by River Savage
“And how reliable is this CI?” Fox asks the question running through my mind. It’s all well and good to base a raid on this information, but we need to know we aren’t walking into a trap.
“Dominic Westin.” She pulls up a picture of Mitch’s brother, and my heart constricts in my chest. What the fuck?
“Yeah, told you, you wouldn’t be happy.” She tracks my expression.
“You’re telling me Dominic Westin is your informant? He’s a street level thug.” I can’t believe this shit. No wonder we haven’t been able to get a hold of him over the last few weeks.
“He was street level. But he’s been moving up the ranks. He came to me six weeks ago with talks of a big deal happening.”
“And you trust him?” I scoff, not believing it.
“He’s given me no reason not to. The information he’s fed us the last few weeks is more than we could hope for, and he is the one who brought this meet to our attention.”
“And what is Dominic getting for this information exactly?”
“We get what we need, he gets probation and is asking for visitation rights with his brother.”
“No, not happening.” I stand, pushing back my chair. This is the last thing Mitch needs.
“Sergeant,” my lieutenant warns from across the room.
“His brother is off limits.” I shake my head as I sit back down, forcing myself to stay calm.
“I’m sorry, Liam. It’s a done deal. We get these guys, then we’re ultimately disabling two drug rings at the same time. And I honestly believe him when he says he wants to get out of the game and turn over a new leaf.”
“Yeah, turning over a new leaf my ass. He was only pressing his kid brother to join his crew two months ago. He attacked my woman and had her place broken into.” I shift in my chair, growing more irritated by the second.
“He was trying to keep him protected. He still has to play the part.”
“Bullshit. His brother is scared out of his fucking mind of him.”
“And that’s the way we wanted to play it. Until he realized he had you around, he wanted eyes on him. When you situated yourself in his brother’s life, he backed off. Listen, I know you don’t know him like I do, but trust me, he wants out, Liam. I’m giving him a chance.”
The room sits in silence for a beat while I work through this change of events.
Jesus, how is this going to affect Mitch? I’m not the type of person to keep anyone apart from their family, but can we trust Dominic?
“Is this going to be a problem for you, Sergeant Hetcherson?” Detective Marsh asks when the seconds click over to minutes.
“Not at all,” I respond as nonchalantly as I can when it’s the complete opposite of what I’m thinking.
Fucking A it is, my mind screams, but I push the thoughts away. Later, I'll sort this out.
“Good. Then we have four hours. Let’s get started.”
“Okay, listen up, boys. It’s been a long night, but we’ve got this. Stick to the plan, quiet feet in. Tate and Hart, you’re on the two men arming the doors. Fox, we want an explosive entry, and then we move.” I reposition my rifle across my chest and then lower my goggles down over my eyes, adrenalin pumping through my veins.
“Copy that, boss.”
“10.4,” is relayed back as the last of the boys fall into line.
Tate, first. Followed by Hart, Fox, and Sterling while I take up the rear.
“Team One is in position. Waiting for a go,” I whisper into my com.
“Stand by.” Detective Marsh comes through my earpiece. “We’re waiting on confirmation for the locked door.”
I wait for a beat, then another before the order comes through.
“Confirming door is locked. Door is locked.” It’s all we need to take action and in two seconds, we’re moving.
“Go, go, go, go, go!” We move together as one unit, descending on the two bodyguards. Before they have a chance to reach for their weapons, Hart and Tate pull them out of the line of sight to waiting officers.
“On my count of three, we go,” I whisper, my fingers counting down the beats.
Three. Two. One.
Fox, knowing what he needs to do, rams the door once and throws in the flash bang.
It’s the same drill every time: Fox moves to the left. Sterling to the right, and I take center.
“Police! Search warrant!”
“Police, stay down!”
“Drop your weapons! Put your hands in the air!” Every command is screamed out by the three of us. The smoke from the flash-bang barely clears before a hail of gunfire descends upon the room.
It happens so fast. Bullets tear through the air around us, as shouts and warnings are screamed out. Instinct kicks in as our unit falls back, taking cover to reassess our options.
“What the hell, Marsh?” I shout down my com. Adrenalin pulses through my veins at the realization we walked into an ambush. This was never meant to be a lethal entry, but a simple raid, with no loss of lives.
“Get out of there, now!” The possibility this is turning into a standoff grows stronger with the continuation of gunfire.
“Fuck!” The word comes out as a grumble, the world tilting on its axis.
My feet turn to lead in my boots and my steps become sluggish. I urge my legs to work, to pump faster and get out of the line of fire, but they refuse; instead, they give out beneath me and I hit the concrete hard on my knees.
“Shit, boss. You okay?” The question knocks me back, and it takes me a minute to realize I've dropped. Pain slingshots through my body and a ringing sounds in my ears before fading out. For a moment, I think I've gone deaf, but it comes back in a roar as I hear shouting.
“Officer down, officer down!” someone screams out, but scanning each of my men, I can’t find anyone shot.
“Who the hell’s been shot?” I ask Sterling when he comes to lean over me.
“We’re getting you out. Hold on for me.” He pulls me out and away from the warehouse by the back of my Kevlar vest.
“I’ve been hit?” A burning itch in my neck springs to life. Awareness has my hands searching to find the issue.
“Just stay calm.” Hands push mine away, revealing warm blood staining between my fingers. But still it doesn't register. Instead, my world has become the slow beat of my heart pounding in my ears. Darkness takes hold and starts to pull me away. Everything numbs. The pain. The light. The noise.
“Come on, Hetch. Stay with me.” A voice, barely a whisper now, swirls around me in a turbulence of nothingness. Time no longer anchors me to my body. Darkness is now my keeper.
“Tell Lib, I lov….” The last word becomes stuck in my mouth as my throat closes up. With each intake of air, breathing becomes harder.
Liberty in my arms. Liberty kissing me. Liberty loving me.
Every moment I’ve spent with her replays in my mind as the beat of my heart slows even more.
I’m losing her and her me.
“He’s crashing!”
Thirty-Two
Liberty
“Tell me what you want, Liberty, or you get nothing.” His words are all I need to step back and demand him to take my panties off.
“Rip my panties off.” His throat constricts, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“Fuck, sweetheart, is that the phone?”
What the fuck? That’s not part of the dream.
The annoying ringtone of my house phone next to my head pulls me out of my dream and back to reality.
The hell?
“Seriously?” I grumble as if the rude caller can hear me and cover my head with my pillow. I’m not on call this weekend, and work rarely calls my house phone, so my guess is it's Payton. No one else I know calls this early on a Sunday morning. Deciding I’m not in the mood for her chirpy ass this morning, I try to block out the offending ringing, but it doesn’t help. She’s persistent. The phone rings again; this time, it seems louder.
With more energy than I th
ought possible, I reach across the bed and yank the phone from its receiver.
“Do you know how early it is, Pay?” I groan into the phone, pulling my duvet up over my head.
Normally, I would never answer her call with this much attitude, but after the dream she just interrupted, she deserves it.
Clearly, I’m mean when I’m horny.
“Liberty,” Kota’s voice replies, pulling me out of the mood. The unexpected shock of hearing her voice strips me of any lingering sleep and jolts me to life.
“Kota?” I find myself tangled in my sheets as I twist around, confusion slamming into me. I imagine I look like a fish when it’s first thrown down onto the bottom of a boat. Twisting and squirming to find freedom.
“Lib….” Her voice takes on a tone I can’t decipher, but the hair on the back of my neck stands to attention, a dizziness that makes no sense sweeping over me.
“What’s wrong?” I find my feet as dread weaves its way through my mind, like a spider weaving its web.
Slowly and meticulously.
“It’s Hetch.” Beneath my feet, the ground becomes unsteady. Or maybe it’s just me. Her words are knocking the balance from me.
“What happened?” I force my body to steady and move into action without any guidance. Ripping my nightgown up over my head, I quickly dress in the first outfit I can find.
Dark skinny jeans and one of Hetch’s old SWAT T-shirts.
“I don’t know much, just that he’s in surgery.”
“Surgery?” The ground tilts again. This time, I have to sit down. “Where are you? What happened? Is he okay? He has to be okay. He’s a fucking cop, for Christ’s sake!” Every scenario of how he ended up in surgery runs through my head.
“Liberty, you have to stay calm. Freaking out is not going to help him. We’re at the hospital. He just went in. Fox is coming to pick you up. He should be there any minute. He’s closer than me, so wait for him.” The only word I take in from her sentence is wait.
Wait?
Wait while the man I love needs me?
Is she mad?
“No, I can drive. It’s okay.” I don’t know what I’m saying. I can barely stand, let alone drive.
“Liberty, the guys don’t want you driving. Please wait for Fox.” I don’t bother answering her when a knock at my front door cancels any argument I may have.
“Doesn’t matter, he’s here. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up the phone, push my feet into a pair of flip flops, and open the door to find Fox standing there.
“Fox?” His name acts as the main question when a thousand different thoughts are running through my head.
What happened? Is he going to be okay? Tell me he’s going to be okay. Tell me we’re going to be okay.
“He was shot.” The words hit me hard, like a fucking sledgehammer to the stomach.
“Is he? What? How?” My stomach tightens and a deep ache takes root, forcing me to bunch over and hold my stomach.
“We need to go now, Lib,” is all he replies, but it’s not enough. I can’t get my feet to move.
“I-I can’t. I can’t.” I don’t know what I’m saying, what I’m asking. It’s like time has ceased and everything around us has frozen.
“You can, darlin’. Just take my hand.” He holds it out, but the simple task of moving my hand to his has me completely lost.
“Please, Liberty. He needs you.” The words are exactly what I need to jolt me back to some semblance of myself. Fox, noticing my return, steps forward, takes my hand and gently maneuvers me out of the doorway so he can close the door behind me.
“You need anything else?” I think I shake my head, or maybe the ground moves again, and I move with it, but whatever it is, Fox takes it on board, and starts directing me down the stairs.
“Does Hetch need anything?” I ask, stopping our descent, the thought hitting me fast.
“Other than you? Not right now. Let’s just get you to the hospital.” There’s no annoyance in his tone, but I can tell he’s tense.
“Okay, yeah,” I continue and he follows, keeping close like Hetch would. When we reach the parking lot, he takes the lead. Walking past me, he opens the passenger door of his truck. The step up is not as high as Hetch’s truck, but for some reason, this one seems harder for me climb into. Fox, noticing my reluctance, places his hands on either side of my hips and helps me up.
“Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m just….” I trail off, not looking at him. I’m barely holding on by a thread; I’ve already lost it in front of him once. I don’t need to do it again.
“Hey.” He reaches out a comforting hand but stops himself midair. “He’s going to be okay, Liberty.” His reassurance does nothing to calm me. If anything, it makes me want to ask him how he could possibly be so sure. Two minutes ago, he said he didn’t know. Now he’s reassuring me he’s going to be okay.
Instead of lashing out at someone who doesn’t deserve it, I sit back and silently work through the same breathing exercises I teach my boys when they’re worked up and can’t contain their emotion.
One hand rests on my chest, the other on my abdomen and I inhale steadily through my nose.
Please, don’t die, Hetch.
Exhaling through my mouth.
Don’t you dare die.
Inhaling through my nose.
Please don’t die.
Exhaling through my mouth.
Don’t you dare die.
By the time Fox pulls up at the front of the emergency room fifteen minutes later, I’m no calmer than when I took Kota’s call. If anything, the coil of tension snaps tighter inside my stomach.
Please don’t die, my mind screams loudly.
Not prepared to wait for Fox to shut off the truck, I release my seatbelt, throw open my door and I forgo any help down. Fox doesn’t call out for me, or maybe he does and I’m too lost in my own head to hear him. Instead, he picks up his pace to stay close behind me.
Reaching the double entry doors before he does, I make it into the waiting room out of breath and immediately search for Kota, or anyone familiar. It doesn’t take long for me to find Kota first. She’s standing on the far side of the waiting room, shoulders resting against the wall, hands crossed over her chest. She’s talking to Sterling and her mother, and at the sight of them, I instantly feel like I shouldn’t be here.
You pushed him away, Liberty.
“Kota?” My voice is unsure, across a waiting room of police officers. Her head, followed by Sterling’s and Brianna’s, come up at my voice and I move toward them, anxious for information.
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Kota steps away from the wall first, followed by Sterling and Brianna.
“Is he okay? Where is he? What happened?” The questions fire out as I move toward them, and I can’t stop them.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
“Whoa there. Slow down, darlin’.” Sterling reaches for me just as I reach them on wobbly legs, and takes me in his arms, holding me steady.
“Tell me what happened? Fox said he was shot. How? Is he going to survive?” My heart rate can’t keep up with the questions. Pounding against my chest, I fight the tightness with large deep breaths.
Please don’t take him away from me.
“Come here.” He pulls back, and motions me over to a vacant chair. The last thing I want to do is sit down, but I don’t voice my concern. My need to know everything that’s going on anchors me down into the chair.
“He was hit twice in the neck. They’re operating now.” He gives it to me straight, and instantly, I wish he were more gentle.
“The neck?” Last night’s dinner threatens to come up, but I manage to keep it down by sliding back in my chair and looking up at the ceiling, squeezing my eyes shut. The neck? How serious is the neck? My mind takes stock of my own body, connecting everything together.
“That’s not bad, right? He can survive, right?” Tears hit the back of my eyelids, and before I can control it, they’re rolling down my face.
The neck is bad. I know it. It’s connecting to his throat. To his head. His face. His handsome face.
Sterling doesn’t answer me right away, the silence screaming louder than my mind is.
“It’s touch and go, babe. He lost a lot of blood.” His voice shakes, setting off a tremor through me.
“But he can still survive. He can, right?” A small, cold hand finds mine, and I open my eyes at the contact to find Brianna sitting down next to me, wearing the same stare Hetch had on his face the night I found him in my shower.
Lost. Broken. Scared.
“We need to be strong, but we also need to prepare for the worst, Lib.” I want to reject the words, ask her how could she say such horrible things to me, but I can’t. I can’t because the way she’s looking at me tells me she’s just as scared as I am.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” I release her hand and find my feet. “Yes, I’m going to be sick.” I stumble in the direction of what I hope is the bathroom, but get stopped by an older man I don’t recognize. Grey hair, wide shoulders, he could almost pass as my father if he wasn’t wearing police blues.
“Here, darling.” He hands me a sick bag and steps back. When I turn my back to him, my stomach convulses, bringing up the small amount of food I had for dinner last night.
A bottle of water is handed to me next, this time by Hart. I want to cry when I see him standing close to me in his SWAT gear, but I don’t. My focus is solely on keeping myself from vomiting again.
“Thank you,” I croak out, swallowing down mouthfuls of water to get the putrid taste out of my mouth.
“You gonna be sick again?” he asks, and I shake my head. With gentle fingers, he takes the bag from me, twisting the end, and handing it off to someone else.
Jesus, is everyone here? I look around the waiting room and realize there are more than a few officers here. More like twenty. All are wearing the same look as Fox. As Sterling. As Brianna and Kota. As me.
“I shouldn’t have pushed him away. I should have taken him back when he came to me,” I blurt to no one in particular. Maybe Hart. Maybe Brianna or Kota. Maybe all of them.
