Chapter 32

chapter

thirty-two

Rylan stepped out of the recovery room, his shoulders heavy but his heart lighter than it had been all night. Valor was alive. He’d lost a leg, but Sasha had assured him the dog could adapt. And when Rylan had whispered his name, Valor had wagged his tail—weak, but unmistakably determined. It was enough to keep Rylan standing, though barely.

The waiting room, which had been packed earlier, was eerily empty now. Only Ash remained, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his face shadowed with grim determination.

“Where’s everyone?” Rylan asked, his voice rough from emotion.

Ash straightened. “Zak rallied the team to the command center. They’re already working on tracking down the bastards who did this.”

Rylan nodded, exhaustion pressing against his chest. “Izzy?”

Ash frowned. “I thought she was waiting for you here.”

Rylan’s gut twisted. She’d promised to stay. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of her, but there was none. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Ash’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, his expression darkening as he read the message.

“Son of a bitch,” Ash muttered.

“What is it?”

Ash looked up, his gaze locking with Rylan’s. “Just got a report. Mateo Delgado was snatched from outside the firehouse. Witnesses saw a black SUV grab him. Same description as the one that hit you.”

“They have Mateo, and Izzy’s gone.” All the blood drained from his head as the realization hit. “Fuck!”

Ash’s jaw tightened. “You think she went after them?”

“I know she did.”

The command center was buzzing with activity when Rylan and Ash stormed in. Zak was already at the head of the room, maps, and data spread out before him as the team worked to track down the black SUV. Everyone looked up as they entered.

“Izzy’s gone,” Rylan announced without preamble. “The bastards who shot Valor took her brother. She’s going after them alone.”

Zak swore under his breath. “Sawyer,” he barked, turning to the tech specialist. “Can you track her?”

Sawyer, who had already been working furiously at his keyboard, didn’t even look up. “I’m on it. She’s got her phone on her, and I’ve got a ping on her location, but it’s a large area. I’m trying to narrow it down now.”

Rylan moved to stand beside Sawyer, his heart pounding as he stared at the screen. “Where is she?”

“North,” Sawyer said. “On the coast somewhere. I’m closing in. Give me a few minutes.”

Zak nodded sharply. “Good. We’re ending this shit tonight.”

The room filled with murmurs of agreement as everyone armed themselves for what was to come. Connelly packed medical supplies, Veronica coordinated air support, and Sawyer continued tracking Izzy’s movements.

Rylan grabbed his gear, his hands shaking with a mix of fury and fear. As he strapped on a bulletproof vest, Zak came to stand beside him, offering him a rifle.

“Can you still shoot?”

Before he could reply, Shane scoffed. “You’re seriously asking if Rylan Cross can shoot? After Jax, he was the best marksman on our team.”

Zak leveled a hard stare at Shane. “Yeah, when he had two hands. I know he was right-handed, and now his right hand is metal.”

“Zak. c’mon?—”

“I don’t like asking it any more than you like hearing it,” Zak said, his voice edged with frustration. “But I have to know. I can’t run, Rylan. Not like I used to. Not when shit hits the fan and we’ve gotta sprint for cover. That’s my reality. I’ve learned to work around it, but I know my limits.” He stepped closer, holding Rylan’s gaze. “I need to know that you know yours.”

Rylan took the rifle in his left hand. “I’m ambidextrous. I can still shoot.”

Zak held his gaze for a moment, then glanced over at Sawyer, who was still busy tracing Izzy’s phone. “We have a few minutes.” He motioned to the door that led out to their practice range behind the rescue. “Show me.”

Floodlight lights buzzed to life as the three of them stepped out onto the range, casting stark shadows over the rows of targets set up at various distances.

“Load it,” Zak said and grabbed ear protection, passing one to Rylan and one to Shane before sliding his own on.

Rylan exhaled sharply, sliding a magazine into the rifle with practiced ease. His left hand moved confidently, but as he adjusted the gun against his prosthetic hand, he felt Zak’s eyes on him, scrutinizing every movement. His stomach twisted, but he shoved the doubt aside. This wasn’t about proving himself to Zak—it was about proving it to himself.

He brought the rifle to his shoulder, bracing the fore-end against his prosthetic. His stance shifted automatically—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, leaning forward just enough to absorb the recoil. His left hand hovered over the trigger as his breath slowed.

The target loomed ahead, a blur in the dim light. Rylan blinked hard, focusing, letting the noise in his head fade. Not the past. Not the compound. Just this moment.

“Take the shot,” Zak said.

Rylan exhaled, his finger squeezing the trigger. The rifle barked, the recoil jolting his shoulder but leaving his prosthetic arm steady. The shot rang true, hitting the center of the target.

“Again,” Zak said, his voice unreadable.

Rylan fired again. And again. Each shot slammed into the center of the target, the rhythm of his breathing and firing becoming one. His hands were steady now, the hesitation gone.

When he lowered the rifle, his breath was ragged, but his aim had been true. The target in front of him bore a tight cluster of bullet holes, each one within an inch of the bullseye.

Zak studied the target, then turned back to Rylan. His expression softened, and he gave a slight nod. “You’re good.”

“I told you,” Shane said with a semi-feral grin. “Second only to Jax.”

Rylan didn’t smile. He set the rifle down on the bench, his hand trembling slightly as the adrenaline ebbed. “I can still shoot. But I’m not the same. I know that. And I know my limits.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Zak clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now let’s go find your woman.”