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“You’ll pay for that, you know?” he says in a mild tone.
The goosebumps on my skin transform into heart-eye emojis. I’m counting on it. Outwardly, I toss my head and tease, “I’m sooo scared.”
A sly look comes into his eyes. “I hope so. I always follow through on my promises, baby.”
Ooh, why does him calling me baby, feel both tender and erotic, and so, so, hot?
“So do I, baby.” I lean in close enough that our mouths almost brush.
Then he swears, “Fuck.”
“That, too, baby.”
Both of us glance down to where I’ve slapped the sterile gauze over a wound on his chest—this one, right over his heart. Symbolic? Maybe.
Perhaps that thought crossed his mind, too, for we both fall silent. Then I step back and finish dressing his wounds.
"There, all done." I begin to move away, but he stops me with a hand on my hip. It’s a proprietary grip. The kind that conveys he feels ownership over me. The kind I feel all the way to my toes.
When I raise my gaze to his, his eyes are heavy with lust, but his expression is one of tenderness. "Thank you.” The tendons of his throat move as he swallows.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper.
He draws in a slow breath. "Ryot thinks I’m responsible for his wife being killed in action." He takes the roll of bandage from my grasp and sets it on the counter.
“What?” I gasp. “What do you mean?”
“Ryot’s wife was on my team. I sent them on a mission that was compromised. I had to make a snap decision which ended with her being killed. They never found her body.”
“Oh, my god.” I press my knuckles into my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Q.”
The band around my ribcage tightens. I forget, sometimes, that as a Marine, he’s seen death up-close. It’s a word that’s not part of my daily parlance, like it would have been for him.
It brings home, once again, how much more of the world he’s seen.
"I’ll never forgive myself for what happened.” He lowers his chin to his chest. His eyes are bleak. There’s a coldness to his demeanor that signals he’s withdrawing into himself. I can’t let that happen. Not when he’s begun to open up.
"But she was a soldier, too. She had to know it was a possibility that she might not return from the assignment.”
He tilts his head.
"And surely, Ryot must know that when you run missions, the chance of losing your life is high."
"It’s why there are checks and balances in place. We've managed to bring down the chances of losing someone on a mission. It’s rare that it happens."
“But it does happen?”
He jerks his chin.
“And you go in, knowing there’s a chance you won’t return?" Why is it so important that he believe me? Why am I trying to get him to go easier on himself? I don’t want to examine the answer to that too closely.
His features twist. "Tell that to their families."
I take in the tortured expression on his face, and my heart squeezes in empathy. "It must be difficult for you to go on, knowing you played a role in what happened,” I offer.
He looks at me with an expression of surprise on his features.
“I imagine it was also trickier because she was Ryot’s wife. She was family.”
