Page 60 of Duty Devoted
But they continued on, disappearing around the next corner. I waited thirty seconds before moving again.
“Almost there,” I told Lauren, feeling her strength slipping more with each step.
El Pescador sat on a corner two blocks from the damaged marina, its neon sign dark but structure mostly intact. Storm shutters still covered the windows, but light leaked from beneath the door. Open for business.
The interior was dim, lit by candles and battery lanterns. The bartender—a weathered man in his sixties—stood behind the bar, and two men sat huddled in a corner, looking like they were taking shelter rather than drinking socially. The bartender looked up as we entered.
“We’re looking for yellowtail fishing charters,” I said in English, hoping the man understood. I supported Lauren’s weight as casually as possible.
His eyes flicked between us, taking in our condition. After a moment, he nodded toward a door markedPrivateat the back of the room. “Upstairs,” he said in accented English. “Third door on the right.”
The staircase was narrow, forcing me to half carry Lauren up each step. She tried to help, but I could feel her fading. The blood loss, the miles of jungle, the fight—it was all catching up.
The third door opened to a small room that had seen better decades. But it had a bed, a sink with running water, and—most importantly—windows facing three different directions. Multiple exit routes if things went bad.
I got Lauren to the bed, her face pale beneath the dirt I’d rubbed into her hair. “Still with me?”
“Still here.” She managed a weak smile. “Though your bedside manner needs work. Most doctors don’t yell at their patients for bleeding.”
“Most doctors’ patients tell them when they’ve been shot.” But there was no real heat in my words. The anger was all directed at myself. I should have noticed. Should have protected her better. Should have been the one bleeding instead of her. “I need to get some supplies. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
She nodded weakly. “Not going anywhere.”
I made my way back down the narrow stairs, finding the bartender wiping down glasses with mechanical precision. He looked up as I approached.
“Medical supplies?” I asked, miming bandaging a wound. “Alcohol? Bandages?”
He studied me for a long moment, then disappeared into a back room. When he returned, he carried a half-empty bottle of vodka and what looked like a basic first aid kit—probably kept for bar fights that got out of hand.
“Gracias,” I said, pulling out some crumpled bills. He waved off the money, his eyes flicking meaningfully upward. The message was clear—whatever Jace had paid him covered everything.
Back in the room, Lauren had her eyes closed but opened them when I entered. “Room service?”
“Five-star treatment.” I set the supplies on the small table beside the bed. “But I’m sure not what you want for medical treatment.”
I set the supplies on the small table beside the bed. “This needs proper cleaning. The wound’s been open too long.”
But as I reached for the vodka bottle, my hands betrayed me. The tremor started in my fingers and worked its way up my arms. Not now. Not when she needed me.
Blood on my hands. Carter’s blood. Too much blood.
“Logan?” Lauren’s voice seemed to come from far away. “What’s wrong?”
I gripped the edge of the table, trying to force the shaking to stop. The room felt smaller suddenly, walls pressing in. Every shadow could hide one of Silva’s men. Every creak of the old building could be footsteps on the stairs.
“Nothing. I just—” My voice cracked. When had it gotten so hard to breathe? “The wound needs cleaning. Can’t risk infection.”
“Logan, look at me.” She spoke with her doctor voice, calm and authoritative despite her own pain.
I couldn’t. If I looked at her, I’d see the blood. See another person I’d failed to protect. Another name to add to the list of people who’d bled because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t good enough.
“You need someone with steady hands. Someone who doesn’t see ghosts every time they close their eyes.” The words came out raw, pulled from somewhere deep. “Someone who doesn’t fall apart when you need them most.”
“I need you.” Her voice was firm despite the pain. “Shaky hands and ghosts and all. We’ll get through this together.”
I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 20
