This scene takes place in the middle of Fighting For Valor. Warning: There are major spoilers for Fighting For Valor here. But, the real point of this scene is to show you how Ripper and Graham became friends. If you’ve read Braving His Past, you know that the two of them had some pretty deep conversations in that book, and this scene is part of the reason why.
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Turkmenistan
Graham
After being awake for more than twenty-four hours, Dax, Ryker, and Trevor are finally asleep in the main room of the apartment. Inara’s on the roof, and West is by the lone window peering through a crack in the drapes.
My job? To watch Ripper. He’s been mostly out of it since Ryker told him Faruk was dead, but his hand rests on the hilt of the knife Ryker used to kill the asshole, so I’m guzzling coffee like it’s water.
From a couple of the stories Dax and Ryker told on the flight over here, Ripper is—was—as lethal as they are. He may be dehydrated, malnourished, and half-dead, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t end me with one panicked swipe of the blade.
It took three of us to handle him when he woke up the first time, disoriented and terrified. West and I managed to clean him up and get him into a pair of fleece pants and a t-shirt, and the scars all over the man’s body…I can’t imagine what he’s been through.
I drain the last of the coffee and head out to the kitchen for another. West spares me the briefest of glances, and at his raised brow, I bring him a refill too.
“You want out of there?” he asks quietly.
“Nah.” I lean forward to make sure Ripper hasn’t moved, then return my focus to the former SEAL. “I need to say something. Sir.”
“Peck, you call me ‘sir’ one more time and you’ll regret it.” Something flickers in his eyes for a split second, and I swallow hard. “What is it?”
“Back at the compound. When Ryker…ended Faruk?”
“Yeah?”
I force my shoulders back, standing almost at full attention. Ryker might be in charge, but what the SEAL says goes, and I need him to understand that I’m serious. “Don’t tell me to turn around again.”
He holds my stare, unblinking, in that way only a SEAL can. I swear they must teach that in BUD/S. A second before I’m about to look away, he nods, and when he speaks, even though it’s barely above a whisper, I hear the respect in his voice. “Roger that.”
When I walk into the single bedroom, I freeze with one hand on the back of the chair.
Ripper stares at me, unmoving, his deep blue eyes bloodshot. “Who…are…you?” He fights for every word, the muscles in his neck tensing like he wants to sit up.
“Graham.” I set the coffee cup on the old, scuffed bedside table and pull the chair closer. “I work with Ryker at Hidden Agenda.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but his gaze goes to the coffee.
“Want some?”
Again, silence, but I’ve gotten pretty good at reading faces over the past six months. He doesn’t trust me—or himself. When he licks his lips and winces, I scoot forward, pausing just before I touch him. “I’m going to help you sit up, okay?”
Ripper manages a nod, and I slide my arm under his shoulders. He groans softly, but once he’s sitting up, I offer him the coffee cup, then support his shaking hands as he takes a sip.
“Fuck. This is real,” he whispers.
“The coffee? Yeah. West won’t go on any mission without his single origin beans.”
Ripper’s brows furrow, and he blinks hard, then takes another sip. “West…is the SEAL.”
“Yeah. And Inara’s a former Ranger sniper.”
“Sniper. Inara. Got it. Where…did you come from?” His voice is fading, and if he stays conscious another few minutes, I’ll be shocked. The man needs calories, big time, but I think he needs normalcy even more. And sitting here, drinking coffee? It’s probably the most normal thing he’s capable of doing at the moment.
“Coast Guard.”
Ripper sets the cup down and closes his eyes. “You’re just…a kid.”
“I only served three years. But I’ve been on nine missions with Hidden Agenda.“
His fingers flex on top of the blankets, and he shifts slightly, looking around the room, then lowers his gaze.
“Ripper?”
He chokes back what might be a sob, and I reach out, my hand on his shoulder.
“You’re safe here, Sergeant Richards. West and Inara are on watch. Ryker, Dax, and Trevor are right in the next room. I can get them—“
“No.” The single word is a desperate plea.
“Okay. What do you need?” Whatever it is…he doesn’t want to ask Ryker for it.
“Gotta piss.”
Oh. Shit. There’s no way he’s strong enough to walk—or even stand on his own. “I’ll help you.”