Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Sixty-Four

Juniper

S ix hours.

It took me six hours to learn three things about a Navy SEAL turned Alpha Elite Security personnel.

He flew like he fucked—silent and with precision.

He could go six hours with only speaking five words. Eat. Drink. Fucking hydrate, woman.

And he made me feel safer than any other person in the entire world, ever. He made me feel safe, period.

I didn’t touch the protein bar because I couldn’t eat in front of him. I couldn’t eat in front of any man. But the way he flew, the quiet commanding presence he gave off, the dominance in his voice, his scent, the sound of his breathing through the headset—it blanketed me in a feeling of safety I couldn’t begin to describe.

Except to say that it was so intoxicating, it was cruel.

Because I knew it couldn’t last. I knew I wouldn’t stay in Montana, and whatever he had planned for what remained of this whole insane day, it would come to an end.

That last thought was what hurt the most. It hurt so much, it kept pushing against that comfort bubble of safety as we soared above the clouds like it was us against the world.

I loved the Cessna Conquest.

I loved being in it with him.

I loved feeling like no one could touch us.

And I didn’t even care that I was starving and thirsty. It was like everything in Miami, my entire life, all the bad and not good and just mediocre, it had floated away the moment we were in the air. I hadn’t asked any more questions. I didn’t think about what was happening or why. I just breathed and watched the endless sky and the SEAL pilot his plane.

Then we’d landed, and the bubble burst.

He’d ushered me through freezing temps into a waiting truck that was so new, it only had a few hundred miles on it. His demeanor had gone from the watchful pilot on the plane to the aggressively dominant SEAL in the alley, and my mood had plummeted.

It plummeted even more when he pulled into a chain store parking lot.

“I can’t go in there.” I was in a tank top, leggings, and thankfully my Uggs, but it was freezing, and there were people and cameras everywhere in there.

“Wasn’t going to let you.” Taking his gun from the holster at the small of his back, Blade dropped the magazine, checked it, then slammed it back home. “Keep the heat on.” He shoved the gun back into its holster and pulled his T-shirt over it. “Be right back.” Leaving the engine running, he got out of the cab with the key fob, slammed the door shut, then beeped the alarm to lock me in.

Panic and incredulous anger slapped me in the face harder than the blast of cold air.

Grabbing my purse and digging for the new cell phone, I latched on to it and powered it up with righteous anger that’d been simmering for six hours in a pot that’d been set on the fire the moment I was born.

Then I stared at the slick, new smartphone that wasn’t purple.

What was I going to do?

Who was I going to call?

Him? AES? A number Reena no longer had? A shot-up coffeehouse in Little Havana that hopefully had boarded windows by now?

I wanted to kick at the dashboard and the door.

I wanted to kick the fucking world.

And I wanted to pretend that my time in Miami wasn’t up. That I didn’t have to run after this. That I didn’t have to start all over again with finding a new place, a new ID, and a new level of suck all because I’d made the wrong choice at seventeen.

I wanted to pretend a lot of shit, but I couldn’t.

I needed to stop being stupid and start thinking about how the hell I was going to get out of here and get my Jeep back—when I wasn’t locked in a stupidly nice brand-new truck.

I kicked at the glove box, and my door flew open.

I screeched in shock and reared back as a giant SEAL looked down at me with steel-cold eyes.

“You’re fucking kicking my truck now?” He tossed a grocery bag at my feet, then tucked a black puffer jacket under his arm before ripping off the tags on a pink hoodie.

“You locked me in here,” I accused, already shivering.

“I locked everyone else out,” he corrected, holding up the hoodie. “Put this on.”

“No.” Embarrassment flared so bright it became anger. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You think I haven’t seen this before?” I glanced at the clothes with irrational, misplaced disgust. “I’m not a charity case or some pet project. I don’t need you to buy me clothes. I’m not going to be indebted to you or anyone else.”

“What the fuck?”

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t say shit about debt or charity. Its forty fucking degrees. You’re in a goddamn tank top.”

“And you’re letting all the heat out.”

For a split second, he stared at me. Then he tossed the clothes on my lap and slammed the door.

I didn’t move.

He got behind the wheel, but when he spoke, his voice came out different, quieter. “You think if you don’t talk about it, this shit doesn’t exist?”

I dug a hole. “What shit? My life? Thanks, I know it exists. Or it did before you kidnapped me and locked me in a car. So, yes, as a matter of fact, I don’t think this—whatever this is—will exist if we don’t talk about it.”

“That’s fucking insane.”

“Then take me back to my Jeep and give me my keys.” Screw him.

I saw him take the breath, and I should’ve heeded that as a warning and braced myself, but I didn’t. So when his next words came, they slammed into the weakest part of my defenses.

“You don’t want to fucking trust me, woman? Fine. Don’t trust me. But put the goddamn clothes on before you fucking freeze to death, because I didn’t fly your ass out of the fire so you could die of exposure.” He threw the truck in Drive and gunned it.

I put on the pink hoodie that matched my Uggs.

It fit perfectly.