18. Brian
CHAPTER 18
Brian
The Centurion Group’s private gym is nothing short of luxury wrapped in state-of-the-art design.
Colby steps onto the court, giving the place a once-over. With the polished hardwood floors and sleek, high-end equipment, he smirks. “Damn, look at you—fancy digs and all. When you said hoops, I was picturing cracked pavement and a rim with no net. What’s next, gold-plated basketballs?”
I chuckle, tossing him the ball. “I was thinking stealth,” I tease.
After a quick bro hug, he checks out my prosthetic, eyeing it down to the classic Air Jordan at its base. “You shouldn’t be playing in those.” He points to the shoes. “They should be mounted on display.”
I yank the ball back with a grin. “If I own it, I wear it.” I dribble once, twice, then nail a shot with precision. “Two points.”
He flips his cap backward, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Oh, game on. ”
A few rounds in, and it’s clear—if either of us thought we’d take it easy, we were dead wrong. The game is intense, just like old times. Winded and out of breath, we keep pushing, neither of us willing to back down.
He blocks my next shot so effortlessly, it’s almost insulting. With a cocky grin, he spins the ball on his finger like we’re back on base. “Ready to give up, harabeoji ?”
“Grandpa?” I pant, barely catching my breath. “I’m only three years ahead of you, man.” I dribble the ball under each leg, flashing a grin. “Catlike reflexes. Sharp as a tack. And yeah, your elder, so now that you mention it, I could use a breather.”
“Hey, your Korean is still intact.”
“After two tours in-country, I try to keep it fresh. I actually managed to watch Parasite without subtitles.”
Colby nods and says, “ Insangjeogine .” Impressive.
We grab towels and some bottled water from the sleek fridge, then collapse onto a bench at the side of the room. Colby takes a long swig, then waves the glass bottle in my face. “Fancy stuff for one of Manhattan’s Most Eligible Bachelors.”
I cringe. “You saw the headline?”
“Only because one of the guys posted it in the Facebook group. Got a ton of hearts from the ladies. And a few from the guys, too.”
“Nice,” I mutter. “Just what I need. More unwanted attention.”
“So, what’s going on with you, man? When did you trade in the dog tags for designer suits?”
“Not long after I realized I wasn’t going back. Had to do something with my time, right? And the monkey suit? Temporary. I usually run security. We’re always on the lookout for kickass talent.”
“Food for thought.” I wipe the sweat from my face, feeling the familiar burn in my muscles. “How long are you back for?”
Colby’s grin fades, his easygoing demeanor slipping. “Not sure.”
A knot forms in my gut. “Did something happen?”
He looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I’ll give you one guess.”
“Sounds like Hurricane Angi.” I catch the ball, my heart sinking. “How serious?”
“Hard to say. She stole my identity, ran up my government credit card,” Colby says, his voice low and tight. “I’ve got a few weeks to find her.”
Shit. This isn’t just a slap on the wrist. This is a full-blown military criminal offense—dishonorable discharge, a career in shambles, maybe even time in the brig. It could destroy everything Colby’s worked for.
My mind races, trying to process the gravity of what he’s just said. “If it’s just a matter of being paid back?—”
“It’s not,” he cuts in, his tone hardening. “Dad already tried. He was ready to refinance the house if it came to that. But the problem isn’t just the money. It’s what she did with the card. The charges are tied to illegal activity—not classified, but enough to raise red flags.”
Of course, they are.
“The thing is, if I don’t have that card physically back in my hand to give to my commanding officer, they’ll nail me for negligence and refer her to the DA for criminal prosecution.” He shakes his head, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “If I don’t find her, I’m screwed.”
“You realize the chances of finding her are slim to none, right?”
He shoots me a look like I’ve lost my mind. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Which is why I’m saying we find her. You’ve got me and my entire team backing you up. Seasoned recon men and women at your disposal.”
His eyebrows lift, surprised. “Really?”
“And if push comes to shove, I’ll pony up a reward.”
“No. No reward,” he insists, shaking his head. “Dad would have a cow.”
“Only as a last resort,” I say, giving him a reassuring pat on the chest as he snags the ball. We start up again, and, of course, he sinks the first hoop. Damn kid’s gonna kill me.
Ignoring the sharp pain in my knee, I grab the ball with a smirk. “Payment in exchange for some intel.”
Colby nods, dribbling before attempting a three-pointer. It bounces off the rim, frustration flickering in his eyes before curiosity takes over. “What kind of intel?”
I go for a layup, the ball swishing through the net with a satisfying thwack. “How’s Jules?”
He catches the ball. “And you’re asking because...?”
“Because I am,” I say, adding, “And this is the part of the conversation where you give intel. No questions. Just answers.”
A knowing grin spreads across his face. “Fine. She’s okay, I guess. Pretty much hates your guts.”
Tell me something I don’t know, though I’m still not entirely clear why .
I mean, yes, technically, I dated her sister. Briefly. Not even first base. “What’s she up to?” I ask, trying to sound casual, like I didn’t just see her last night.
“She was working at this fancy schmancy restaurant—Salvatore’s. But she lost her job, thanks to some dickhead and his barfing kid.”
The grin evaporates from my face, replaced by a tightening in my chest.
Fuck .
Colby tosses the ball back with sharp, quick force, and it bounces off me before I catch it, the impact jolting me back to the present.
He watches it rebound away, then nods as he jogs after it. “Right. Catlike reflexes. Sharp as a tack.”
This time, when he snaps it at me, I catch it midair, but my chest tightens. I got her fired?
His gaze sharpens, the teasing gone. “Something going on with you and Jules?”
I hesitate, swallowing a ball of lead in my throat. “Nope.”