Chapter 15 #2
I push inside her and the sensation overwhelms everything else—tight heat that makes my vision white out, her body yielding and accepting me in one slow, perfect slide.
She cries out, the sound raw and unguarded, her spine arching as her head falls back.
Her hands scramble for purchase on the cold metal bench, nails scraping against steel, and I catch her before she can fall.
My arms wrap around her back, pulling her flush against my chest as I start to move.
The rhythm is rough, unpolished, driven by desperation rather than skill.
Each thrust rocks her against me, the metal bench groaning beneath us.
Her legs lock around my waist, heels digging into my back, urging me deeper.
I can feel every breath she takes, every small sound caught in her throat, every flutter of muscle as her body responds to mine.
"Look at me," I order. "I love you." The words tear out of me, raw and unplanned. "I love you, Willa. I love you and I'm terrified I'm going to get you killed."
Her hands frame my face, thumbs tracing my scars. "I love you too. And you're not getting me killed. We're going to survive this. Both of us."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." She kisses me hard, then pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "I love you, Kane. Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that. I love you and I'm not afraid of dying beside you. I'm only afraid of dying without having said it."
The words are out now, true and terrifying, and there's no taking them back.
I make love to her with everything I have. My hands memorizing the curve of her waist, the taste of her skin, the way she gasps my name. If this is our last night, I want to burn every detail into memory.
When she comes apart in my arms, gasping my name, I follow seconds later, emptying myself inside her like I can leave something permanent, something that proves this moment existed.
We stay locked together for a long moment, neither of us willing to break the connection.
My forehead rests against hers, our breathing harsh and uneven in the armory's silence.
The cold metal bench digs into my knees but I don't move.
Don't want to move. This is real—her warmth, her heartbeat against my chest, the way her fingers trace gentle patterns on my shoulders.
The armory is cold but I'm burning, skin slick with sweat, heart hammering.
"Come back to me," she whispers against my neck. "Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise." The words are easy. Keeping them will be the hardest thing I've ever done. "We both walk out of that facility alive."
"Damn right we do," she says, echoing my own words from days ago.
We clean up in silence, getting dressed, trying to look like we didn't just declare love and have desperate sex on an armory workbench. But when we're fully clothed and armed again, she catches my hand.
"I meant it," she says. "I love you."
"I meant it too." I pull her close one more time, breathing her in. "And when this is over, when we've stopped the Committee and saved those people, I'm going to spend every day proving it."
"I'll hold you to that."
We walk back to quarters hand in hand, pretending tomorrow isn't coming.
But we get four hours. Four hours where I hold her, where her breathing evens out into sleep, where I can pretend this is normal and we're normal and tomorrow won't come with bullets and blood.
Four hours isn't enough. But it's what we get.
The briefing at 2200 is quiet. Everyone knows the stakes. Everyone knows this could be the last time we're all in the same room.
"Rules of engagement are simple," I say. "We get in, we document everything, we get out. No unnecessary risks. No heroics. We're not trying to win the war today—just gather proof it exists."
"What if we encounter heavy resistance?" Stryker asks.
"We disengage and regroup. The evidence is important, but not worth dying for if we can live to fight another day."
"What about the DC intercept?" Mercer looks at Rourke. "If Russian diplomats are involved...”
"You handle it like Cross suggested. Private contractors after valuable cargo. No American government involvement. No international incident." I look at Rourke. "Can you do that?"
"I can make it look like whatever you need it to look like." His smile is cold. "Just give me the word."
"The word is given. You move in forty hours. That gives us time to hit Whitefish and relay any intel we find about the shipment contents."
"What about communication protocols?" Tommy asks.
"Encrypted channels only. Check-in every thirty minutes. If we go dark for more than an hour, assume compromise and extract." I look at each of them. "This is it. The moment we've been building toward. Whatever happens next, we stop them or thousands of people die. Those are the stakes."
"No pressure," Stryker mutters.
"All the pressure." I don't smile. "But we've been training for this. We're ready."
"Are we?" Khalid's voice is quiet. "Ready for what happens after? If we succeed, if we expose the Committee—they'll come after us with everything. And if we fail...”
"We won't fail," Willa says firmly. "We can't. Too many people are counting on us."
"She's right." I look at the tactical map one more time.
"We get proof. That's the priority. Video, documents, chemical samples, witness testimony—everything we can carry out.
The world needs to know what the Committee's planning.
Even if we can't stop the attack, we make sure they can't hide what they did. "
"And if we die getting that proof?" Mercer asks.
"Then we die knowing we did everything we could." I meet each pair of eyes. "But we're not planning to die. We're planning to win."
Silence settles over the briefing room. Heavy but not hopeless. We've all accepted the possibility of death. But we're all committed to living.
"Team assignments," I say. "Whitefish raid: myself, Willa, Odin, Stryker, Rourke, Mercer; Base operations: Tommy, Sarah, Karina, Khalid. Questions?"
No one speaks.
"Good. We roll in thirty minutes. Gear up. Check your equipment. Make your peace with whatever gods you believe in." I pause. "And remember—whatever happens out there, we're fighting for people who don't even know they need protecting. That matters. We matter. This mission matters."
"Hooah," Stryker says quietly.
The others echo it. Even Willa, even though she's not military, joins in the acknowledgment.
I watch them file out, each person heading to their preparations. Willa lingers at the door, catches my eye, mouths three words: I love you.
I mouth them back: I love you too.
Then she's gone, and I'm alone with the maps and the plans and the weight of command that never gets lighter no matter how many operations you run.
Tommy appears at my elbow. "Kane. About the Whitefish facility...”
"What about it?"
"My surveillance shows increased activity in the last hour. They're not just sanitizing evidence. They're fortifying. Bringing in heavy weapons, setting up defensive positions." He pulls up thermal imaging. "They know we're coming."
"Kessler."
"Has to be. He's turning that facility into a kill box." Tommy's voice is grim. "You go in there, you might not come out."
"Then we better make sure we do." I study the images, calculating approaches, identifying weak points. "Send these to my tactical display. I want real-time updates on guard positions."
"Kane...”
"I know the risks. But we're out of options and out of time." I turn to face him. "Either we get that evidence now, or we watch thousands of people die at the inauguration while the Committee gets away with it. Those are the choices."
Tommy nods slowly. "Then let's make sure you have every advantage I can give you."
"That's all I ask."
I head to the armory for final weapons check. Willa's already there, gearing up alongside Stryker. They work in comfortable silence, two people who've learned to trust each other in combat.
"Ready?" I ask her.
She chambers a round in her rifle. "As I'll ever be."
"Remember the rules. Stay behind cover. Follow orders. If I say run...”
"I know." She meets my eyes. "I'll consider it."
Stryker laughs. "She's got your number, boss."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true." Willa adjusts her vest. "But Kane? I'm trusting you to bring me home. Don't make me regret it."
"Never." I check my own gear one final time. Magazines loaded. Comms functioning. Med kit stocked. Everything in place for a mission that could save thousands or kill us all.
Thirty minutes.
That's all the time left before we walk into hell.
I look at Willa one more time, memorizing her face, the way she stands, the determination in her eyes. If this is the last time I see her alive, I want to remember everything.
"Let's go save the world," I say.
She smiles, but there's steel underneath. "Let's go finish this."
We move out together, weapons ready, love declared, promises made that we might not live to keep.
Willa's already at the vehicle bay, loading gear with Stryker. She catches my eye across the space, and I see the same determination I feel.
No more time for doubt. No more time for fear.
Time to move.