April barely kept from screaming her head off, the panic inside her was so great. Instead, she ran next to Atticus toward the infirmary at headquarters. It was dawn, but smoke blanketed the entire street, so she had to squint to see.

She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes tearing from the smoke.

The fire still burned in the adjacent building, and soldiers with shovels and axes threw dirt across it. One wall of bricks, scorched black, still stood.

Damon had been hurt. Hours ago. While she sat in the safe basement with the kids, he’d been unconscious at the infirmary.

They reached the back door to what used to be a free clinic, and Atticus yanked it open, panting heavily. She shouldn’t have made him run.

She hurried inside and ran smack dab into Marcus Knight. It was like hitting a cement wall. She bounced back and started to go down until he grasped her arms and all but lifted her off her feet, holding her aloft until she stilled.

His greenish-brown eyes were serious as he slowly put her down.

“Um, thanks,” she whispered. He’d definitely kept her from falling hard.

He nodded, eyed Atticus, and then stood to the side with his back to the wall. She shook off her panic and looked into the first room where two men were on beds, their skin burned. Both had cloths of some kind covering their arms and shoulders.

She winced and moved past that room for the next one.

Damon was sprawled over an examination table, his knees and legs hanging off the end and his shoulders off each side. His chest was bare and had soot all over it.

Doc Penelope looked up from listening to his heartbeat. She removed the stethoscope. “He’s been unconscious for hours.”

April’s legs trembled, but she forced herself to walk closer to the too-still man. A bandage ran above his right ear, and his head had been shaved, probably for the stitches. It made him look even tougher somehow. “What hit him?”

“A brick,” Penelope said, leaning against the orange counter. “I had to take pieces out of his flesh and give him forty stitches. Good news is that his skull is intact. Bad news is that he definitely has a concussion. We need him to awaken.”

Marcus appeared in the doorway.

Penelope looked up. “I’m needed in the other room?”

Marcus nodded.

“Talk to him,” Penelope said. “I can’t find any other injuries, so it’s just his head. Though that’s bad enough.” The petite woman hustled away.

The room spun crazily around April. Her daughter had died in the room next to this. Okay. This was a different time and a different life. She had to tell herself that to survive, and if it was crazy, then too bad. “Damon.” Her legs shook, but she levered up by his head and touched his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He didn’t move.

His shoulders were bare without any of the previous bandages, showing his injuries. More stitches.

“You’re almost a pincushion,” she whispered, looking around and finding a folded chair by the far wall. Her body feeling a thousand years old, she lugged it over to sit next to him. She took his large hand, marveling at the size. Resting her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. While she didn’t much believe, Damon did, so that had to count for something.

A shadow crossed the door, and Greyson walked silently inside. Black soot marred his entire face, and it looked as if his neck had sustained a burn. He wore filthy jeans and no shirt.

April hadn’t gotten much of a chance to know Damon’s best friend. “What happened?” she asked, shocked that her voice didn’t crack.

Torment filled Grey’s eyes as he looked down at Damon. “He protected Maureen and the baby when a bomb blew.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he took Damon’s other hand. “Even turned his body to protect the baby and Moe’s stomach, but that exposed his head to flying debris.”

A brick to the head? It was a miracle his skull hadn’t shattered.

Grey’s laugh was almost a growl. “His skull must be made of solid rock.”

“That’s what I was just thinking,” April whispered, keeping her chin on his still-warm skin. “Are Maureen and the baby okay?”

Greyson’s eyes darkened. “Yes. Damon took all the impact. He saved them.”

“A bomb went off?” she blurted. “Inside the territory?”

“Yes, but we haven’t been able to get close enough to check it out. The fire is too hot.” Greyson reached for another chair to unfold and then sat. “Thought I’d check on Damon. He’s been out too long.” He nudged Damon’s shoulder. “Wake up. We have work to do.”

The unconscious man didn’t move.

April kissed Damon’s neck, realizing it was wet. From what? She leaned back. Oh. Tears were sliding down her face. She impatiently wiped them away.

“You’ve been good for him,” Greyson murmured.

She jerked. “How so? He’s been shot, and now he’s taken a brick to the head.”

“Yeah, but the in-between times have made him happy. I didn’t know the guy could whistle until he met you.” Greyson wiped dirt off Damon’s arm.

He whistled all the time now. “It’s surprising how many songs he knows,” she said.

Greyson nodded. “I know, right? It’s the jazz songs that throw me. Damon doesn’t seem like a jazz type of guy.”

“It was the first country song I heard that surprised me.” She smiled, trying not to cry. “And it wasn’t a tough-guy country song from Garth Brooks or Kenny Chesney.”

“Reba McIntire?” Grey asked, his lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yeah. A slow ballad. And he knew every note.”

“The guy has unexpected gifts,” Greyson snorted. Then he sobered. “Though he needs to wake the hell up. Now.”

Marcus Knight poked his head into the room, no doubt on Doc Penelope’s orders.

April shook her head. “He hasn’t moved, Marcus.”

Marcus’s frown made him look deadlier than ever. He lifted his chin and then disappeared down the hallway again.

Greyson looked up at her. “Damon ever tell you how we met?”

She rubbed the whiskers on Damon’s chin. “No. What happened?”

“He saved my life,” Greyson said. “I had just started to establish Mercenary territory in Santa Barbara and was out scouting for guns and medical supplies. A group of Rippers descended upon me.”

She stilled. “Rippers working together? Like a pack?” They were just humans who’d gone so insane that they were animalistic. But she’d always heard they worked alone.

Greyson nodded. “Yeah. Like a pack of hyenas. I started fighting them, and I was losing. Damon came out of nowhere and instantly had my back.”

“He’s a good fighter,” she murmured.

“The best. We started talking, and he had some phenomenal ideas for security and enforcement. Before I knew it, we were running the Mercs together.” Greyson rubbed soot away from his left eye. “Truth be told, he’s been the conscience of the Mercs since he joined. Without him, I’m not sure where or who we’d be.”

He was definitely a good man. She had to shake herself as a reminder that he wasn’t her man. Sure, she cared about him. How could she not? But this was just further evidence that she needed to put the brakes on. Nobody, not even Damon Winter, could tempt fate like this so many times and survive. “I’m glad he has you, Greyson.”

Grey pushed dirt off his hard abs. “I’m glad he has you.”

April shook her head before she could stop herself. “We’re casual. I mean, we like each other, but it’s not a have type of situation.” Did that make sense? She wasn’t explaining this very well.

“Uh-huh.” Greyson didn’t look up from his stomach and, instead, pushed more soot off. “This stuff itches.”

April opened her mouth and then closed it. She tried again. “I’m not saying I don’t care about him because I do. But we’ve agreed to no commitment. Life is just too dangerous. Not that we’re seeing other people or anything like that. Just that this is, well, casual.” Was she babbling now? She felt like she was babbling.

Greyson looked up then, giving her the full force of his odd gray-green-slightly blue gaze. “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her mouth gaped open. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been dating a short time, and you’ve blossomed like I’ve never seen any woman do. And my brother here? He’s whistling. Like, for real.” Greyson shook his head, and white dust from the ash flew in every direction. “Tell yourself what you want. But don’t lie to me.”

Irritation clawed through her fear. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Storm. Look at him.” She swept her hand above Damon’s prone body. “He’s out cold right now.”

“So? He has a tough head,” Greyson countered, the worry in his expression contradicting the carefree words. “He could be an inner-territory mechanic, and he’d still be in danger. This world defines danger these days.”

April wiped grime off Damon’s chin. At least he wasn’t burned anywhere. “Wake up,” she whispered.

Greyson sat back in his chair. “He’s not an undercover type of guy. At all.”

She looked up. “What do you mean?”

Grey blew out air. “Damon. He’s the first through the door, not a secret agent. His plan would’ve been to bust open the front wall of Pure and see what was happening inside.”

What was the man’s point? “Jax wanted an undercover op,” April countered, her heart beating faster.

“Exactly. Damon would’ve been just fine with Jax conducting an undercover operation. He would’ve rolled his eyes and told Jax to give him a call when it was time for boots to doors.” Greyson stretched out his legs, and soot dropped to the cracked tile floor. “Then he would’ve stayed out of the way until he was needed.”

April’s mind spun, and her breath quickened. “Damon is a cop. A good one.”

“He’s SWAT.” Greyson waved a burned hand through the air. “Or, at least, he was. Briefly. There’s one reason, and one only that he agreed to infiltrate the Pure church and play their game.”

Her throat closed too much to swallow. “You’re wrong.” But was he?

Grey’s gaze raked her. “I didn’t understand it either. When he told me about the plan, I thought he was joking. Then I met you. Saw him near you.”

Every second Damon remained unconscious, it hurt her. Somehow. “I already admitted we’re attracted to each other.” She met Grey’s gaze head-on. “And it’s totally him to save somebody. To see that a person needs help. He was worried about me.”

Grey nodded. “That’s true. He did go in to make sure you were covered.”

Yes, there had been attraction between them from their first meeting. She had tried to ignore it, but look how well that had worked out. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

Greyson sat straighter and nudged Damon’s arm. “You’re right. Naptime is over. Wake up, buddy.”

Damon shifted lightly on the table. “Who can sleep with you two droning on and on?”