-duty combat knife was also strapped into a sheath on Gareth's leg, and etched on the leather was the sharp logo of Halston.

Fuck.

His instincts had been right all along. This guy wasn't some innocent tourist who got caught in the middle of an earthquake. He was affiliated with Halston, the private military group, and where Halston was, there were hidden agendas.

He continued his search and found a crumpled piece of paper in the man's jacket pocket. He unfolded it.

A map—hand-drawn and detailed, with markings indicating various locations in the surrounding area. One of those marked locations was Redwood Coast Rescue. Another was Pierce's apartment in a sweet, semi-senile little old lady's garage across the street from the rescue.

Gareth was here for him.

And if Gareth worked for Halston, that meant there was a bounty on his head.

Jesus. It was all so much worse than he'd thought.

Pierce stood up and paced, his mind racing. He couldn't leave. He was trapped. With civilians. With?—

"Pierce?" Rhiannon's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Trapped with Rhiannon.

She was in danger.

He turned to her and inexplicably wanted to wrap her in his arms. It would feel so good to hold her close. To both comfort and to take comfort from her.

"Pierce?" she repeated. "Talk to me."

No. He couldn't tell her anything. He refused to expose her to the dangerous world he'd been trying so hard to escape from.

She hesitated and glanced down at the unconscious man again, then spoke quietly so the others wouldn't overhear. "You don't trust him, do you?"

He locked down the fear, the panic, the urge to grab her and run. He shook his head. "You know that answer."

A faint scowl marred her pretty face. "Yeah, yeah. You don't trust anyone." She nodded toward Gareth. "But something about him set you on edge. And don't tell me it was the gun. You're probably carrying, too."

He was, but he didn't confirm it.

"So, what is it?"

Pierce shrugged, not sure how to mention his suspicions without sounding paranoid and irrational. So he settled for the truth: "He's hiding something."

Rhiannon looked back at Gareth, her gaze thoughtful. "Everyone hides things."

"Even you?"

That earned him a faint smile. "No. Rylan always says I'm not just an open book. I'm an entire free library. No secrets here."

Pierce snorted.

Her smile widened. "What? You don't agree?"

"I think you're a lot more complicated than your brother gives you credit for, Rhia. You're as much of a mystery as the rest of us," he replied. "But a mystery I wouldn't mind unraveling when all of this is over."

Jesus. Why did he say that?

Rhiannon's smile faltered, surprise flashing across her features. "You want to get to know me?"

"I already am," he finally signed. "And I like what I see." It was true. He liked her strength, her bravery. Her compassion touched him, even as the undercurrent of uncertainty in her gaze stirred his protectiveness.

For a brief moment, Rhiannon looked shocked. "I... would like to get to know you too, Pierce."

That confession caught him off guard. He wasn't used to people wanting to know him— not the real him, anyway—and he wasn't sure how to respond. He was a soldier—reticent, private, hardened by years of discipline and the trials of battle. Yes, he wanted to know her. He wanted to know everything about her. But it hardly seemed fair to ask that of her when he would never be able to open up to her in the same way. It was just too fucking dangerous for the both of them.

His gaze slid back to Gareth, still unconscious on the ground.

Right now, the most pressing danger was not his burgeoning feelings for Rhiannon—it was the man on the ground and the secrets he might be hiding.

A new wave of unease washed over him as he studied the man's pallid face. They couldn't afford any surprises when they were already in such a precarious situation. There was something about Gareth— a missing piece of the puzzle that refused to click into place. But Pierce was determined to solve it. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that secrets could be deadly in situations like this.

And he had a feeling Gareth was harboring some dangerous ones.

"Pierce?" Rhiannon was watching him, her green-gold eyes filled with concern. "You're worrying me."

He offered her a wry smile that probably looked as forced as it felt. "I'm fine."

Rhiannon didn't look convinced. But before she could say anything else, a distant rumble echoed through the room. The ceiling creaked ominously, dust raining down on them as the building shuddered.

They all froze, gazes turned upwards. The tremor subsided as quickly as it had started, leaving them in a tense silence, dust particles lazily floating down like snowflakes in the still air.

Rhiannon was the first to break the silence. "Is everyone okay?" She coughed lightly, swiping her forearm over her mouth to clear away the dust.

Answers came in low murmurs of confirmation that they were all right, but their faces were pale with concern.

Pierce's gaze darted back to Gareth lying prone, his eyes scrutinizing the too-still figure. No movement. No indication the man was even conscious, his breath steady and measured.

"Pierce?" Rhiannon was at his elbow again, her hand gently squeezing his arm, and he realized he was scrubbing uneasily at his scarred neck. "You're not okay, are you?"

He didn't answer right away, wrestling with the anxiety gnawing at his gut. That fucking panic was always lurking, ready to rear its ugly head at the slightest hint of danger. He hated its unrelenting grip, hated the way it threatened to drag him under if he wasn't careful. He forced the feeling down, ruthlessly squashing the fear that threatened to spread into a panic attack and made himself drop his hand back to his side.

He was a soldier, goddamnit.

He knew how to handle a crisis.

"I'm fine. Just trying to figure out our next move."

Rhiannon's brow furrowed as she studied his face. She wasn't buying it, and she wasn't wrong to question him. At the best of times, his mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts, emotions, and warnings blaring from every direction. Sometimes, the storm was easier to navigate, but right now, it was a hurricane, growing stronger with each passing moment. He was twitchy and paranoid. And the continuous rumbling of the building wasn't helping, only adding fuel to the fire of anxiety inside him.

Not the best combination for a man leading a group of civilians through a disaster zone.

Jesus.

He needed to get a grip.

Fast.

He shook off her concern with a tight nod, turning his gaze away from the unsettling stillness of Gareth's prone figure.

"Uh-huh," she said after a beat of silence. "Well, I think the only move you need to make right now is to rest. You can't help anyone if you're exhausted. We all need rest."

She was right.

Although he despised the thought of being vulnerable, even for a moment, the strain in his body was a constant warning that he was pushing his limits. They'd been living on adrenaline and fear for hours. Their bodies were at the breaking point. Pierce glanced around the room, noting how the others sagged against walls or sat huddled on the floor. The energy that had fueled their initial survival efforts was fading fast.

"All right," he agreed. "We'll rest. But we need to set a watch, in case..."

"In case of another earthquake?" Rhiannon finished quietly when he didn't.

He nodded, adding, "And in case Gareth wakes up."

Rhiannon's eyes flickered back to Gareth, who was still unconscious under the blanket Brooke had draped over him. She switched to sign language. "You think he's a danger to us?"

Probably not.

And yet he couldn't shake the feeling…

"Pierce?" she prompted out loud when he didn't answer.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"He's badly hurt. Unconscious. He's not a threat."

" But until I can be sure, we can't let our guard down."

Rhiannon's gaze held his for a long moment, her expression troubled. Then she nodded. "All right. I'll take the first watch."

"No," he signed instantly. "I'll take the first watch. You need to rest."

"I need peace of mind," she replied, her chin lifting stubbornly. "And I won't have that until we're safe." Her eyes softened as they met his, a gentle understanding in their depths. "You need to sleep, Pierce. You haven't stopped moving since the first tremor. Let me take care of you for a little while."

His argument fizzled out before it even formed. He didn't want to admit he was running on fumes, but he suspected she could see right through him, could see the toll this entire ordeal was taking on him. His mask of stoicism was failing him, and he despised it.

A sigh escaped him as he finally nodded. "Fine, you win. But wake me after a few hours so I can take over."

"Deal." She moved away then, going to each member of their group and explaining the situation with a calm authority he admired.

He hated that she was no longer beside him, no longer touching him.

Fuck.

He was tired.

Pierce scrubbed his hands over his face and moved to the furthest corner of the room. He stretched out on his back, and Raszta curled at his side with a low whine, sensing his exhaustion and anxiety. He set a comforting hand on his dog and closed his eyes, but sleep felt like an impossible task.

As he lay there, listening to the ragged breathing of the exhausted group and the soft murmur of Rhiannon's voice as she reassured them, the past clawed at him, threatening to pull him into its clutches. Ghosts of failures and fears scratched at the edges of his mind.

There was so much he could have done differently. So much he should have done differently.

He shouldn't have run.

How many lives could he have saved if he'd stayed? If he'd fought? If he'd found the strength to confront his demons instead of being swallowed by them?

A cold sweat broke out on his skin as images of the past bled into the present—the charred remains of a crumbled building, the wet slickness of blood on his hands, the echoes of screams.

He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling, the dull uniformity of its surface offering little distraction from his thoughts.

How much longer could he keep running from his past before it finally caught up with him?

What if it already had caught up to him?

Fuck.

No.

He couldn't go there. He couldn't afford to dwell on his fears. He had a job to do—protect these people, protect Rhiannon—and he was damn well going to do it.

He pushed himself to his feet.

He would deal with his demons later.

Maybe.

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