A sharp heat across my arm wakes me from my daze. We’re in the middle of a war zone, and I’ve got us standing like a fucking ‘aim here’ beacon. I lay Lizzie gently to the ground, put down my weapon, and rip off my shirt to use as a makeshift tourniquet. I pray the excessive blood doesn’t mean her artery’s been nicked. She could bleed to death in minutes, and as much as I need to get her out of here, this wound needs dealing with now.

One hand works fast to stem the blood flow pressing up under her armpit, the other pushes down firmly on her skin, and blood oozes between my fingers. From what little experience I have of field wounds, her bone doesn’t feel broken, and it all looks normal, with no disfigurement. It could still be fractured, but I don’t have the time or anything to splint it. I rip my T-shirt with my teeth, thankful for the old material giving way easily. I hope it doesn't do more damage. One-handed, I wrap the fabric twice around her upper arm until it’s tight enough, and that stems the flow.

Muffled gunfire continues around us, drowned out by the roar of blood in my ears.

I remove the hand under her arm and tighten the fabric a fraction more before securing it with a knot. Her arm should be elevated above her heart, but other than resting it on her chest I can’t do much else. Satisfied, I begin to lift her into my arms, but something drags hard on my ankle.

I turn my head to see a half-conscious Archie. Blood spews from a wound on his forehead. He flails an arm, searching the ground for his gun. I let go of Lizzie, pick up my own, and chamber a round. My ankle twists in his grasp when I turn around and aim the Glock.

Sperm donor or not, the creature at my feet will not survive to hurt my family more.

He lets go of my leg when his hand grasps his own metal. He cocks and glances back at me, blood dripping into the wicked smile on his face. It fades as he stares down the barrel of the gun in my hands and up my extended arms. “You’re going to shoot me?” He starts to laugh, a mocking laugh of disbelief; harsh, cold, and full of hatred.

In slow motion, he swings his arm up, gun in hand. Every inch it moves takes a century off of my life. I kick out my free leg and my foot connects, hard, with his face. The crunch of his nose breaking under my boot echoes up my leg and his head jerks backwards.

My fingertip caresses the trigger. Not too hard, not too light. I breathe in deep, and as the air exhales, I squeeze, taking up the pressure. Archie’s laugh dies on his lips when a bullet rips through his skull, and he falls dead at my feet. My index finger freezes mid pull. What the fuck?

I glance around to find Jase advancing on me. I quickly aim up at him. He throws his weapon to the ground and lifts his hands into the air. There are no sounds, only silence and the lingering smell of gunfire laced with the metallic tang of blood. My chest heaves and my frantic gaze roams the hangar. The only men left standing are Bear’s.

“You’d never live with that, Noah.” Jase’s voice pulls me back in his direction. “I know we’ve dealt with some shit—” He shakes his head. “But I couldn’t let you do that.” His gaze drops to the floor and back to me. “Mate, you need to get her out of here.”

The urgency registers and I let the gun fall from my fingers. Without giving the body on the floor a second thought, I get to my feet, lifting Lizzie into my arms at the same time. “Where?”

Bear’s voice invades my ears. “On base. They’ll be expecting you.” I go to walk away from him, but he starts again. “Noah?”

Every aching muscle in my body tenses. “Not fucking now.” I shut him down, not wanting to hear his explanation. I don’t give a flying fuck. I gaze down at Lizzie. Nothing was worth this. Nothing.

Zander comes towards me, but my glare stops him from coming closer. They are the last two people on earth I want to deal with right now. Both betrayed me.

I keep my gaze fixed on Bear and Zan. “Jase, can you drive?”

“Just about. You did a great job on my hand, you bastard.” He laughs as he walks past them and beckons me to follow him. “Good thing I’m ambidextrous.”

When we get to the truck, I lay Lizzie down on the backseat. I scramble in beside her then rest her head on my lap. Jase rummages through a bag on the front passenger seat and throws a green army-issued T-shirt at me with his good hand. “Don’t you feel the cold?”

Every part of my body is numb. The only part of me feeling any sign of life is my heart. And that hurts like a bastard. I glance down at the lifeless body in my arms and cold seeps into every one of my veins. Any words I have freeze, barb-like in my throat. I can’t answer him. Instead I pull on the shirt, careful not to knock Lizzie, and he starts up the truck and pulls away.

I take in every little detail of my angel. Each bruise, each cut, each injury caused by me. Because of my life. My blood-stained fingers trace gently over her skin. She never deserved any of this, and I wonder how it will affect her in the long term. Because she will have a long term.

My fingers move from her face and down her neck to check her pulse. It’s low and slow, but it’s there. My girl’s a fighter; she’s strong. She will survive this. Survive me.

Angry with myself, I turn on Jase. “Can’t you drive any fucking faster?”

He doesn’t bite back, just nods and says, “I’m doing the best I can.”

After an eternity, the familiar row of evergreen trees behind security fencing comes into view. Jase turns towards the main gate. Armed guards greet the truck. One walks over to the side of the vehicle. Instead of being made to wind down the window, state our business and have our credentials checked, he takes one glance at Jase, steps back, and signals for the gates to open.

We pull up outside the med centre, and I get Lizzie out as quickly as possible. When we enter the building, medics scramble, asking about her injuries but not how she sustained them. Bringing her here, they won’t ask. They can guess. After a few basic questions, she’s taken from my arms and rushed into evaluation. Nurses keep trying to get me looked at, to glance over the wounds to my temple, arm, and leg. But a few flesh wounds are nothing. All I care about is Lizzie. I need to hear she’s okay.

One by one, the lads turn up to be checked over, and take seats near me in the waiting area. Even Bear and Zander arrive, but they sit further away, and have the fucking decency not to try and talk to me. There are only a few flesh wounds between them. The only man hit bad enough to require surgery is Danny. He took a bullet to the thigh, and luckily it missed the artery but still shattered the bone. That fucker had to hurt. It means he’ll be out of action and maybe desked when he recovers. His area is communications anyway, so it shouldn’t be too much of a blow. The thought crosses my mind there’s a lot more to Bear’s team than meets the eye.

The clock ticks on the wall; I count every movement the second hand makes. We’ve already heard about Danny, but nothing on Lizzie. My mind’s at war with my body. I’m exhausted. The physical and mental strain of the past day finally catches up with me. Jase keeps plying me with strong black coffee and caffeine-infused sodas. My insides vibrate, and I’m getting irritable. After sitting here for 8,013 seconds, a surgeon finally makes her entrance.

She scans the room. All the lads sit bolt upright and in unison acknowledge her with ‘ma’am.’ I remain silent but lean forward, desperate for some news and wait for her to say something. My heart beats wildly, and the urge to throw up almost overcomes me. Her gaze settles. The frantic beat in my chest stops and holds its breath along with me.

“Noah?”

“Yes.” My hands clench and unclench in my lap.

“Lizzie asked for you before we operated. I hope you understand we had no time for you to see her beforehand.”