This Means War

11. - LUIS -

eleven

- LUIS -

T he mid-afternoon lull was always deceptive. People moved with purpose, their conversations short and efficient, but the undercurrent of tension was always there. I had been reviewing a list of updated protocols for the third time, trying to convince myself I hadn’t already memorized it when my phone buzzed on the desk beside me.

Monica: Can you meet me in the parking garage? Level C

Short, professional, and vague. Monica didn’t pick random locations or send cryptic messages so there has to be a reason. Level C wasn’t just any spot; people always grumbled about how that’s where their car’s radio would cut out. All that concrete made for an accidental signal blocker, and was the safest place to talk without prying ears. Whatever this was, it mattered.

I grabbed my jacket and moved quickly through the maze of offices and security checkpoints. The hum of conversation faded as I descended the stairwell, the rhythm of my boots on the concrete keeping me sharp.

When I stepped onto Level C, the dimly lit expanse of the parking garage stretched before me, quiet except for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Monica stood near a central column, arms crossed, her phone held loosely in one hand. Even in the low light, her poise was striking, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.

“Luis,” she said as I approached, her voice low but steady. “Wasn’t sure if I missed your reply.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, scanning the space briefly before focusing on her.

She looked around, ensuring we were alone. “I needed somewhere secure to talk,” she said, calm but deliberate. “Somewhere without any interruptions.” She hesitated, just for a moment, before continuing. “I’ve been thinking about some things...”

The words hit like a shiver, rippling through me and making my pulse race faster. “What kind of things?” I asked, keeping my tone even.

Her eyes didn’t waver. “You’ve been here how long now? A year?”

“Just over,” I replied cautiously.

“And yet, you seem to handle situations that most people in your role wouldn’t even be trained for.” She tilted her head slightly, her voice sharpening just enough to feel like a scalpel. “You don’t flinch. You anticipate. You adapt in ways that aren’t just analytical. That’s not typical.”

I shrugged, forcing a casual tone. “You think I don’t take my job seriously?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she countered. “I think you’re good at your job. But I also think there’s more to you than you let on.”

For a moment, only the faint rustle of the wind broke the silence. I could feel the weight of her expression, cutting and unyielding.

“You’ve got an active imagination.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes stayed steady. “That so?”

She shifted, the soft click of her heel breaking the silence. “Here’s the thing, Luis. I don’t need to know the details. But I do need to know I can trust you.”

Her comment hit harder than expected, settling in my chest like a weight. Trust wasn’t something Monica handed out lightly, and neither did I.

“You can,” I said, meeting her gaze head-on. “And I want to trust you too.”

“Don’t you?”

“What are you trying to say?”

Monica studied me for a moment longer, her face unreadable. Then, with a small nod, she relaxed slightly, though the tension in the air didn’t entirely dissipate. “Most people don’t have two jobs when they work somewhere like this,” she said, her voice softening just enough to feel like a shift in the tide.

She knew.

To some degree at least. She glanced at her phone, and my eyes followed to see she was checking the time before we caught each other’s gaze again. Her lips curled into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Rafael.”

The name was like a spark, lighting up the silence between us. I stiffened, but Monica’s conviction didn’t falter.

“What about him?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

Her smile widened. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she held up a hand. “Relax. I’m not judging you.” Her head tilted, studying me as if piecing together a puzzle. “I understand more than you realize.”

“How?”

Her hand came to rest on my chest, the touch meant to be friendly, but it sent a jolt through me, making me inhale sharply. I wasn’t sure if it was the weight of her hand or the precision of her words, but suddenly it felt like the ground beneath me was unsteady.

“I heard it,” Monica said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “in the way you asked if he was with anyone.”

Her words settled between us like a carefully placed card in a house of glass. I couldn’t look at her at first, couldn’t meet the quiet certainty in her eyes. Instead, I glanced down, my focus zeroing in on the curve of her fingers against my chest, steady and unshaken.

Wordlessly, I lifted her hand in mine, the motion slow, deliberate. Her palm was warm against my skin, her pulse reliable in a way that made me feel anything but. My fingers curled around hers, holding her hand like it was fragile even though she wasn’t.

“Monica,” I started, my voice strained, thick with words I wasn’t sure I could ever say out loud.

She didn’t pull her hand away, didn’t move except to tilt her head slightly, her gaze soft but unyielding. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she said, her tone still so kind.

The air between us felt too thin, the weight of her words pressing down on me. Her hand lingered in mine, neither of us moving, as though any motion would shatter the precarious balance.

“You should be with me instead,” I managed, though my voice betrayed me, cracking slightly under the pressure.

Monica smiled faintly, a hint of sadness tugging at the corners of her mouth.

My chest tightened the space between us shrinking even as I wanted to pull myself back. Her hand in mine was steady, and grounding, and it felt like if I let go I’d be completely undressed.

“You’re too good at this,” she said softly.

“At what?” I asked, with the best teasing tone I could muster.

“Whatever you call this,” she said, squeezing my hand so subtly I easily could have missed it.

Her words cut through the silence like a blade, leaving me speechless. I looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, I wondered if she could hear the pounding of my heart.

Before I could respond, a faint scuff against the concrete broke the stillness from the far end of the garage. The sound was small, but it carried in within the quiet moment.

Monica’s head snapped toward the source, her posture rigid, her breath hitching just enough for me to notice. Instinct took over, and I stepped in front of her without thinking, my body blocking hers as I scanned the shadows ahead. My arm stretched back slightly, a silent barrier between her and whatever—or whoever—was out there.

“Stay here,” I said, my voice low but firm.

“Luis—”

“I’ve got this,” I said firmly, glancing over my shoulder. “Don’t move.”

She hesitated, her phone clutched tightly in her hand, but she nodded.

I moved quickly but carefully, weaving through the rows of parked cars. The shadows stretched long under the dim fluorescent lights, every movement amplified by the eerie stillness. My pulse quickened, but my focus sharpened.

Then I saw him—a figure darting between two columns, heading for the stairwell.

“Hey!” I called, breaking into a sprint.

The man didn’t hesitate, bolting for the exit as I closed the distance. He darted toward the elevator hallway, his footsteps frantic as he glanced over his shoulder, realizing I was closing in. The faint buzz of the garage lights hummed in the background, but the noise of our chase—his running and my pursuit filled the air.

As he reached the door to the elevators, his fingers just barely brushing the buttons, I knew there was no way one would arrive fast enough.

To my horror, however, an elevator started to open all on its own with a happy little ding before he vanished inside.

The scuffling from the elevator was all wrong. It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a struggle. Rather a near comedic a waving of limbs that tried to retreat before the doors closed followed by a loud clang, and a yelp that sounded near slapstick.

I glanced at Monica, shifting my weight, and preparing for whatever the hell this was. The stairs would be our best bet, but then the elevator doors pinged open once more.

I took a half-step back, ready to protect her. The first thing that came out wasn’t a man—it was a mess.

The black jacket and sneakers of the figure tumbled out of the elevator, arms flailing, legs twisting mid-fall as if they had no idea where they were going. The gun—yes, a gun—clattered across the floor with a ridiculous clink before sliding to another elevator door like it was trying to make a cleaner escape.

Once the man was on the ground. He rolled over like a flipped turtle, reaching for the weapon that was no longer attached to him.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or shove him into a broom closet and wait for someone with cuffs. But I didn’t have time for either.

The noise from earlier made sense now—it wasn’t a scuffle or a struggle. It was a whole ass scene as Rafael walked out of the elevator with an air of confidence that made me want to groan in frustration.

The dark tones of his military camo clinging to his frame like he built his body around them. The jagged angles of the pattern only emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, the taper of his waist, and the way his every movement contained a muscle group only he could name.

His boots thudded softly against the floor, the polished leather catching just enough light to make it clear he knew exactly how to make an entrance. Damn it. Why did he have to look like he’d just walked off the set of some over-the-top recruitment ad?

The cocky tilt of his head and the faint smirk tugging at his lips didn’t help either. And I hated how my stomach tightened at the sight—two parts jealousy and one part the weak urge to drop to my knees.

He strolled forward with his usual nonchalance, his expression calm but full of purpose. His eyes flicked over to the tangled mess of a man and me, his gaze not quite surprised, but amused in that infuriatingly easy way he had.

Rafael reached forward and yanked the stranger upright, his grip firm as he steadied him, one hand wrapping around his wrist while the other grabbed his jacket and pushed him back against the wall of the elevator hallway.

“Who sent you?” Raf growled, his patience thinning.

The man’s face was twisted in panic, his breath coming in quick, sharp bursts. “You don’t know what you’re involved in,” he rasped, eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape route.

“Try me,” he shot back, twisting the man’s wrist until he grunted in pain.

“The fuck did you find out?” I said voice tinged with something playfully confused. “I thought you said you had security all yourself.”

“Maybe I just wanted an audience,” he muttered back without looking my way.

The man, still flailing to get free like he was stuck in an action movie blooper reel, gathered some semblance of resolve as he turned to face Rafael. “Fuck you, man.”

Rafael’s smile only deepened. “Not interested, but I think we need to have a little chat.” He slowly leaned in, his tone now deadly serious. “And this time, I’m not going to let you dance around it first.”

I heard the sharp click of Monica’s heels against the concrete as she took a cautious step forward. Glancing back, I gave her a quick nod, signaling it was safe to come over.

She hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze darting from Raf and me before she crossed the distance. When she reached my side, she didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand slipped into mine. It wasn’t just a ruse; but as if anchoring herself with the quiet reassurance.

I glanced over at her, searching her face. Her expression was calm, but her grip tightened slightly once more, and I realized she wanted the connection as much as I did.

“Are you okay?” she asked Raf, her voice spiking a bit from the shock of everything.

“Yeah,” Rafael nodded, “Sorry about the security breach.”

“Security breach?” she laughed, raising an eyebrow. “It was a hell of a way to make an entrance.”

He grinned over at her. “Seriously you two, go. I’ll explain later tonight.”

“Let’s go,” I murmured, giving her hand a subtle tug. And to my surprise, she nodded and soon her confidence pulled me along.