Page 60 of Glamour and Grit

My legs start moving, taking me off the porch and out onto the surrounding grounds. The feel of soft earth under my boots normally soothes me. But the dream and the dark thoughts remain stubbornly adhered to my psyche.

People die in a war, whether it’s been declared by the powers-that-be or not. The men and women I served with signed up for it. They knew that they might have to make the ultimate sacrifice.

But Selene’s not a warrior. She wasn’t meant to be on the battlefield. She’s meant to be on a film set, working her magic to give people creative worlds to explore. Because without things that take us to other worlds, how can we stand to suffer through this one?

It occurs to me I’ve been so focused on keeping Selene safe, that I haven’t thought much about what exactly the Moreno family wants with her. I can only assume it has something to do with her brother.

Disturbing scenarios go through my head. I quickly dismiss the idea of sexual slavery. It’s disgusting to think about, but Moreno could get women a dime a dozen, and he never showed any signs of being obsessed with Selene specifically.

So he’s not likely out to impress or abscond with Selene. What does he want, then? My blood runs cold when I consider a terrible thought: What if Selene has the right blood type to be an organ donor for some relative of Moreno? Or even Moreno himself?

Again, I dismiss the theory. The black market organ trade is a real thing, if perhaps less sensational than movies would have you believe. Most of the time, the donors sell their organs rather than having them forcibly removed.

Moreno has both the wealth and the contacts to get whatever he needs in terms of medical care. But what other purpose could he have for Selene? She’s not a safecracker, or a computer hacker like my sister.

In the end, I decide keeping Selene alive matters a whole hell of a lot more than Moreno’s motivations. Getting her brother back is also an objective, but I’ve known from the get-go it was never the main objective. I’m pretty sure Jax understood that, too.

Selene’s brother kind of made his own bed with the Moreno family. Selene, on the other hand, is innocent. I’m not much for judging who deserves to live over someone else. If I were, I would have been an officer instead of an enlisted man. My job was not to judge, it was to pull the trigger…

My lips twist into a bitter, sardonic smile. I didn’t exactly do my job very well, now did I? If I had done my job, if I had pulled the trigger on Klaus, a lot of people would still be alive today.

Then it hits me, the thought I’ve been trying to avoid ever since I took this damn assignment: What if Selene’s life is in danger, and I’m the only one who can help her…and I hesitate again? What if when it’s time to act, I can’t? If I freeze up, and Selene gets hurt, I don’t know if I’ll be able to live with myself.

My chest tightens up. It’s hard to breathe, and my arms are going numb. Shit, am I having a heart attack? A stroke? Did some chemical agent I ingested on a battlefield somewhere finally take its toll?

My knees turn to water. Stumbling, I catch myself on a tree. The roughness of the bark gives me something to focus on other than myspiral. I try to keep on breathing, even though it feels like a futile gesture. No matter how much air I drag into my lungs, it still seems like I’m drowning.

I sink to one knee, and rest my forehead against the bark of the tree. Nausea grips my belly, so intense and sudden that the urge to retch consumes me. Yet, I know that I won’t, I can’t, throw up. Even that hard-won relief is denied to me.

My vision darkens on the edges as I continue to feel suffocation despite all evidence to the contrary. I put my fingers against my neck, feeling the artery pulse beneath them. My pulse is rapid, but steady. Not erratic, so not a heart attack.

Stroke, then? I run through all of my pertinent information, all of my ‘stats.’ Name, rank, serial number. My birthday. The first time I tried rocky road ice cream. That time my brother and I stole my sister’s chocolate rabbit from her Easter Basket and made her cry…

No, I don’t think it’s a stroke, either. Slowly, I begin to feel myself again. I stand up, still unsteady, and pat the tree in silent thanks for its assistance in keeping me upright.

What the Hell just happened to me? Did I pick up some flu variant somewhere? No fever, and the nausea is gone. Probably not the flu.

I wipe a hand down my sweating face as the truth hits home. Fuck, I just had a panic attack. It’s the most likely explanation, and the symptoms match those of other sailors who’ve suffered from them.

A panic attack. Me, of all people. Self-loathing twists my innards up into knots until I want to scream. Not only do I have to worry about freezing up, now I have to worry about panic attacks, too. How am I supposed to protect Selene like this?

As if in answer to my silent query, a hard crack echoes out through the air. A long, drawn out dragging noise follows, like rolling around a pebble in a cardboard box.

A gunshot, and not far away. In fact, it sounded like it came from…

“Oh no.”

I run like mad back for the cabin, unbelieving I’ve ranged this far. Please be alive when I get there, Selene.

Please.

19

SELENE

Asoft sigh escapes me as I roll over and stretch my arm out for Dane. Instead, I only touch rumpled sheets. Cracking an eyelid, I see that his side of the bed is empty, and I’m all alone.

My eyes dart to the bathroom, but the light is off. The mirror is placed in such a way I can see much of the bathroom interior, so unless Dane is crouching awkwardly and scrunched into one half of the tub, I don’t think he’s in there, either.

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