Rylan scowled. But Xan was right. No, he wouldn’t call anyone other than Reese that.
Bone-deep worry ate at him for the rest of the drive. It was the longest thirty minutes of his life, followed by another thirty of waiting for Reese’s crew to arrive at the clearing where they’d arranged to meet. Xander would be taking whatever supplies Reese’s team had stolen from the outpost back to Connor’s wilderness camp. And while Rylan should probably go back to Con’s too, he intended on returning to Foxworth, a plan that hadn’t made sense to either Con or Xan, or, frankly, to Rylan himself.
If he wanted sex, he had plenty of willing partners at the other camp. Hudson and Connor. Layla and Piper, the two young women under Lennox and Jamie’s protection. But he wasn’t sure his reasons for going back to Foxworth had anything to do with sex. There was unfinished business between him and Reese . . . and Sloan . . . although he had no fucking clue what it was.
The rumble of an engine jerked his gaze toward the edge of the clearing. Relief hit him square in the chest when a Jeep covered in rust and mud appeared on the overgrown path. A black SUV followed, and then both vehicles came to a stop.
Rylan saw the “snag” the moment Reese slid out of the Jeep. She wasn’t wearing a coat, so he could clearly see the bloodstained piece of fabric tied around her upper arm as she gestured something to the driver. Her men quickly began unloading the stolen supplies and carting them from one convoy of vehicles to the other.
Her expression was all business as she walked over to Rylan. “Everything went as planned?”
He nodded, reaching for her arm. “What happened?” he asked grimly.
She shifted away before his hand could land on her. “It’s nothing.” Her sharp brown eyes surveyed the clearing. “We need to do this fast. Load everything and then get the hell out of here.”
He went for her arm again. “Let me see it.”
“Later.” Dismissing him from her gaze, she strode off to exchange a few words with Xander.
Ten minutes later, the two convoys were back on the road. This time, Rylan was in the back of the Jeep next to Reese, who cursed in protest when he snapped open the medic kit he’d grabbed from the trunk.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Humor me.”
He untied the bloody fabric binding her arm. It was someone’s shirt sleeve, he realized, and soaked crimson. To his relief, the wound he found underneath wasn’t as serious as he’d thought. Just a surface gash that was no longer bleeding.
“You’ll live,” he declared as he reached for a small bottle of antiseptic.
“No shit,” she muttered irritably. “I told you I was fine.”
He kept his touch gentle as he cleaned the wound, but although he knew the rubbing alcohol must sting like a bitch, Reese didn’t even flinch. “What happened?” he pushed.
She made a grumbling sound. “Got grazed by a bullet.”
His heart flipped in concern. “You serious? Those bastards shot you?”
“No, they grazed me.” She sounded annoyed again. “There were three Enforcers posted at the back gate. Our intel said there was only supposed to be one, so that’s what we based our assignments on. I was handling it alone.”
His pulse sped up in alarm. “You took on three Enforcers by yourself?”
“I didn’t have anyone to provide cover fire.” A pained look crossed her eyes. “That’s usually Sloan’s job. Or rather, that’s my job and Sloan is usually the one throwing himself in front of the bullets.”
Of course. Because that was what Sloan did: protect Reese at all costs.
“You regretting asking him to stay behind?” Rylan adopted a careless tone, but tension filled his gut as he waited for her answer.
Which never came. She simply pressed her lips together and said nothing. But her silence was as clear as the full moon overhead.
He tossed the pink-tinged gauze on the floor of the Jeep and silently bandaged up her arm, wishing like hell that she would confide in him. He didn’t even care if she wanted to sit there for the entire eight-hour drive and talk about nothing but Sloan. Hell, he’d listen to her talk about the weather as long as it meant being included in her thoughts, as long as she recognized his fucking presence.
But she wasn’t even looking at him, damn it. Her gaze was fixed out the window, and her silence . . . it grated. It really grated, so much that he found himself clapping one hand around her chin to wrench her face toward his.
“What are—”