If it wasn’t for the guilt I’m feeling, I’d feel the safety in that. I can’t imagine what the upper management team back at the Cerberus clubhouse is feeling. Helpless, enraged, disappointed? I imagine they’re running through a gamut of emotions right now. They’re hundreds of miles away.
I watch Aro’s ashen face, sending a prayer up to anyone that will listen that he makes it out of this alive. The medical training I’ve received while working on my degree in psychology complicates things right now. I know from doing an internship in a military hospital how bad his leg is, but I don’t allow my mind to go where it’s trying to go.
He wasn’t thinking right when we entered the compound and what I’m struggling with is the fact that my head wasn’t on straight either. I didn’t tell the team to hold back. I didn’t open my mouth to remind them that going home safe and sound is always our number one objective.
Instead, I fed off their energy, soaking up every ounce of hostility from Thumper, Aro, and Spade that I could manage.
There’s no way to get accustomed to what we do—the travesties we face. The pure evil things mankind is capable of isn’t something you can adjust to.
Things should have been different. Had I spoken up, had I done my job as the team psychologist, I wouldn’t be covered in blood, wondering if one of my teammates would survive.
My eyes lock on the blood staining his cheeks. It’s my own handprints from when he initially lost consciousness and I was attempting to wake him up.
He’s more handsome with his facial features softened. He doesn’t appear to be in any pain. His eyes aren’t squeezed tight. His brow isn’t furrowed. But I know that probably has more to do with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins alongside the morphine.
“Brace yourself,” Rocker warns, a second before the SUV screeches to a halt.
We had been miles from civilization and it took nearly half an hour to reach the closest medical facility. Someone had to have alerted the hospital staff that we were on our way because a team of doctors and nursing staff rushed out to greet us. I’m pulled from the back of the SUV before I can attempt to climb out myself.
Thumper speaks in fluent Spanish, explaining what happened and the nature of Aro’s injuries. I watch helplessly as he’s pulled out and roughly placed on a gurney. I want to kick the men that move him, but I know we don’t have a second to waste.
I relay the morphine dose Aro was provided in the field to Thumper and as the team begins to wheel him into the hospital, Thumper relays that information to one of the doctors.
Everyone in the SUV follows the team of doctors as far as they will allow us before a set of double doors closes in our faces.
I’m jostled, but as I turn to face one of my teammates, I’m met with the soft brown eyes of a nurse. I hate that I’ve never learned Spanish because I don’t understand a word she’s saying to me as she tries to usher me to another gurney.
I shrug away from her, attempting to explain that I’m not hurt, but it takes Thumper coming across the room and explaining before she walks away. We’re all directed to a waiting room too small to hold all of us.
Hound’s team, including Griffin, Tug, Apollo, Spade, and Harley, had to stay behind at the compound to finish the mission. I don’t know what’s worse—being here with nothing to do but wait for word of how Aro’s doing or being back out in the field, cleaning up the mess that was left behind.
We wait for hours before someone gives us any news. Each of us spends the time pacing in the small waiting area. Rocker has been in and out, taking numerous phone calls from the team back in New Mexico.
I know arrangements are being made. I know the small hospital we’re standing in isn’t equipped to successfully deal with the injuries Aro has suffered. I can only hope they have enough skills to keep him alive until we can get him out of here and transported to a facility better capable of helping him.
“He lost his shit,” Jinx grumbles, and all I can do is nod.
Rocker was the first to make entry on our team, followed by Jinx and me. When I squeeze my eyes tight, I can see it all happen again in slow motion—him stepping out of formation, him fumbling with the clip for his rifle after discharging the first. It was as if he thought he was bulletproof and engaged in a one-man mission.
We all wanted to take all of them out, but he forgot every protocol we’ve used on every prior mission. I don’t know if I could have stopped him. I don’t know that I could have gotten him in the right headspace to not make such a mistake, but I know I didn’t even try. This is as much on me as it is on him.