Depraved by Trent Evans
Chapter 32
“Who is it?”
Whoever it was, they were laid out on a cot inside the tent, a blanket thrown over them. They were softly sniffling, but unmoving.
“Found her just outside the sensor perimeter,” Grif said, frowning.
“Her?”
Grif nodded slowly. “She asked for you.”
Anson leaned his rifle against a supply crate at the foot of the cot. He dropped to a knee beside it, and gently rolled her over.
Oh, fuck.
“She was barely conscious when the patrol picked her up. Pretty bad off, but medic got her patched up. Says she should be… fine. After she heals.”
It was Petra.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Grif said softly, closing the tent flap behind him before Anson could even dismiss him.
A huge bandage was wrapped around her head, her right eye totally covered. Her left already showed the hint of what he knew was going to be a hellacious black eye.
Her lips were swollen, the lower one cut in two places, her chin scraped slightly. Patches of dried blood were still on her cheeks in a few places.
“What happened to you?”
Her eye rolled, then focused on him, tears welling. “Anson… I’m… I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” His stomach roiled at seeing her in such pain. “Who did this, Petra?”
A tear dashed down her cheek, stopping at the corner of her mouth. “I guess I wasn’t… two steps… ahead of him… anymore.”
“Beckett… he fucking did this to you?” The rage erupting inside him almost made him scream, his vision going literally red for a moment.
Keep your shit wired tight, soldier. Focus your anger.
His drill sergeant had been fond of saying that, long ago, back in what now seemed another world. Before everything had turned to shit.
He would focus his anger—on killing him. On fucking annihilating him. No way was he going to get away with this.
Not ever.
Then it hit him, what it meant. The whole picture, ugly though it was.
It meant Beckett… was at Gamma.
“He’s a dead man. He’s a fucking dead man walking, right this second, Petra.”
But she shook her head, vigorously, the furrow at her brow deepening. Her voice was weak. “No… more. I’m alive. You… you’re here. That’s all that matters… now.”
“And you’re staying here, you understand?” He touched the bandage at her head. “You’re safe now, Petra.”
The lump in his throat, painful, shocked him—but it was pure in its truth.
“I was… stupid. I see that now. You’re… where you need to be.” He pushed the rage down again, if only for the moment, knowing she needed him to be calm. “I’m going to take care of this—no matter what—from here on out. You don’t ever have to worry about him anymore.” He gritted his teeth. “Now, he’s gotta worry about me.”
He’d always feared it, that her arrogance would make her sloppy. That she didn’t truly understand the level of ruthlessness Beckett Carter was capable of.
Even with the man’s own flesh and blood.
It was just fortunate her learning the ugly truth about her brother hadn’t ended up costing Petra her life.
Not quite, anyway.
“Rest… you just rest for me, Petra. I’ll be close. I… I need to talk to a couple of people.”
He helped lay her head back down, and she reached out, grasping his hand, squeezing it feverishly. He bent over her, holding her hand, so incredibly thankful she was still alive.
He’d come so close to…
Not now, Anson.
She smiled, then winced. “Lip hurts.”
“I know it does. We’ll get you healed up soon.”
Her gaze focused on him. “Promise me… one thing.”
“Anything… anything.”
Gods, this is torture.
“Don’t kill him. He’s… you were right about him, Anson. I should have listened to you. But… please don’t kill him.”
“I…” He choked on the words.
All he could picture was putting a bullet in Beckett Carter’s brain. The dark, immensely satisfying justice—and vengeance—he’d feel at that moment. He wanted it more than… almost anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
But the woman lying before him, begging him, meant he couldn’t indulge that impulse.
“I… it’s not up to me. Not anymore.” Saying those words was like swallowing a shot of broken glass with a magma chaser. Because he wanted to end him… more maybe than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
“Who… then?” Petra whispered.
“Yulia. It’s her… decision to make.”
She squeezed his hand again, and another tear broke, tracking down her cheek even as she smiled even bigger, despite her pain. “Something I’ve never told you, Anson. Though it’s been on my mind for such a… long time. I didn’t want to admit it, the truth.”
“Stubborn, arrogant woman.”
Both of them laughed softly.
Her gaze was warm, despite her pain, a lightness there he’d rarely seen in the woman’s eyes. “The truth is… there is so much I… should have said. Should have done. Things… could have been different. Better. Wonderful. If only…”
He shook his head. “Just rest, Petra. Rest now.”
The regret welled powerfully within him once more. And yet, it was almost a relief, to have her there. There was so much still to be said.
If you have the fucking courage, asshole.
It wouldn’t be that easy though. Pain. Hurt. Loss. It seemed the world drowned in it now.
But it didn’t have to be that way, not forever.
Maybe if…
Not now, soldier! Push it down deep. It’s not the time.
He touched her cheek, giving her a little nod. “I’ve… got to go. Got work to do. But you’re all right here. They’ll take care of you. Now, get better—that’s an order.” He set her hand down upon her chest, and rose, giving her one last look before pulling back the tent flap.
She turned her head toward him, the hint of her familiar arrogance sparkling once more in her eye. “Go make me proud. Traitor.”