Chapter 12 #2
The transformation hit like a physical blow.
She wore a sweaterdress in deep green that hugged curves I’d memorized, ending slightly below her knees.
It fit perfectly, like Oliver had somehow known her exact measurements.
The thought of how he’d acquired that information made my vision edge red.
In her hands, she carried her other clothes, folded with the precision of someone following orders.
“Much better,” Oliver purred, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “You look absolutely lovely, my dear. Feminine. Refined. As a woman should be.”
Even Bishop turned to look, his expression unreadable behind that perpetual military bearing. I tracked her movement back toward the table, cataloging every tell. Her breathing—too shallow. The muscle jumping in her jaw. The way she held those folded clothes like armor.
Oliver tsked. “The shoes, dear. You forgot the shoes.”
She hesitated, then produced black heels from under the clothes. “They’re too small. I’ll just wear my Converse.”
“Nonsense.” Oliver’s tone sharpened to a blade. “They’ll stretch. You should wear them today, practice for tomorrow. You’ll be in heels tomorrow night at the Gathering.”
“I’d rather—”
“The other women tomorrow night will be properly dressed. I wouldn’t want you to feel self-conscious.” The words carried weight, implications about entertainment that made my hand drift toward my weapon.
“If she wants to keep her regular shoes, let her. At least she looks like a woman now rather than a swamp rat.” I forced myself to turn back to my food.
Oliver nodded toward Bishop. “We’ll have your other clothes laundered and returned.”
“That’s not—” Mia started.
“I insist.” Bishop walked over and took the clothes as Mia sat back down. “We must maintain certain standards here, even in our rustic environment.”
The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of scraping silverware and rising wind.
The windows shook in their frames, and I could hear something metal banging repeatedly outside—probably a loose sheet on one of the storage buildings.
Oliver ate methodically, unhurried despite the weather, occasionally glancing at Mia like she was a puzzle he was solving.
Finally, he set down his fork and checked his expensive Swiss watch.
“I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave you.” He stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his shirt. “We want to beat the storm, and it’s coming in faster than expected. These mountain roads become treacherous in bad weather.”
Good. Maybe he would do the world a service and have the decency to die in a car accident.
Oliver moved toward the door, then turned back with calculated precision. His hand reached out, fingers sliding through Mia’s hair with the casual ownership of someone touching their belongings.
I watched her lock every muscle to keep from flinching. Watched her eyes go somewhere else, somewhere safe inside her head where his touch couldn’t reach. My vision tunneled. The Glock pressed against my spine, begging to be used.
One shot. That’s all it would take to end this. I could kill Oliver, and he’d never touch her again.
But even if I got both him and Bishop, it wouldn’t be enough. Oliver had too many men. If there was a way to shoot our way out of this compound and make it out alive, I would’ve already tried.
“You’ll look beautiful tomorrow night,” Oliver murmured, fingers lingering at the ends of her hair. “The entertainment is always the highlight of these gatherings. I can hardly wait.”
His fingers released her, and he swept out. “Behave yourself while I’m gone, Coop. Both of you.”
The threat in his words was subtle but clear.
Bishop fell in behind him like a well-trained dog.
Through the window, I watched them load into the black Suburban—Oliver in the back like visiting royalty, Bishop driving, Anderson and Briggs flanking Oliver in the back seat.
Only when the engine faded completely did I remember to breathe.
“Let’s go,” I said, voice rougher than intended. Mia hadn’t touched a bit of her food. Normally, I would press—she needed the calories—but right now, I wanted to get her out of here.
We walked back toward our cabin in silence until we were far enough from the main building that I felt safe speaking. Wind whipped Mia’s dress against her legs, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Not from cold—from memory.
“When you were changing in Oliver’s room, did you look around? Try to search anything?” I needed to know if damage control was necessary.
“No.” Her voice came out small but certain. “I figured he was recording. The dress… I had to get completely undressed to put it on. I knew they were watching.”
The image of her vulnerable, exposed to Oliver’s cameras while she changed, made my hands curl into fists. But she’d been smart, so damn smart. “You did exactly right.”
We stopped at the edge of the compound, watching dust swirl where the Suburban had disappeared down the mountain road.
Lightning flickered in the approaching clouds.
Through the rising wind, I could hear Snake shouting orders near the weapons bunker, Diesel’s laugh carrying from somewhere near the training grounds.
Oliver was gone, but his men remained, always watching.
“We could search his office,” Mia said quietly, something desperate creeping into her voice. “While he’s gone. Everyone’s getting ready for the storm, hunkering down. Probably no one would notice.”
She was right. This was the perfect opportunity—Oliver gone, his personal security reduced, everyone distracted by storm prep. I could get into his office, find documentation about the weapons sales, buyer lists, anything that would help the investigation.
“You’re right,” I agreed, already planning the approach. “This is excellent timing.”
We started back toward the main lodge, moving casually like we were just seeking shelter from the rising wind. The gathering darkness from the storm would provide additional cover. But as we reached the lodge’s shadow, that familiar cold settled in my gut.
That feeling from Kandahar, from Fallujah. The silence before an IED detonated.
I stopped walking, trying to identify what my gut was telling me. I looked around. Everything looked normal—men securing the compound, the storm approaching. Oliver gone with his security detail. For the first time since we got here, nobody was paying much attention to us.
That meant we should proceed, right?
But that familiar warning—tight as a fist around my spine—insisted disaster hovered just a breath away. Something was off. This felt too easy. Too perfect.
Mia’s big brown eyes stared up at me. The wind whipped at her hair, her dress. Shoes notwithstanding, she looked like she was ready to entertain guests. To be the perfect trophy hostess. Exactly what Oliver wanted.
That didn’t surprise me. He’d already proven himself freaky as fuck.
What surprised me was that he’d left immediately after arranging his little doll in her pretty dress. That was what wasn’t sitting right in my gut.
I pulled Mia closer, pretending to shield her from the wind while my fingers ran along the collar of her dress, searching for what I was almost certain had to be there. My fingertips found it—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. A small disk, no bigger than a button.
A tracker.
Not recording us, just showing our location. If we went anywhere unexpected—Oliver’s office, the weapons cache, anywhere outside our established pattern—he’d know instantly.
This whole morning had been theater. The clothes, the breakfast invitation, leaving us here seemingly unguarded. All of it designed to see if we’d take the bait.
I showed her the device, watched comprehension dawn in her eyes, followed by something worse—the last thread snapping.
Her hands started to shake. Really shake, not the fine tremors from before but full-body shudders.
Her breathing went ragged. Another surveillance device.
Another test. Another vulnerable situation where she’d had to strip naked while strangers watched.
Another close call that could’ve ended with both of us dead.
She was done.
“I can’t,” she whispered, and it was the first time she’d admitted it out loud. “Coop, I can’t do this anymore.”
She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to hold herself together through sheer will. But I could see her fracturing, could see the strong, smart woman who’d survived this long finally hitting her absolute limit.
Thunder rolled across the mountains. The first fat drops of rain hit the dirt, each one heavy with the promise of the deluge to come.
I looked at the tracker in my hand. At the storm building overhead. At Mia coming apart in front of me, needing just a few hours of peace, of safety, of being somewhere she could breathe without performing for hidden eyes. She needed to reset before she lost her grip on her tightly held control.
Fuck all of this. I was going to give her what she needed.