Page 23 of Nothing is Free

I hear the loud bang, then the pounding of feet as I cower on the floor. Incoherent yelling in the distance.

“Clear!” someone shouts.

“Sweep the area. Go!” another command.

“Weapons down!” a voice wavers in what sounds like relief.

“The room is clear. We found her!” someone calls out.

“Freeya.” I hear my name, but my teeth are chattering so hard, I can’t speak. I’m shaking hard, the only control I have is maintaining my position on floor.

“I think she’s in shock,” another voice answers softly.

“No sign of Damyn, he didn’t come back inside. This entire place is empty,” a deep, familiar voice says to the room.

“We don’t know if there are any traps. We need to get Freeya out, a second helicopter is inbound,” someone else replies.

I’m confused, afraid, and lost. I understand what’s happening, but the synapses in my brain aren’t making the connections. This is Dez’s team, they are here to save me. . . Where’s Dez?

A soft hand clutches mine, the heat of their body feeds my shivering one with much needed warmth. “Freeya. It’s me, Faith.” The sound of her voice. The understanding, the compassion?—

“Faith,” I say her name, clinging to it, to her, like a lifeline as I unravel myself from the floor. I open my eyes and she holds my gaze, steady, strong, reassuring. Her hands clasp mine, helping me up and giving me the strength to finally stand on my own wobbly legs.

“Omari,” I croak out, my throat raw and dry from my earlier sobs. I study her face and the faces of the men around me. Quincy and Beckett look away from my scrutiny, and it’s all the confirmation I need.

My legs give out and I fall into Faith’s waiting arms. Suddenly, I can’t bear the weight of what I stand to lose. I shake my head no, over and over again, crying silent tears. Ihave no more screams left in me. In my mind I search for my walls, the ones I built to fortify myself from the pain of my past traumas, my go-to hiding place, but they no longer exist. Like everything else, they’ve crumbled right along with my splintered mind. Deep down, the sensible part of me, my rational self, knows this is shock. I want to yell at myself to snap out of it and recognize what this is, but I’ve fallen too far, drowning in the sludgy black pool of sorrow.

Beckett scoops me up, taking my limp body from Faith’s embrace, and Quincy barks out orders to clear the building.

“It’s going to be okay, Freeya. You’re safe now,” Faith says as she stands by Beckett’s side, my own personal blanket of reassurance. My head still moves slowly back and forth, no. . .no. . .no. . .refusing her words.

Yes, I am safe, but I am not okay. If I lose a piece of my soul, the part that Omari holds, then I will never be okay again.

I’ve always loved the time between sleeping and waking. When dreams begin to fade, drifting further away to be examined later, while the conscious mind teeters on the cusp of awareness. The space between, though fleeting, is filled with endless possibility. There is beauty in the stillness. The mind wanders to faraway places, battles are fought and won, decisions, truths, and lies are deciphered. Then, the lights turn on, blink and it’s gone, the memory of that fleeting moment of peaceful existence is lost until you do it all again.

I don’t know how long I struggle to open my eyes. I linger in the space between, something I have always cherished for far too long. What always felt like bliss now has mespiralling toward panic. I’m back in that room, strapped to the bed on my back, with Damyn’s hands sliding down my body. I want to move, to wake up. I don’t want to stay here with these images and thoughts. I try to pry my lids open, but something keeps pulling them closed. Every part of my body is heavy, weighed down and sluggish. I can hear movement all around me. I can feel a hand in mine, big, calloused fingers that I attempt to squeeze but can’t.

“Why isn’t she awake?” I recognize Avion’s voice, smooth like honey, the sound wraps me in a warm embrace, grounding me.

“We had to sedate her. She was hysterical from the moment they brought her in. She yelled and demanded to see her mate, your Omega, in the ICU, but we had to refuse her at the time. His condition was critical, and she needed to be examined herself.” A calm voice that I can only assume is a doctor replies.

“You sedated her? Wait, can those drugs hurt the baby?” Avion’s concern mirrors my own. I don’t remember anything after Beckett carried me from the room. I know I was too lost to think coherently, there’s no telling how I reacted. Sedated, well, shit.

“I assure you, Alpha, the baby is fine. We’ve given her fluid due to dehydration and other than vitamin deficiencies, your mate is in good health,” the doctor replied. I’m relieved to hear that Little Nugget and I are just fine.

But my relief is short-lived as I go over what he said about Omari. His condition was critical. I need to be by his side. I need to be with him. My eyes pop open, my vision is blurry at first, until the room slowly comes into focus. The harsh lighting hurts my eyes yet I force them to remain open. My mouth parts to speak but no sound comes out. I weakly squeeze the hand holding mine and I feel them jolt inresponse. Vic’s gorgeous face comes into view, eyes bright, brimming with tears, he tenderly reaches out, placing his hands on either side of my face.

“Cariña. Te amo con todo mi corazón,”Sweetheart. I love you with all my heart,he whispers before pressing his forehead to mine. “I’ve been so worried,” he whispers, and I feel his tears stain my cheeks. I tilt my head back and brush my lips against and let him cry for the both of us.

We stay that way for what feels like hours, when it’s only been seconds before I pull away and look over Vic’s shoulder at Avion.

“I need to see him,” I plead.

“Mon chéri, he’s not awake.” Avion sounds tired, defeated even, as he leaves the doctor’s side to come over to me. I narrow my eyes, not liking the tone of his voice. I can still feel Omari, and if I have to sit by his side until he wakes up, then I will. When he reaches me, he kneels and clasps my hand in his before bringing it to his lips and kissing my knuckles.

“He was shot in the chest, Cariña. He has a few broken ribs, and a few broken bones in his left hand as well,” Vic adds, answering my unasked questions of what happened to him. I don’t need to know how he got shot, I know it had to be Damyn. Damyn, who, I hope, is dead. I don’t ask, for fear that my assumption is wrong.

I look between him and Avion, my resolve unwavering. I know what I need to do. I felt it down in the room when I could feel his pain, his waning light. He needs me. “Take me to him. I don’t care if he’s not awake. I will be by his side until he is.”

---