Chapter 7
The sun is peaking over the horizon as I follow Reese across camp, the dry heat baking through the thin cotton of my shirt.
Her boots kick up dust in sharp, angry bursts, matching the fury of her hasty strides.
She moves like she used to when sparring with me—all heart and no sense of self-preservation.
Ten years, and nothing has changed there.
I trail behind her, far enough she can pretend I’m not there, but close enough to make sure no one else is. It’s the same as I would do for any client. Only instinct has me silently vowing to protect her even though she wants to drive a knife through my ribs.
When she reaches her tent, she tears open the entry and storms into it. I stop a few yards away, watching her disappear inside as the flap falls shut behind her. Dragging a hand down my face, I exhale, “Christ.”
Of all the people Carl could’ve called or Abby could’ve saddled with this detail…
If I’m being honest with myself, which I rarely am anymore, there is a small part of me that has been wanting this.
Not this, not under the overly watchful eye of my entire goddamn team, but I have imagined seeing her again.
Hell, I’ve dreamed about it—and her—more times than I’ll ever admit.
I never imagined she would look at me like I was the enemy, though.
For a long minute, I stand outside her tent, then turn and head back toward the operations hub.
The others are waiting, leaning against the armored truck parked beside it.
They shoot the shit, like nothing happened, and this isn’t going to be the messiest job we’ve ever taken on.
Jagger spots me first, his grin forming before I even reach them. “So,” he drawls, pushing off the truck.
“Don’t start.” I shoulder past him.
He falls into step beside me anyway, his smirk widening into a smile. “I’m just saying, boss. You disappear for a decade, burying yourself in missions and one-night stands around the globe, and then, boom… You walk into a briefing and there she is, needing you to protect her. It’s fucking poetic.”
“Or tragic,” Gunner mutters, pulling our duffel bags from the back of the Humvee and tossing them at each of our feet.
“Definitely tragic,” Damon adds, half laughing, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Jagger teases, “I swear, man, I’ve never seen you blink like that. You went full deer in the headlights.”
“You done?” I glare at him and lift my bag before starting the trek back to her tent.
“Not even close.” Jagger jogs to catch up to me. “Because now I have questions. We all remember Reese. You talked about her incessantly. Until you didn’t. But not one of us knows why. What the hell kind of problem is this going to be?”
I give him a flat look that usually shuts people up. Except Jagger. It’s never really worked with him, and it just makes him more insistent. As much as I don’t want to, because saying it out loud almost feels like admitting how badly I fucked up, the ghosts in this place are already strangling me.
“She wasn’t just a girl,” I finally share, keeping my voice low. “She was the girl. I was going to marry her.”
All three of them fall silent, and even Jagger’s smirk falters. “Holy shit,” he exhales. “You never told me that you were engaged.”
“Almost,” I correct him. “I had the ring. I didn’t get the chance to ask.”
“What happened?”
“Not here.” I shake my head. The weight of the half-lie hits harder than I expect. I did have the ring, but the night of Mattis’s accident changed everything.
When I step inside, my boots cement to the floor. My heart jumps into my throat, and my stomach drops at the sight in front of me. I just held my friend together after watching his leg get blown off his body. Yet, the sight before me is more harrowing than anything I’ve ever seen on a battlefield.
Glassy blue eyes stare at me from the far side of the tent.
They are teary and sad, but silently pleading.
A cry her mouth can’t make with the hand clamped over it.
A shirtless man with the belt and button-fly of his fatigues undone has two hands pressed firmly over her mouth, his shins shoved against her arms. Both men leaving her helpless to fight off the one between her thighs.
“Fuck, Hawk… Jagger,” he grits between thrusts. “Either get in or get out… but shut the fucking tent. I wasn’t planning on sharing her with the whole fucking base.”
I let go of the canvas flap I didn’t realize I was still holding, sealing the five of us off from the base on the other side.
“This slutty fucking tease is finally getting what she really wants. Aren’t you darlin’?
” The man helping to pin her to the cot stares down at her and darkly laughs, before glancing up at us and continuing, “Are you two fucks going to watch with your cocks in your hand? Or are you going to come take a fucking turn in her tight cunt? You look like you could fucking use it after the night you had.”
I glance over my shoulder at Jagger, and he gives a silent, curt nod to the question he knows I’m silently asking. Pulling at my belt, the two of us cross the room to the already full cot.
I didn’t miss my chance to propose. I walked away before she saw what kind of man I really was.
Damon clears his throat, pulling me from my thoughts. “On a more immediate note, command approved our request. We have a tent about a half click from the east fence. It’s secure, private, and close to the comms tower. We can stay there until our extraction.”
“Good.” I take a deep breath and let out an equally heavy exhale. “We’re moving Reese there, too.”
Jagger raises a brow. “You sure that’s wise? She didn’t exactly look thrilled to see us.”
“She’s not staying alone,” I state firmly. “And rotating us through her tent doesn’t make sense.”
“She’s gonna fight you on it,” Gunnar points out.
“She can fight all she wants.”
Jagger whistles low. “God, this is gonna be fun.”
When we reach her barrack, I pull open the entrance and let myself inside.
Reese is sitting at a small desk, typing away on her laptop.
Her hair is still in a messy knot atop her head, and a sheen of sweat glistens on the back of her neck.
She might not look up when we enter, but her whole body stiffens.
“If you came to apologize, Christopher, don’t bother,” she grouses without turning to face us.
“Not here for that,” I retort, keeping my tone neutral. “Pack your gear. You’re moving.”
Her head snaps up, eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”
“You heard him,” Jagger snickers, earning yet another death glare from me.
She stands, planting both hands on her hips like an insolent toddler. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“This isn’t optional.”
“Everything is optional if you try hard enough.” She folds her arms, head tilting defiantly. God, I forgot how fucking bratty she could be. “You don’t get to walk in here after ten years and start giving me orders.”
“Not giving them,” I correct. “Following them. Your boss wants you under our protection, and I determine exactly how that happens.”
Her laugh is sharp and humorless. “Carl can shove his protection.”
“Reese—”
“No.” She points at me angrily, fire flashing in her eyes. “You don’t get to say my name like that. Not anymore.”
“Then don’t make me,” I bite back, my patience quickly fraying. “Pack your gear, or I’ll have them do it for you.”
Her jaw drops. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I look at Damon. “Do it.”
Damon hesitates for a heartbeat, then nods. “You heard the man.”
Gunnar starts toward the small storage trunk, lifting out her duffel bag. Reese lets out a sound that’s a mixture of frustration and disbelief.
“Don’t you dare touch my stuff!” she snaps, rushing over to intercept him. “This is insane.”
“Insane is staying unguarded in a compromised zone,” Gunnar adds, unfazed as he packs.
Jagger is beside him, folding clothes into the bag with exaggerated care. “You know, you’ve got a lot of cute underwear for a war zone.”
Furious, she storms across the room and tears the tiny pink fabric from his hands as he mutters something about it just being a joke. After spinning on her heel, she turns to face me, and I’m met with her flushed cheeks. “Make them stop!”
“You had your chance,” I lament, though my voice sounds foreign.
She glares daggers at me, then freezes when I reach for the camera on her desk. It’s old and worn at the corners, the same one she used to carry everywhere. I turn it over carefully in my hands, my thumb brushing over the familiar scratch near the lens. “You still have this?”
“Of course I still have it.” Her voice trembles, but this time it isn’t with anger. “It was my dad’s.”
I nod, remembering the story she once told me. It is one of the few things she has left of him. I step closer, holding it out to her. “Keep it with you.” Her hand brushes against mine as she takes it. Just her fingers—and just for a second—but it hits like a flashbang.
Ten years of distance, gone in an instant. The ghost of her scent—amber-spiced vanilla—wraps around me, and I see my Reese again: twenty-three, laughing as she balanced on the hood of my Jeep with that same camera in her hand, snapping photos and telling me to “look less grumpy.”
She doesn’t move, and neither do I, as the air between us crackles with electricity. I pull back from her and grit my teeth. “We move in five.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she growls, snapping the camera from my hand and pressing it tightly to her chest.
“I’ve been called worse.” Probably by her. She stands off to the side, arms crossed, fury radiating off her like heat waves as the guys finish. I can’t blame her. If I were her, I’d hate me, too.
“Boss,” Gunnar says quietly as he secures the last of her things into a crate, pausing before stepping outside. “You good?”
“Fine.”
He studies me, unconvinced. “You don’t look fine.”
Reese brushes past me, joining Gunnar outside, with the camera still clutched in her hand. “I had to leave, Reese.” The soft words slip out before she exits the tent, but she doesn’t look back.
“Then leave.” Her voice cracks, and I can feel her pain.
For ten years, I told myself I did the right thing. Now, being this close to her, I’m not so sure anymore.