Retribution (5 page)

Damn if he didn’t envy Itchy, Con, Bleak, and Surrey the time they’d gotten to spend with her. Con had sent him pictures, and he’d experienced a jealousy so intense it was a good thing Con hadn’t been there.

As crazy as it sounded, he was freaking jealous of his team.

Dray shook his head. He carried around one picture in particular Con had snapped: Sasha in a cozy chair by a huge picture window overlooking mountains speckled with multi-colored trees. The picture was a close-up and showed her looking out that window with a faraway gaze, a small smile on her face. Dray liked to think she had been thinking of him. He knew he was becoming some kind of fanciful freak, but the picture kept him warm and aware of his mission.

His head dropped back against the wall behind him. The seat beneath him was hard against his weary body. He’d hopped a transport flight from Kabul last night to get back for Sasha’s surgery today. He wanted to see her and be able to watch her breathe for a while, to soak in her presence before miring back down in el-Din’s filth.

“Captain? She’s in her room,” Post’s voice was quiet in the private hallway where Dray waited. His old commander still called him captain—a hazard of years of working together. “You’ve got about twenty minutes with her before we have to leave.”

He followed Post and entered the hospital room. It was quiet and dark except for the light above her bed and the sounds of the various monitors attached to her. He moved to the bed and his heart thudded heavily in his chest.

He glanced down at her, so still against the sterile, white bed linens. She’d lost weight she could ill afford to lose. Her skin was pale, her eyes bruised. She breathed evenly, and her monitors all said she was fine. He moved closer, sitting down beside her after lowering the bed rail. His hand drifted over her face, his index finger lovingly molding her soft bottom lip. Her lips were full, pouty, and bloodless at the moment, having just come from surgery. He wanted to have her smile at him so he could lean in and suck her bottom lip between his, stroke it with his tongue, and have her flavor explode over his taste buds.

Dray leaned closer to her, once again drawing in her scent, that elusive lemon-drop scent that had to be part shampoo, part soap, and all Sasha. He still carried lemon drop treats around with him everywhere he went. Never left home without ’em.

The passage of time was too fast as he stared at her, wishing for the impossible. He pulled back.

General Post stepped in and said, “Son, her family is asking to be let in. It might be time to hit the road. I’m taking you directly to Benning myself.”

His voice was a whisper and rife with understanding of Dray’s predicament.

“Yes, sir. Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you in the hallway.” His normally rough voice was even more so due to confining his emotions in this setting.

Frustration ate at him like acid. He wanted to be with her, learn her, yet all he got were these few-minute visits while she was under the cover of anesthesia. She didn’t know he came to see her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her to open her eyes just once so she’d know he hadn’t abandoned her. It ripped him up inside to remember her voice on the Alabama begging Dr. Creighton to keep him from leaving.

And as if God himself had heard his request, Sasha opened her eyes. She should’ve remained under for at least another hour or so, so it was truly miraculous she’d woken up while he was still there. Her eyes were glassy, but underneath that, a beautiful whiskey-gold. Her eyes haunted his dreams.

She focused on him and whispered, “Dray.”

Her mouth curved upward, and he ached to press his lips to hers.

“Are you really here?” Amazement peppered her raspy tone.

He helped her to a small sip of water from the bedside carafe.

“Yeah,
leanbh
, it’s me. I had to see for myself you were okay after this surgery. You are stubborn as hell, woman. You should’ve had this surgery sooner.”

“If I’d known you’d come, would have,” she mumbled. “Don’t leave, ’kay, need you.”

It was as if she’d plucked his earlier thoughts from him.

“You have me,” he murmured. “You’ll always have me.” She wouldn’t remember this conversation. He could say what he felt without worry. “We’ll have all the time in the world when this is finished. I have to go, Sasha. You need to rest and heal.”

His voice was softer and mellower than it’d ever been. Something about her brought out everything that could be construed as tender in him. She was precious to him in ways he was having a hard time fathoming—her peace vital to him.

“No. No go. Just be with me?” She tried to move her arms; they twitched but stayed on the bed. “One kiss, ’kay?”

It was the one question he would’ve never been able to refuse, but damn, he really should.

“One, Sasha, and then I have to go. I’ll be back for you; don’t forget that.” It was a vow from the deepest part of his soul as he leaned over to press his lips to hers. He ran his tongue over her lower lip the way he’d wanted to earlier. Like a match to kindling, his blood heated and his body hardened.

“Yes,” she sighed against his lips.

Her breath was his for a moment, and she slipped back under.

“Yes,” he said, knowing exactly what she’d meant.

“It’s time, son.” General Post held the door ajar.

Dray backed away from her bed, swearing that the next time he saw her he’d have time to linger and purge these volatile feelings. He’d have time to get her out of his system.

He didn’t believe in forever, but she made him hotter than he’d ever been—hotter than their few meager contacts should ever make a man. She was in his blood, every breath he took. She was going to be his, and if it took forever to purge her from his mind and body, then maybe he was a believing man after all.

“Shit-fuck-damn. Shit-fuck-damn.”

Sasha winced, but acknowledged her normally sweet-sounding Southern drawl had become a growling snarl. It boomed out in the cavernous room of the rehab facility, bouncing back to her, the strident tones driving barbs in her eardrums.

She blew a hank of hair from her face and cracked her neck. She couldn’t even stand the sound of her own voice today.

Her physical therapist gave a disapproving look before she said, “You have got to watch your mouth, Sasha. There are other people in here who don’t approve of your language.”

Trust Janie to understate the obvious. For over thirty minutes the physical therapist, dubbed by Sasha as Janie the Death-Bringer, had been running her through exercises on the walking bars, a parallel set of bars that resembled a gymnastic apparatus. It was slow going, and the pain was akin to railroad spikes being jammed in her hip. She was sweating, half of her hair hanging in her face, the other half in a sloppy ponytail.

She’d done an hour of weights followed by massage and heat therapy, all working up to the grand finale—the walk of pain. People had thrown her nasty looks for the last thirty minutes as her language deteriorated into foul-mouthed sailor’s talk. The agony was so bad she wasn’t sure that if there’d been children present she could’ve stopped cussing.

Sasha took another step toward Janie. She was only three-quarters of the way finished. “It hurts, damn it! You have your hip replaced four weeks ago and then be forced to walk on it—sonuvabitchmutherfuckinshit! I can’t do it anymore today, bit—uh, I mean, uh, Janie—get me out of these straps now.”

Janie unstrapped and slowly lowered Sasha into her wheelchair. Her hip was on fire. Aching, bitter, fire. She was being irrational and difficult. She’d never in her life been more tightly strung than she was at this point. Every event over the past six months had led her into tough rehabilitation she had doubts she’d survive.

She closed her eyes and breathed deep, trying to dispel the pain. Hell, she was tired of herself and her attitude. She just didn’t quite know how to pull out of it. The loneliness was a weight in her chest. The why of it a non sequitur. Always surrounded by family who loved her more than she deserved, she should be healing in all ways, including the physical. She should not be getting grouchier, meaner.

She was weary of fighting the pain and the lack of rest. She’d lost so much weight she now topped the scales at a lean ninety pounds. She couldn’t lose any more and actually survive a stiff wind. Her hand and shoulder offered some slight pain, and most of her knife wounds were just light scars; some had disappeared altogether thanks to one of Emory’s best plastic surgeons. Her ankle didn’t even bother her in bad weather.

It was her hip that was killing her. Never comfortable, the orthopedic surgeon had assured her it would pass. She just didn’t know if she could last that long. No longer bruised on the outside, but still worn and beaten on the inside, every day was a struggle to survive.

Intuitively, she knew she needed something to help her through this time of pain and struggle.

No, wait, she needed
someone.
Dray.

When she was able to seek temporary solace in sleep, her dreams tormented her with his voice and the feel of his fingers on her lips. Vivid and real in her dreamscape, there she remembered kissing his lips, tasting him, only to have him disappear when the pain brought her awake.

She’d only had a couple of conversations with him, if that many, but he tormented her with a constant presence in her sleep and waking hours. She needed him, like the air she breathed. Irrational, crazy, whatever anybody wanted to call it, she’d lost herself to a man she didn’t even know and a situation that most could never comprehend.

Janie pressed a warm compress between Sasha’s hip and the side of the chair. The heat soothed, but the pain was intense and unrelenting.

She continued to take deep, steady breaths, but they all ended with a curse. The hell of it was, she had no way of knowing how to recapture
Sasha
. She wanted desperately to be able to find comfort in work. She couldn’t do that for another six months to a year though, at least not on site. She could do behind-the-scenes research, but she needed action to keep her mind busy and that wouldn’t happen for a while yet.

“Quit your bitching, little bitty!” a loud voice called from the corner of the physical therapy room.

She turned and noticed two huge figures headed her way. As they stepped closer, she made out Itchy and Surrey.

Janie murmured she’d see her tomorrow. Sasha ignored the woman. It wasn’t fair, but Janie had become her outlet.

Sasha held out her arms first to Itchy and then Surrey as they grasped her in great bear hugs, each of them being careful not to jostle her too much.

Surrey looked her over but good once she was settled back in. “You’re looking good, Sasha. You sound like a fishwife, but you look good. You’re not still losing weight, are you?”

Surrey would forever be the one who had to make sure you were doing okay healthwise. It seemed to be as ingrained in his DNA as his black hair and neon-bright blue eyes. He was a looker, but he was quiet. Sometimes too quiet.

Itchy on the other hand? He never shut up once you got him started, and now was not the time for him to start with her. She was so in the mood for a round or two with somebody, and since her primary target had deserted her months ago, Itchy would have to tote it.

“I haven’t lost any more weight, Surrey, thanks for asking.”

She was saccharine sweet to Surrey but turned like a scalded dog on Itchy.

“Itchy, shut your pie hole, okay? I’m not in the mood for your shit; go find Death-Bringer over there and have it out with her. ‘Quit your bitching,’” she mocked in a snarky voice. “I’ve got your bitching right here, Itchy. If you’re feeling froggy, come on and jump my way!”

“He can jump anywhere but near you. I’d have to hurt him then, Sasha, and you wouldn’t want that now would you?”

The new voice was straight out of her dreams. Smoky, I-will-give-you-all-you-want-and-more, his voice belonged in her fantasies from the past few months. The hard edge of it had her turning slowly in his direction.

She froze. Nerve endings she didn’t know she possessed tingled to awareness. Her neck had prickled earlier as if someone watched her. She’d looked around, not seen anyone, and chalked it up to paranoia. But it seemed she’d had a reason after all.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic
. When she opened them, he was there, her greatest desire from the last half year, in the flesh, crouched in front of her.

Dray.

And what incredible flesh it was. He was a big man—had she ever realized how big he was? Even down on his haunches in front of her wheelchair, he towered over her. His hair was a gorgeous shade of deep auburn and his green eyes flashed with an inner fire. His broad shoulders were covered by a soft, leather, cream-colored bomber jacket, and his thighs were encased in light blue, very broken-in jeans. Deeply tanned hands, crisscrossed by small scars here and there, held onto either side of her chair.

He was better than she remembered him. Good Lord, the man was hot enough to render her mute. She had the insane thought she’d probably go blind if she continued to stare. He was beautiful. His face was made up of a strong jaw and aquiline nose under which the most impressive pair of lips ever created tilted up in a small smile.

If that small smile was any indication, he knew what he was doing to her. He’d left her alone with nothing but a few vague memories, and now he wanted to chat it up? She’d play this out and see where it went. She’d be damned if she’d show him how much his absence had hurt her.

You’re being irrational. Calm down.

She breathed deeply, wondered if she’d hyperventilate with all the deep breathing she’d been doing, and used a towel to wipe perspiration off her neck before she spoke.

Not happening. Shut up, inner voice. You give shitty advice.

“And you would be? You guys add somebody to your roster?” she inquired, finally lifting her gaze to his. He’d caught her on the wrong day; she wasn’t prepared for this. Snootiness dripped from her tone, and her heart beat too fast in her thin body.