Maya Banks - Shades of Gray

Steele’s demeanor was normal for him. Cold and formidable. But his eyes told another story. Usually cool, icy even, they blazed with a fury Cole hadn’t seen in all the time he’d worked for his team leader.

Steele met Sam’s gaze unflinchingly. “I failed my team.”

Garrett swore. “Bullshit.” He glanced around at all the members of Steele’s team, almost as if he could see the same thought in all their heads. “Look, I get that you’re all feeling shitty over this but you can’t get so down on yourselves. We need facts. Not guilt.”

Steele’s lip curled but he gave the report, not leaving a single detail out. Cole closed his eyes as Steele repeated what Brumley and Nelson had done to P.J. The rest of the team stood stiffly. Dolphin looked down as if he didn’t want anyone to see his eyes or expression.

Cole just wanted to get all the chitchat over with so he could go to P.J.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam swore, closing his eyes momentarily.

“What are you doing for the shipment of girls?” Steele demanded. “We belong here, with P.J. She needs her team right now.”

“Rio and his team are already en route, and Nathan, Joe and Swanny are meeting them in Vienna. They’ve been briefed. Resnick wants Brumley alive, and he might very well get him that way, but after Rio and his team heard what the son of a bitch did to P.J., I think he may be missing a few body parts when he’s delivered.”

Cole curled his hand into a fist. He wanted to be there when Brumley was taken down. He wanted it badly. He’d never wanted to hurt someone as much as he wanted to make Brumley pay.

He’d killed people when he was a SEAL and then in his time with KGI. He was a sniper. It was his job to take people out effectively. Quickly. Quietly. But it had never been personal. He did his job without emotion because it was what he was paid to do. The people he dispatched were the bad guys. He didn’t need to justify his actions, but the world was a better place without the people KGI went up against.

But with Brumley, rage was a living, breathing fireball inside him. Cole wanted to make him suffer many times over what he’d made P.J. suffer.

“If everyone’s been briefed then can we get on with this and get back to P.J.?” Cole snapped.

“Hooyah,” Dolphin said, his lips thin.

Even Steele looked impatiently at Sam and Garrett.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Sam said, motioning toward the two parked SUVs.

P.J. opened her eyes to find her hospital room mostly dark. There was a beam of light emanating from the bathroom where the door was barely open a crack.

She glanced to the side of the bed to find Cole as he’d been for the last two days. Propped in an uncomfortable-looking chair that had been pulled up as close to her bed as it could go.

He was sleeping, a fact she was grateful for. She’d purposely taken refuge in the pain medication, not wanting to deal with her team, all gathered in her room, sympathy and anger in their eyes.

And when she was lulled into oblivion by the medication, she didn’t have to remember the leering faces of Brumley and Nelson. Didn’t have to hear their grunts, feel their bodies pressed against hers.

She closed her eyes, unable to prevent the physical reaction the memory caused.

She’d have permanent reminders of Brumley’s violation. Scars she’d wear for the rest of her life. The doctor had gently explained that some of the cuts had been too deep, too jagged, but that in time they would fade. But there would always be a mark there to signal the cuts the animal had made to her flesh.

The more she came to awareness, the more the memories crowded in until her jaw clenched and she valiantly tried to steel herself from the raw agony that clawed at her.

She stared down at her right hand, which was casted, and she was confused because she couldn’t remember how she’d broken it. Clumsily, she reached for the nurse’s call button with her left, hoping she wouldn’t wake Cole. She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to deal with the torment in his eyes. She just wanted oblivion.

A few moments later, the nurse hurried in and spoke to P.J. in low tones. She left once more but was back in less than five minutes with a syringe. She injected the medication into the port and P.J. closed her eyes and waited for the comforting lull to claim her.

The next time she opened her eyes, sunlight had flooded the room and her entire team was slouched in chairs surrounding her bed. Her brow instantly went clammy and nervousness flooded her.

She made eye contact with Steele first. Steele she could deal with. He was professional. He wouldn’t make her want to break down and weep like a damn crybaby.

“The girls,” she croaked out.

She frowned, cleared her throat and then blinked in surprise when Dolphin was there with a cup of water. He held it to her lips and she gratefully gulped half the contents.

When she was done she whispered her thanks and then leaned back against the pillows again.

“The girls,” she said again. “Did they get them out? Are they safe?”

Steele nodded, but his expression was still grim.

“Rio and his team went in with Nathan, Joe and Swanny. They intercepted the truck and brought down Wainwright and his entourage. The girls are on their way back stateside as we speak.”

“And Brumley? Did you get him?”

She held her breath, hope billowing forcefully into her chest.

Steele looked away, his jaw bulging. She glanced sideways toward Cole, who looked so coldly furious that she shivered.

“He escaped with his men onto the plane and took off,” Steele said in a quiet, pissed-off voice. “Rio had to make a choice between going after Brumley or saving the girls. They went after the girls.”

P.J. closed her eyes. She had no right to feel angry. The girls were more important than any sense of justice she felt needed to be exacted.

But the fact of the matter was she was gutted. Numb. While she lay in a hospital bed, Brumley and Nelson were out there. Free. Unpunished both for what they’d done to her and for what they’d done and planned to do to those babies.

She turned her face to the side, biting into her lower lip to keep her emotions in check. And then the soft brush of a caress glided over her cheek. Just one finger. The back of a knuckle. But she’d know that touch anywhere.

She should be angry with him for showing her any tenderness in front of the others. But they were all being gentle with her. Things had changed and she hated it all. How could anything ever be the same with her team?

This would always be between them. They’d treat her differently. Like she was fragile instead of a teammate capable of carrying her own weight and kicking ass with the rest of them. All because she’d failed a mission. She hadn’t been able to protect herself and she’d been stupid enough and panicked enough to take a drink from a man she knew not to trust.

“P.J.”

Cole’s voice came out husky, riddled with emotion. It was there for everyone to hear.

“Look at me, please,” he begged softly.

She turned, opening her eyes to see the tortured look in his own.

“We’ll get him, P.J. I swear to you we’ll nail his ass to the wall. He’s not going to get away with this.”

No one in the room denied Cole’s terse vow. They all looked just as Cole did. Furious. Worried. Sick at heart.

Live as a team. Die as a team. She was bringing them down. They were dying with her.

She took a steadying breath, determined not to let her building rage overwhelm her. She had to stay calm and focused. One thing at a time.

“We’re driving out to the compound to meet Rio and the others,” Steele said. “Be gone several hours at the most. You need to rest. We need to know what went down in Vienna. We’ll give you whatever intel we receive. I promise.”

She nodded stiffly.

Cole was the last to stand. He was still holding her left hand, his fingers twined through hers. Then finally he rose and leaned over to brush his lips across her forehead.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch for you, P.J.,” he whispered.

She watched him walk away to join the others as they left her room.

“No, you aren’t,” she said quietly as her door closed, leaving her alone in the room. “I am.”

P.J. rested for an hour after her team departed. She hadn’t asked for pain meds and she wasn’t going to. She was getting out of this place.

Hearing that Brumley had escaped had done something to her soul. It was like she’d become a different person at that point. Someone harder. Necessary to get her through the pain and shame of her ordeal.

Time to suck it up and deal. Nothing worthwhile came easy. She’d learned that early on. And she’d been down before. She would never have imagined she’d reach a lower point than when she’d walked away from S.W.A.T.

But here she was, stripped of who she was, what made her the woman she was. That bastard had stolen her confidence. Her arrogance. Her cocky demeanor that held her together on the tough missions. He’d made her doubt herself and everything about her.

She wasn’t going to lie here a moment longer.

She pushed herself out of bed, going clammy as pain gripped her as soon as she put strain on the stitches. Holy hell, it hurt.

She was sore from head to toe, and the damn cuts on the insides of her thighs made standing and walking damn hard.

One of her teammates had brought a duffel bag and dropped it on the counter next to the sink. She slowly made her way to it and unzipped it to inspect the contents.

There were sweatpants, a large T-shirt that would swallow her, socks and a pair of scuffed tennis shoes.

Her chest softened when she realized that the clothing belonged to one of the guys.

But at the bottom was the knife. Brumley’s knife. The knife she’d insisted on keeping. Cole had kept it for her.

It took her several long, agonizing minutes to dress. She made sure the bandages over the cuts stayed in place and then she put the socks and shoes on. When she was done, she slipped the knife into the pocket of the sweats.

She stared at herself for a long moment in the mirror, not liking what she saw. She saw someone . . . broken. And she’d be damned if she allowed those bastards that kind of power.

She’d hunt the motherfuckers down herself.

No one. No one would ever get away with making her feel the way she’d felt that horrible night.

Revenge wasn’t just a concept, some fantasy she dreamed about. It had become her reason for being.

The longer she’d lain in this hospital room, the angrier she’d become and the more she fantasized about having the bastards at her mercy. Of making them beg for mercy. Mercy she wouldn’t provide.

They would die.

They would die for what they’d done to her and for what they’d done to countless young girls and for what they’d tried to do to those babies Rio and his team had managed to rescue.

Thank God, they were on their way home, back to their mothers and fathers. Their families.

The only family P.J. had was her team, and she couldn’t allow them to take on her vendetta. KGI wasn’t a vigilante group. She wasn’t about to turn them into one.

She walked out of her hospital room and down the hall in search of Cathy, one of the nurses P.J. had met during the countless times KGI had been through the hospital at Fort Campbell. Cathy was the closest to another female friend P.J. possessed, and it had been Cathy who’d swept in and taken charge of P.J.’s care.

Cathy was a retired naval nurse who’d moved to Kentucky with her husband, and they both worked on base. She was a brisk, no-nonsense woman whose bluntness had always been appreciated by P.J.

When she got close to the nurse’s station, Cathy looked up and then did a double take. To her credit she didn’t say anything, but she shot out of her chair and rushed around to meet P.J. in the hall.

She quickly drew P.J. into the family room where it was just the two of them and then lit into P.J. with both barrels.

“What the fuck are you doing up?” she demanded. “You should have your ass in bed. I was just preparing to bring you some pain medication.”

“I need out of here,” P.J. said in a low voice. “I can’t stay here another day. I need your help.”