Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

17. Seventeen

Seventeen

9-1-2024

Would he tell me if I asked?

-Jasmine

Up. Down. Up. Down.

I can’t tear my gaze away from the motion of Sam’s chest.

It rises and falls steadily, never faltering. Each inhale stretches the bare skin, revealing his tattoos and highlighting yet another scar I long to reach out and touch—to trace and memorize every spot they mark. It’s tempting. I lift my hand to hover over a deep, ragged scar on his chest. My whole life has been about memorizing other people’s stories, so I can only imagine the horrors that this one mark holds.

Would he tell me if I asked?

I’m sure he would, which is why I can’t despite my little red-horned companion on my shoulder saying otherwise. I direct my attention toward the bathroom and carefully lower my hand to the covers, allowing me to scoot to the edge of the bed without disturbing his sleep.

It takes a tremendous amount of willpower not to search every nook and cranny of the room for the cameras we know are monitoring the area as I tiptoe across the floor. I'm accustomed to being watched—the big, intimidating guard dog rolling to his stomach, tucking his arm under his head has done it for years, so I’m used to it.

But this feels different.

I don't get that giddy feeling in the pit of my stomach when exiting the workout room, peeling my tank top off so that only my sweat-soaked sports bra covers my torso. I’m not desperately searching for the closest banana in the mess hall just to enjoy it slowly, knowing it would provoke a reaction.

I’ve never felt so on edge, knowing Sam is watching my every move. It almost feels natural and, oddly enough, makes me feel safe. However, this situation has my stomach churning and my skin crawling, as if the eyes behind the cameras are just inches from my body, analyzing every freckle and dimple. I shudder at the uncomfortable sensation this thought brings.

The closet creaks open loudly, causing me to scrunch my nose in annoyance. I glance over at Sam to ensure he is still asleep. I vaguely remember him mentioning a meeting with Jonathan and Delilah tonight. It’s still hours away, but I look over my outfits and debate what to wear. I never realized how accustomed I was to the military routine until now.

Something is soothing about knowing what to wear and what to expect from the day. Yet, I find myself in a familiar position—unsure which blouse would be appropriate for brunch or if I should opt for a sundress for a stroll.

A smile spreads across my face as I realize that Sam and I now have something in common. I close the closet door and grab a fluffy robe hanging on the bathroom door as I step inside. Despite the feeling that creepers might be watching my every move, I go through my usual routine: stripping down and turning the water to scalding hot, letting steam fill the room until it's nearly impossible to see.

In situations like this, you can't act any differently when using a cover like we are–a perfect example is Sam's behavior last night. During most of our time together, I was convinced it was merely a hallucination; there was no way a man with his power would kneel and remove my heels from my feet as if he were worshiping a goddess. That was until his lips left mine, and he pleaded for me to go to sleep.

God, that was embarrassing .

I step out of the shower, gently drying the droplets from my skin, and I put on my robe. Standing in front of the mirror, I run the brush through my hair, feeling completely dazed. I'm trying to remind myself that, even though I'm pretending this is real, it’s nothing but part of a mission to him.

Suddenly, the door slams open, rattling the mirror on the wall. The brush slips from my fingers as I gasp in shock. Taking a steadying breath, I quickly adjust the mirror back into place and look at my reflection, only to see a pair of eyes burning through the glass, searching for mine. He always looks angry—that's nothing unusual—but the way his gaze travels down my back and then flicks to the mirror to examine my front is definitely new.

Typically, by now, he would have muttered some curses under his breath and turned away, but instead, his focus zeros in on the loose fit of my robe at my chest, exposing the curve of my breasts. I clear my throat nervously.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Darlin’. I just didn’t know where you went,” Sam murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep as he steps closer, pressing his chest against my back.

“Yeah, I figured. You always get this way after a night out.” I smile, and a hint of a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. My heart lodges in my throat when he leans over my shoulder and gently kisses my cheek.

Since when have I found raspiness and morning breath attractive?

“I can’t help it; seeing other men gawk at you puts me on edge.” His fingers brush my neck as he pulls my damp hair down my back, allowing his mouth to travel to the column of my throat. I’m left speechless, not from his actions but from the fact that I’m looking in the mirror. It's not just a glance to check if I look decent; I’m staring —taking in the image of a man larger than life, gently admiring my skin while whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

His eyes meet mine, and the soothing motion stops at my pulse point. He raises an eyebrow, nudging me back into action.

“Shouldn't you be proud to show me off?”

“If I could, I’d put a spotlight on you everywhere just so you can shine, but...” He pauses, brushing his fingers up my throat until his hand covers my mouth with the artwork of a skull tattooed on the dorsal side.

My head tilts against his shoulder, and he pulls back to admire his makeshift mask. This time, it’s not a grin but a smile revealing how his tongue traces his canine as he adds, “That doesn’t mean I can’t be a little territorial.”

He leans in, his eyes locked on mine, and his lips brush the shell of my ear. “It doesn't mean I want to share what's mine.”

Before I can stop it, a noise crawls through my throat just to be muffled, and a blush starts to creep into my cheeks from the deep and dark chuckle vibrating against my back. This jerk knows what he's doing, and it's unfair, but I can't do anything about it.

“Go fix yourself up some breakfast, Darlin’. After your little spell last night, you'll need something on your stomach.”

I nod, and he lets me go.

“Change. Now.” Sam grabs my purse from the back seat and tosses it into my lap, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Before I can ask questions, he starts dialing through the Bluetooth radio, and Tides' voice comes through.

“Smart move encrypting the text messages so they couldn't be intercepted.”

Sam scoffs. I look down at my bag and sift through it, finding my black jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and a black balaclava similar to his. I grin. I could change in the back seat, but it's payback time.

“Moe took care of all the side road cameras, and Jonathan rented a vehicle similar to yours,” Tide explains as I stretch my arms overhead, puffing out my chest so that my breasts str a in against the red lace of my bra.

“Why?” My tone is innocent, but my intentions are far from it.

Sam curses under his breath and finally glances in my direction, his eyes greedily scanning my form.

“He will ride alongside us until we can veer off. After that, they'll head to the bar we agreed on. No surveillance is allowed within the club, so all they have to do is cause a scene—fight like a married couple.” Sam grumbles, jerking his focus back to the road and tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“What's the purpose of that?” I coo.

“You'll have an alibi in place. They won't leave until you two do, and by the time you get back to the hotel, you'll continue your banter. Hopefully, if things go smoothly tonight, we'll gather the necessary information while covering our bases.”

I nod, pull my shirt over my head, and untuck my hair from the fabric. Sam lets out a breath of relief just as a car similar to ours pulls into the lane to our right.

“I'm going to bring Moe in now. You'll have to walk him through which cameras to put on a loop, but other than that, he stayed up all night memorizing the structure.” Tide says, but I focus on our movements, weaving in front of them so their car can weave back in front of ours. It's like shuffling cards and telling someone to pick up the one they saw first.

“Sounds good. Getting a good view of the layout on my phone was difficult, but I believe if we go through the back entrance, we will have a straight shot to the main office.”

As Sam speaks, we turn down a separate road, but my brain is throbbing, trying to process how fast that happened.

“Wait, where are we even going?” I finally process that, just like usual, I'm a step behind—underprepared and thrown into a fire without an extinguisher.

“Bravetti Mansion. That boy last night was too composed and collected, nothing like his friend. He acts like he has something to lose,” Sam grumbles, then raises his hand as if trying to silence me.

“Transferring you guys over.” Sam continues, but I interrupt him before he can say anything else.

“Don’t,” I say, smacking his hand from the air so it falls forward and out of my face.

“Do that,” I warn slowly.

His palm hovers over the cup holders, frozen as he studies his hand, then glances back at me, flicking his gaze across my features as if he's trying to understand where my temper is coming from. I’ve been silenced enough in my life. He won't be added to the list of people who have done that to me.

“Of course he does. It's obvious he's not the perfect citizen.” I mumble under my breath as I look out the window, trying to avoid addressing what just happened. Clearing his throat, Sam picks up our earbuds and hands me one, which I quickly push into my ear.

“He can keep his petty criminal activities to himself. We just need answers about what's coming, and he seemed to know a lot about the ball.”

“But we don’t know if anything is coming,” I reply.

Sam rubs his hand over his face and parks the car among a line of trees. “Little devil. Please use that pretty little head of yours for a moment. If something is about to happen, our chances of knowing lie in that building.”

He tilts his head toward the front windshield, and I follow the motion to the soft glow fighting through the brush. “If we don’t find anything, we’re back to square one.”

“Ah, you two will be fine. In and out.” Moe interjects.

Sam leans in my direction, his fingers brushing my cheekbone as he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Hear that? In and out. We’re almost done with all of this,” he murmurs. For some reason, that disappoints me, and I feel a twinge of fear at the thought. I open my mouth to speak, but Sam grabs the mask from my hands and slides it over my head.

“Alright, Sam, there are two guards up front. They do rounds in five-minute intervals and then alternate with the one at the back. You also have a maid in the kitchen and a woman pacing upstairs.” Moe's voice goes serious , and the clacking of a keyboard vibrates my eardrum.

“Alright, we need to find the opening at the back.” Sam pulls his mask on while I tuck my hair and the hem into my shirt.

“It seems like a tight squeeze, but I can loop the footage when you enter and then let it resume.”

Sam slides out of the car, and I follow, rounding to the trunk, where he pops it open. He pulls out our tactical vests and tries to put one on me, but I smack his hands away.

“Alright, we’re on the move,” Sam grumbles, looking me over again before leading us over leaves and broken branches. I feel around my vest, ensuring I have all the necessary equipment. Even though I know Sam packed our gear, I’m still running a mental checklist in my head.

Pistols, bullets, magazines. Check. Smoke grenades, night vision goggles, flares. Check. First aid kit—

“Feels like recon in the desert all over again,” Tide laughs, cutting off my thoughts. Seizing the opportunity, I glance at Sam, but it's harder than ever to read his expression with the mask on.

There’s a grunt but no response.

“That was the first mission Father let me witness. It was bloody insane. I still don’t know how you found Terrell in the woods.” Tide continues, but his words are slower this time. There’s a subtle flex in Sam’s hand around the trunk as he squats to look at what seems to be a vast garden.

“I got my callsign that day,” Sam mutters.

“I didn’t get to watch, but Father said it was because once you have your sights on someone, it’s like a red X highlights their chest, and there’s nothing they can do to hide from you,” Moe says quietly, clearing his throat as if he wants to say more but refrains.

There’s a moment of silence before Tide speaks again. “Like a reaper.”

Sam turns his head in my direction. For a moment, it seems like he’s trying to gauge whether I’m listening, but his focus is on my knees, making it feel like he’s lost in his thoughts.

I lower myself into a squat, hoping to draw his attention, but his gaze remains downcast. I don’t like this internal moment he’s having. I can manage not knowing what’s going through his mind, but it feels almost like he’s completely shut down. His fists flex against his lap, and his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing, reminiscent of the way he had Jeremy in his grasp. I try to change the subject.

“What’s my callsign?” I ask quietly. Sam’s head jerks as if my voice startled him, and he clears his throat to cover it up.

“You already know the answer to that,” he grumbles, looking away while raising a finger to point. I follow his gesture to see a guard rounding the corner to replace another disappearing around the bend.

“‘Jasmine’ is no fun. Everyone else’s callsigns have meaning.” I mutter as I glance down at my watch to start a timer.

“Jasmine comes from the Persian word ‘Yasmin.’” Sam whispers, but it’s so quiet that I unintentionally lean closer to hear him better as the numbers flip on the screen.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Gift from God.” My brows furrow as I turn my head towards him, finding his face just inches away from mine.

“I thought you said I was—”

“The devil was an angel once, too, you know.”

Suddenly, my watch begins vibrating against my wrist, causing me to look at it in surprise.

“Seven and a half minutes.” Tide says, while Moe continues, “That’s a five-minute shift. It only gives you a minute and a half at most to get in without being spotted.”

Sam stands up, wrapping his hand around my bicep, and pulls me around some brush until we’re crouched by a large water fountain.

“Moe, systems down on my count,” he mutters quietly.

Slowly, he begins counting down from ten, but my mind feels hazy with each number. I’ve been desperate to focus on our assignment, do right, and prove to everyone that I can be a valuable asset to this team. The only person I thought who recognized that was Sharkie.

She used her words to express what I needed to hear. I never thought to analyze every little move, glance, or word from Sam because I always figured—

“Systems off.”

My body kicks into gear faster than Sam’s, and I rush in front of him, ducking behind large flower bushes and weaving over the stone pathway until my hand is on the handle.

“Clear. Nice and easy,” Sam whispers, so I ease the door open and slip through the small opening. The crunch of leaves makes my heart race, but Sam shuts the barrier before they get louder and we make a straight line toward a large, dark oak wood door.

I don’t need to prove anything because the people who matter see it, but I will show them that I’m worth it. They can trust me now.

“In,” Sam says quietly as he shuts the door behind us. The large room stretches out like a dining room but with bookshelves lining the walls instead of decorations and lush couches instead of tables and chairs.

There’s clutter on one of the sofas that looks like someone sleeps there occasionally, but I hurry around the room to the desk instead of examining the contents and quickly load up the screen while Sam peeks through the curtains and surveys the area.

After several attempts, I let out a shaky exhale.

“I can't get in.”

“Jasmine, do you have that lipstick tube Sharkie gave you?”

I tap my hands along my vest, pull out the lipstick, and nod in response, knowing he can see me through the camera.

“Put it in. I can hack the system from here and download the data,” Moe urges. So, I peel off the color and expose the USB before inserting it into the drive.

“We’re losing time, Moe,” Sam grumbles. I pace behind the screen, studying the flashing hues as it seems to unlock itself, pulling up multiple files before exiting and entering others.

“I can download this shit, but it's all useless.” Moe's words are like a static whisper. Sam loses his patience and starts rummaging through drawers, tossing guns in one around to reveal there's nothing more than weapons, then moves on to the next.

“If they have a decent security system, this will alarm someone. I’m already at seventy percent of this useless shit, so look for paper files while you still have time.” Moe bites out.

Sam freezes and lifts a stack of papers, revealing copies of smaller letters on each sheet. I step beside him, peeking over his shoulder.

“Found it. They're using the ball as an opportunity to expose information.” Relief is almost laced in Sam's voice.

“Grab the files and get out. I was right; I set off a trigger. They'll already know someone’s been in. Just. Go.” Moe yells.

Sam shoves the papers under his vest as I yank the USB from the port, and his hand instantly wraps around my arm, dragging me from the room with his pistol raised. I gasp for breath, feeling like I'm suffocating, but the mask makes it almost impossible to breathe properly.

“They're rushing the first floor; there are more guards—find another way out!”

Sam shoves me into another room and starts working on a window, but he lets out an aggravated growl when it doesn't budge.

“Security systems…they’re, uh—they’re going back up. I can’t get through.” Moe mutters quietly, his voice choppy. It’s not static that signals a lost connection, but rather, it's almost as if his breathing mirrors mine—panicked.

“I’m gone for fucking forty minutes–” I can make out Sharkie's voice, but it cuts out. Raising my gun, I slowly back away from the door. My head darts to the window as Sam tries slamming the butt of his gun against the lock.

“It’s okay,” Sharkie whispers, but the cracking of the window busting cuts the voices off.

“Get out!” Tide finally yells through, and I rush over to Sam's side, but I'm stopped when his hands clasp tight on either side of my face, and his head is against mine.

“ Breathe.” Sharkie's voice soothes, but I don't think it’s us she's talking to.

A crash hits the door, so I flinch, but he draws a deep breath, and I match it.

“Aim for the brush; it'll cushion your fall. Once down there, run. Don't you dare wait a fucking minute.”

I open my mouth to say anything, but the door flings open, and suddenly I'm falling backward. Branches and spikes from leaves dig into the few areas exposed from my vest, but it's not enough to stop me from rolling off, pulling out my pistol, and aiming it at the window.

Sam throws punch after punch at a man, but another climbs onto his back. It is fascinating in a horrifying way–he plows through each body that comes at him, but how many can he genuinely handle on his own?

Everyone goes still as Sam raises his hands, slowly turning his attention toward me. Although I can sense the warning in his gaze, I am frozen. The dim moonlight reflects off a cool metal surface pointed at the back of his head. Slowly, I raise my gun.

I have a shot; all it’d take is pulling the trigger, but Sams's back quickly turns towards me, and I fire without thinking.

I know I’ve perfected my aim, but it doesn’t stop me from watching as one body drops and the other tumbles back, freefalling until it lands on the bush at my feet.