Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

That was the way it had been for Tucker.

“He screamed,” Trace recalled. “When Drake’s knife went into her chest, Tucker cried out her name. He blasted two bullets into Drake, and Tucker ran for Anna Jean.” That anguished scream had frozen them all.

Tucker had known than Anna Jean betrayed them.

He hadn’t cared.

She’d been what mattered most to him, and when he lost her… “He broke right before my eyes,” Trace said. Tucker had fought, shot, attacked—and gotten to Anna Jean on that snow covered field.

They’d been in Russia. So far from home. Cold. Frozen. The white snow had been stained red.

Skye watched him with her big, solemn stare. He didn’t want to see himself reflected in that stare. Because the part that was coming…

Man up and tell her everything. “Drake needed medical attention. We had to get out of there, but Tucker wasn’t just going to let him walk away, not after what he’d done to Anna Jean.”

“But he was protecting himself—”

“It didn’t matter. Anna Jean died in Tucker’s arms, and the man he’d been before vanished. He attacked Drake. Tucker shattered Drake’s wrist and took Drake’s knife. Then Tucker went in for the kill.”

Trace had shouted then. Yelled for Tucker to stop. “I could’ve taken a shot at them, but they were so close. Tucker and Drake were fighting, rolling around in the snow. So I ran forward. I grabbed Tucker, and I pulled him off Drake.”

Her gaze seemed to see straight into Trace’s soul. You won’t like the darkness there, baby. “Tucker had his knife. I had my gun. I told him to stand down. To get his control back.”

Even as he’d said the words, Trace had known that wouldn’t happen. If I’d lost Skye, I would’ve reacted the same way. “She was everything to him, and Anna Jean was dead at his feet.” The blood had spread beneath her in that snow, looking like bloody angel wings.

She hadn’t been an angel.

Tucker hadn’t cared.

“He said Drake had to die. Tucker lunged at me. He wouldn’t stop.” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The memories were so sharp.

Tucker, stand the hell down! We’re your friends!

But Tucker had stared him straight in the eyes. You’re dead men. Every single one of you. You did this—you could’ve brought her in alive. You. Did. This!

“The last time he came at me, I fired.” Close-range, one shot right to the chest. “He grabbed my dog tags, and when he fell back, they were still in his hands.”

“Trace…”

“We didn’t even get to bring his body home. Anna Jean’s reinforcements arrived. Blasting from the east. I could’ve carried Tucker—he was still alive then—or I could’ve gotten Drake out of there. I made the choice.”

Her fingers curled around his. “Would Tucker have been able to survive his wounds?”

That was the same damn thing he’d asked himself that day. And every day that followed. “I thought I’d hit his heart.” He should have hit it. That close… “But there wasn’t exactly time to stand there and do an exam. I grabbed Drake. Threw him over my shoulder, and I dodged fire as I ran. Noah brought the chopper in because without an aerial extraction, we were dead.” He stared down at their hands. His looked big, rough.

Hers were so delicate.

“Heavy snow started falling. In that part of Russia, the snow can drop from the sky for days. It can bury everything and everyone in its path. I thought…I thought the snow became their graves.” After Ben and Drake had been secured and patched up, he’d gone back to try and retrieve the bodies, but it had been hopeless. He’d searched, nearly getting hypothermia, but there had been nothing to find.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

Trace knew his laughter held a bitter edge. “Why didn’t I tell you that I shot my best friend and left him to die in the middle of a snowstorm? Maybe because I didn’t want you thinking I was a cold-blooded killer.”

She flinched. Her hands pulled from his.

Oh, right. “But then, you do think that now, don’t you? So confessing to my kill in the past hardly matters at this point.”

Trace turned away from her and paced toward the window. The glittering lights of the city stared back at him. At least it wasn’t snowing. He hated the snow. Every time he saw it, he thought of blood.

“Tucker is the one who attacked,” Skye said, voice soft. She hadn’t followed him to the window. “You were protecting yourself. Your other teammates.”

The lights were so bright. “I understood, that’s the worst part. I knew exactly how he felt. He loved her so much that nothing else mattered, and without her, there was no control for him. He was desperate, hurting, and I left him there.”

Only the ghosts from his past had come back to wreck his life. “Tucker liked the up-close attacks. They were his specialty.” His…and Trace’s. “He could get close to anyone without his prey ever knowing. Slip right up and slip his knife into his enemy’s heart.”