After MidKnight (Knight Ops Book 4)

by Em Petrova

  Hooking a thumb in the pocket of his cargo pants, Roades settled in for a longer chat.

  Something whizzed by his head that was all too familiar to a Marine.

  He hit the dirt, catching the boy and the dog in the process and rolling them backward against a building. Trapping them with his body, he whipped out his sidearm and aimed in the direction the bullets had come from.

  Another bullet smacked off the building next to his head. He had to get this kid the fuck out of here.

  Throwing a look back over his shoulder, he ordered, “Scoot into those shadows between buildings, get down and cover your head. Now!”

  But the kid nonchalantly wiggled out from behind Roades and sauntered into the nearby house with his dog on his heels.

  Roades stared at him for a heavy heartbeat. Jesus, someone had probably paid the kid to lure passersby into conversation so they could rob him.

  Roades rolled to his feet in a blink, weapon at the ready. “Show your face!”

  Two guys rounded a building and stepped into the street across from where Roades stood. One still bore the bruises on his face that Roades had put there himself back in that alley, one of the men Carissa had seen him use his martial arts on in his first hours on the island.

  “Didn’t get enough?” Roades’ drawl was nothing but casual, and he aimed at the man pointing a gun at him.

  The man grunted and opened his mouth to speak, but his gaze darted to the side.

  Roades twitched a glance sideways to see Hernan standing feet away from him.

  And Carissa’s brother had Roades in his sights.

  “Y’all working together?” Roades would admit he was starting to sweat. He could smell it on himself, that sour scent of adrenaline.

  “Fuck no. We hate this hijo de puta,” one of the men across the street yelled. Roades detected the shift of the man’s shoulder before he squeezed off the shot.

  The force of the bullet threw Hernan back, and Roades aimed and fired, taking out the shooter just as another shot rang out—from Hernan.

  The bullet grazed Roades’ shoulder, searing it with pain. At first he thought Roades had fired out of reflex of being shot, but the grin on the kid’s face was anything but friendly.

  “Hold still so I can shoot your fucking ass,” Hernan said.

  Roades knocked the weapon from his hand and assessed the damage done to Carissa’s brother—gut shot with the rich blood of a lacerated liver. It was a wonder the man was still drawing breath. He’d bleed out quickly if he didn’t get medical help now.

  Two more men emerged onto the street, and Roades took in the situation in a blink.

  There were far too many men who wanted him off the island, preferably dumped into the ocean. But he had to get Hernan to aid.

  A scuffing sound met his ears and he shot a look from the corner of his eye to see Hernan crawling across the cracked pavement toward his weapon.

  Roades kicked it out of the way. “Stay still. I’ll get you to a hospital.”

  “Gonna… get rid of you. First.” Hernan grinned around bloody teeth.

  “Goddammit.” Roades’ mutter was lost on a battle cry from the gang on the street. They rushed Roades, and he had two writhing on the ground with bullets buried deep in the shoulders of their shooting arms.

  With seconds to spare, Roades snatched up Hernan’s weapon and then dragged the man up and over his shoulder. Hot blood trickled through Roades’ clothes.

  “You need to… get the fuck out.” Hernan’s voice gurgled.

  Nicked a lung maybe. Jesus, Roades was trained to know how to give a syrette of morphine or when to apply a tourniquet, but neither of those treatments would apply here. He needed a hospital, but it was fucking unlikely he’d find anybody in this godforsaken barrio and the clinic in town had closed.

  That left only Carissa.

  Another shot rang out just as Roades cornered a building, running full-out.

  He’d go back and finish the fight if he ever got a chance, but for now he was going to try to save the asshole who’d tried to kill him.

  “You’re a dick, you know that?” he bit off to Hernan.

  A wheeze came from over his shoulder, maybe a laugh.

  “Imagine. Those guys wanted both you and me dead. And you were trying to kill me too. I shoulda shot all of ya and left you to the stray dogs for dinner.” Roades was enraged at the situation and the furrow in his arm was screaming in pain, but he’d had worse. His biggest concern was dropping Carissa’s half-dead brother in her clinic.

  The barrio was a blur as he booked it as fast as he could. The buildings that were slumping and weathered began to look slightly less slumping and weathered. He spotted some men gathered on a corner and called out to them.

  “Doctor?”

  They shook their heads and turned away, not wanting to get involved in whatever crisis Roades was dealing with.

  Fuck, what he wouldn’t do to go back and finish that fight. The need to sink his fists into bodies and make sure those guys never touched weapons again…

  He dammed up that stream of thought and focused on Hernan’s breathing. In, out. Rattle. In, out, rattle. Definitely a nicked lung, which would account for the blood on his teeth. When he’d lifted the kid, Roades had felt the exit wound on his back. He should have placed a wet cloth over it to do his best to stop the sucking wound. But it had been life or death so he’d taken the only option he could—to run and save them both.

  Did he have time to lower Hernan to the ground and do that now?

  No, he was within half a mile of Carissa’s house, and getting Hernan there was more important.

  He hadn’t carried a man out of battle in a long time, and his thighs were burning with effort.

  Oh fuck, it was just one thigh.

  Still holding his weapon, he dropped his arm and ran his thumb over the spot that hurt the most.

  Jesus, he was hit there too. How the fuck had he managed to ignore that?

  Doesn’t matter.

  He skidded around a corner, taking a shortcut to Carissa’s. Now that the pain had hit him, it came on with a vengeance and his own breathing was ragged as he reached the garden.

  “Carissa!” he bellowed.

  The clinic door was open and he burst inside, not fully understanding what he was seeing.

  The place was wrecked. Supplies lay all over the floor, every cupboard ripped apart and the doors off their hinges in some cases.

  He spotted the cot, though, and lay Hernan down as gently as he could, though the kid grunted in pain.

  A step at the door brought Roades’ head up and he stared into Carissa’s eyes.

  “Oh my God.” Her voice faltered.

  He strode to her and grabbed her shoulders. “He’s been shot. Tell me what to do.”

  Her gaze slid past him to her brother lying on the cot, his face ashen and blood spilling from his lips. “Did you do this?”

  “Hell no. Carissa, listen to me. We need to help him. Tell me what to do.”

  She gave a wobbly nod and walked over to the cot. She placed a hand on Hernan’s chest and looked into his eyes. Then she raised her hand to cup Hernan’s cheek. “Hail Mary full of grace…”

  The prayer came off her lips in a slow Spanish that had Roades baffled.

  He strode to the cot, realizing he was limping and his thigh wasn’t supporting his weight. He leaned hard on the side of the bed. “What the hell are you doing? He needs help, not prayers!”

  “Prayers are all I can do for him right now. He needs emergency surgery and we’ll never get him to someone in time.” She sounded eerily calm, and Roades knew she was in shock.

  He gripped her hand and Hernan’s too, finishing the prayer with her.

  “S-s-sorry,” Hernan choked out.

  The word seemed to bring Carissa out of her own hazy mind. “I love you, brother. No matter what, I forgive you.” She leaned in and kissed her brother between the brows before turning to Roades. “I can’t do more for him, but I can
help you now. You’re covered in blood and it isn’t all his. Where are you hit?”

  He considered her for a moment. This was wrong any angle he looked at it, but Carissa was trained to triage patients, and it was his turn.

  His thigh was burning like a motherfucker now, and he pointed to the spot that had the most damage. But he glanced back to Hernan. “Can’t you do more for him, Carissa?”

  She shook her head, her lips taking on a grave expression, and pushed on Roades’ chest until he sat in a chair. At her feet were bundles of gauze and some toweling, and she swiped the supplies off the floor.

  “I can’t treat you with these. They’re not sterile.”

  “Better’n nothing.” He grabbed a towel from her hand and pressed it hard against his leg.

  A gurgling noise rose from the cot, and Roades got to his feet. Carissa went back to her brother, looking down at him with love written on her beautiful face as he drew his last breath.

  * * * * *

  She couldn’t look at Roades after her brother died. She believed when he said he hadn’t done it, but what had he been doing with Hernan in the first place?

  She gently patted her brother’s limp hand and placed it on the cot next to his thigh. Then she grabbed a sheet and covered him to the neck. She hesitated, wondering if she should continue up over his face but unable to in the end.

  Turning back to Roades, she pointed to the chair.

  He took the seat, his gaze intense on her face, but she still couldn’t look him in the eyes. Tears had never felt so far from the surface. They were buried too deep, and that ache of loss—for her brother, for Roades when he inevitably went home—was too wide.

  She stuck two fingers into the tear in his cargo pants and ripped the fabric. With a gaping bullet wound exposed, she rocked back on her heels.

  “Carissa,” he said, snapping her out of whatever daze had swallowed her.

  She stared at a point on his square jaw, dark with stubble and spots of blood that might or might not belong to him.

  “What supplies do you need to stop this bleeding?” he asked.

  That set her in motion. She moved away from him and started searching through cupboards and drawers. When she found some items in the packaging, sterile and ready to go, she tore into the paper.

  “The bullet needs to come out.”

  “Have you ever done that before?” he asked, a bit too gently. Tears rose in her eyes, and she blinked through them.

  She shook her head. “I can only stop the bleeding. I’m not trained to perform the surgery.”

  He reached across his body and touched his pocket. “My cell. Get it for me.”

  Reaching into his pocket, touching the hard muscle that she’d spent many hours stroking and latching on to as he pleasured her, was surreal. She felt as if she was floating outside of her body, unable to find the ground again.

  She worked the cell free and placed it in his hand. He took it and punched a button then brought it to his ear. Using the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, he pinched her chin and lifted her face.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze, didn’t want to see the things he’d done reflected in his eyes. Didn’t want him to see the pain that must be shining in hers.

  “Mon coeur—” He broke off as whoever answered on the other end of the line. “Ben, I need airlift. Now.”

  He gave the details in short bursts of speech. When he ended the call, he let go of her chin and smoothed his hand through her hair. The caress brought another round of tears to her eyes and one let loose, dropping when she bowed her head.

  “I’m so goddamn sorry about your brother,” he grated out.

  Her tears fell faster, and she drew back from his touch. “I’d… like you to tell me what happened when we’re done here.”

  She’d lost a brother today. But she was losing the love of her life as well.

  “I’ll tell you anything you need to know, mon coeur.”

  She moved through the clinic, gathering what she could to keep his wounds stable for transport. Flying back to the States with a bullet in his thigh wasn’t ideal, but if she attempted to pull it out, arteries would need ligated and she didn’t have the means or training to do such a thing.

  She threw a glance at the white sheet dangling off the side of the cot where Hernan lay but quickly averted her gaze. She wanted to run from this life and hide. It was too damn hard now, and she had nothing left here for her.

  Especially after Roades was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Christ, she couldn’t even meet his gaze, and it was fucking killing him. Through the recounting of the story and calling someone to take care of Hernan, as Roades grabbed his duffel and awaited transport, Carissa hadn’t looked into his eyes one time.

  She leaned against the cot, now empty since Hernan had been carried away for burial preparations. She looked so damn lost, so alone. And she fucking was alone once he left this godforsaken place.

  “I pray your leg isn’t septic by the time you reach home,” she said for the second time.

  He shook his head. “I’ve got people coming to take care of it in flight if necessary.”

  Her gaze shot upward but didn’t quite meet his. He was going nuts by now, desperate to make her engage with him, even if it was to tell him off, pound her fists against his chest or scream until she collapsed, hoarse.

  He ran his hand through his hair and fought his rising panic. In minutes, somebody would arrive to transport him to the nearest landing strip.

  “I’m sorry, Carissa. So damn sorry for all of it.”

  Her throat worked but she only nodded, as distant as she ever could be. His hopes and dreams of asking her to marry him, of taking her home and buying that house… they all swept away on a wave of grief and pain.

  A deep hollow opened inside him, and it was all too easy to fall in head first.

  The rumble of an engine outside got him to his feet. She pulled away from the cot and stood before him, eyes downcast.

  His bruised heart cracked open and bled out faster than his leg ever could. He lifted a hand to her jaw. “God, you’re so damn beautiful.”

  A noise left her that wasn’t quite a sob. She placed her hand over his. “Godspeed, Roades.”

  “Take care of yourself.” He let her go and walked out before he broke the fuck down. Dammit, leaving her once had almost killed him, and he’d only been a kid then. Now walking away was a thousand times worse. She was linked to him, her soul bound to his in a way that would never, ever happen again. She was it.

  He greeted his fellow Marine and climbed into the vehicle. All the way to the airstrip, he listened to the guy talk about the efforts they were employing on the island to clean up and keep peace. He wanted more details about Roades’ wound, but he remained silent, unwilling to speak about what happened and too deep in his thoughts to even find words.

  The bumpy road didn’t help the pain he was experiencing, but he gritted his teeth through it like any good Marine would. His phone buzzed several times, and he took calls from two of his brothers regarding timeframes and surgeons on standby awaiting his arrival. He got through it but barely, though his heart was ripped out, back in Carissa’s hands.

  The driver came to a stop and Roades got out, aware of shooting pains through his thigh as he made his way across the broken concrete to the small government-issue jet that often carried generals and officials through the skies.

  He turned to shake his driver’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “An honor.” He saluted Roades, and a knot burned in his throat. Roades loved his country and serving with Knight Ops. Now just as he was reinstated he’d be off on medical leave, recovering from this leg injury.

  None of that mattered.

  He shouldered his duffel, wincing at the strain on the bullet furrow across the other, and made his way to the jet.

  There, the pilot and copilot greeted him, along with two medical personnel who’d been ordered to see him safely home.

  “
You don’t look like a man with a bullet in your thigh,” one commented with a grin.

  “I’m made of tougher stuff than most. I’m a Knight.” He reached up to take the edge of the door and climb the steps when a loud horn blast made him jerk around.

  An old truck was speeding across the airstrip toward them. It screeched to a stop and Roades searched the windshield. The faces behind it were of an older man he didn’t recognize and a woman.

  A flurry of activity from inside and he could swear the woman kissed the older man on the cheek before leaping out of the truck.

  Roades’ heart stopped.

  “Carissa.” Her name passed his lips on a harsh groan.

  He dropped his duffel and started for her as she sped toward him, running as fast as a track star.

  He opened his arms and she slammed into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight so she’d never get away from him again.

  “I’m sorry, Roades! I love you so much and it kills me to think of you leaving. That’s why I was so stubborn back there, barely saying goodbye to you.” She lifted her head and met his gaze at long last.

  Her dark eyes burned through him, and he let out a rough sigh of relief.

  She loved him.

  He crushed his lips down on hers, tasting her tears and the sweetness that meant he’d come home.

  Angling his head, he swept his tongue through her mouth and pulled a moan from her. She kissed back with a fervor that instantly had him thinking of how to fuck her even with a bullet in his leg.

  “I love you, Roades. So much.”

  He drew away to look into her eyes. She didn’t even try to look away. “Get on this plane with me. Come home. And marry me.”

  * * * * *

  She’d only thought to find him and say a proper goodbye, but now that he was asking her for more, her heart leaped into her throat.

  Could she do that? Walk away from her home, from her life?

  Now that Hernan was gone, what else did she have? She could return to visit her cousin or invite her to Louisiana.