Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Riven woke to the scent of bacon wafting through the air accompanied by what sounded like mugs clanking in the kitchen.
Light brightened the bedroom, the patchwork of shadows suggesting she’d slept later than usual.
Watercolored pastels filled the sky beyond the window, their muted shades painted across the room.
A lone egret called in the distance, the sound finally fading into the ever-present hum of the old diesel generator vibrating beneath the floorboards.
She smoothed her hand over the sheets. Cool. No imprint of where McGuire had spent the night. How he’d still been holding her the few times she’d jerked awake, bad memories chasing the good. He’d roused enough to kiss her head, rub her arm until she’d settled, drifted off, again.
It seemed like forever since she’d woken up feeling remotely rested.
Yet, despite the uncertainty still hanging over them like a storm cloud — the burn along her arm and how every bruise seemed to surface at once — she felt light.
As if McGuire had lifted a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been shouldering all this time.
Her heart trembled at the thought. How last night had changed everything.
At least, it had for her.
Which she knew sounded crazy. Sure, they’d known each other for months, but it had been distant. Peripheral. Like a star waiting to be wished on.
And yet, McGuire knew her in a way few had. Understood the side her of she’d tried to hide. The one that had brought Cinder to life. That would have been lost if she hadn’t stumbled upon that feed several months ago.
Her darker half.
A plate clattered to the floor in the other room, the loud noise snapping her out of her thoughts. She could worry if she’d lost her mind after they’d brought down Langley and the Herrera cartel. Until then, she’d bleed every drop of love out of what they shared.
Let a glimmer of hope shine through.
Riven grabbed one of McGuire’s shirts, slipped it on, then padded to the door. The hinges creaked as she slivered it open, checking if Patch had made his way over yet before slipping out.
McGuire stood at the stove, dressed in nothing but his boxers. Lean muscles flexed over sun-kissed skin, the low-slung waistband accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. She leaned against the doorway, admiring the sheer beauty of him when he tensed, tipped his head toward her.
The way he watched her… As if he planned on devouring her, right there in the middle of the room, stole her breath. And she wondered if any man had ever looked at her that way.
If maybe she quieted his demons, too.
McGuire, tsked. “You were supposed to stay asleep until I finished.”
She smiled, making her way over. “I’ll admit, you wore me out, but it’ll take a few more rounds before I sleep through you dropping a plate.”
He chuckled. “Cooking’s never been my strong suit.”
“I lived in a cartel outpost for months. Just having food’s a treat.”
His gaze narrowed as he slid the pans off the heat, closed the scant distance. “Why is it that the more I learn about your undercover assignment, the more I want to throttle whoever sent you in there?”
She relaxed against the counter, staring up at those dark eyes. “It’s not like you don’t have a dozen worse stories for every one of mine.”
He placed his massive arms on either side of her. “But I always had backup. Had my team. Who did you have?”
She blew out an exhausted breath, the truth bubbling free before she had a chance to consider the outcome. “No one.” She tiptoed up, wrapped her arms around his neck. “But I’ve got a team, now. More importantly, I’ve got you. All the rest is ancient history.”
She leaned in, pressed her lips to his. Soft. Coaxing. Allowing him to decide if he wanted to deepen it or just stay like that. He lasted all of five seconds before his hand landed in her hair, fisting it as he tilted back her head, practically crawled inside her.
Riven gave herself over to the moment — to the oil still hissing in the background. The scent of overly strong coffee mixing with the bacon. How his breathing roughened with every passing second, his heart beating wildly against hers.
A quick breath once he’d given her an inch of space, then he lifted her into his arms, turned. A sweep of his arm and everything on the table clattered onto the floor, bouncing along the old wooden planks as he leaned over — placed her in the middle.
He followed her down, kissing her as if it was a mission, taking her back to the edge in under a minute. She reached for his boxers, managed to shove them over his hips as he kissed her neck, worked his way lower.
A familiar heat burned beneath her skin, every swirl of his hands, his tongue, threatening to pull her under. She slid her fingers through his hair, tugged. McGuire paused, looking up at her across her body, chest heaving, gaze nothing short of lethal.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “McGuire.”
His name.
That was all she managed. All she could say without confessing how far she’d fallen. That somewhere between talking him out of the fray and them walking through the cabin door, she’d given him more than just her heart.
She’d entrusted him with her soul.
His eyes narrowed a moment before he prowled toward her, claimed her mouth, one hand cupping her head, the other tilting her hips — holding her still as he teased her with a hint of penetration before slamming home.
His name tore free on a cry, a ragged, “Yes,” quickly following as he set up a punishing rhythm. Taking her to the brink in a matter of seconds.
The table legs creaked, dishes rattling in the background as he pounded into her, his fingers still entwined in her hair, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. She palmed his back, pulled him closer, her fingernails digging into this skin, probably leaving little dents from the force.
If he minded, he didn’t show it, moving back to her mouth, kissing her as if he’d already forgotten what she tasted like. As if he needed her air to breathe.
McGuire grunted, mouth caressing her ear, his body rubbing hers with every thrust. “God, Riven, I can’t…”
He lowered his head, bit at the muscle threading from her shoulder into her neck. Likely leaving a light mark in his wake.
She shattered.
Imploded into a thousand pieces of white light as her orgasm washed over her, nothing but heat and McGuire’s body registering past the fire raging in her veins. He managed a few more passes before he stiffened, shouted her name as he emptied into her, each jerking thrust sending her a bit higher.
She clung to him, her head buried in his shoulder, her arms and legs cinched around his torso as she drifted on all that heat.
McGuire relaxed on top of her, bracing just enough of his weight she managed a few shallow breaths before he groaned, pushed onto one elbow. “God, what you do to me.”
She shivered at the rough tone, the one that sounded as desperate as she felt, then tugged him back down. “Not yet. I need more time.”
He chuckled. “You can have the rest of the day. All night, too. Though, maybe somewhere more comfortable.”
She blinked, smiled up at him. “This feels pretty damn perfect.”
“Right up until Patch walks in.”
She shrugged. “It’s your ass he’ll see, so…”
“Not sure who that would traumatize more.”
He sighed, yanked his boxers over his hips after he’d eased free before helping her up, drawing her against his chest as she sat on the edge, her legs hugging his, everything inside her still reeling.
She rested her head against his shoulder, his heartbeat tapping out a shaky rhythm.
The kind that pounded against her ribs, and she knew she’d been right.
Everything had changed.
McGuire held Riven, his heart racing, every nerve still electrified. As if he’d grabbed ahold of a live wire and couldn’t let go.
She did that to him. Bypassed his training. Had him making rash decisions because he couldn’t get the thought of touching her, making love to her, out of his head. Like a damn addiction he couldn’t shake.
He wasn’t exactly sure when she’d gotten under his skin. Dodged his defenses. If she’d been worming her way in since that night in Colombia, or if she’d simply bulldozed through his walls the moment she’d come clean. Either way, he had absolutely no intentions of letting go.
She hummed against him, the easy sound humbling him. Trusting him to have her back seemed simple compared to entrusting him with her heart. That he’d been honest when he’d said he was already gone.
The thought bounced around in his head, settling soft and warm inside his chest. Like a promise slowly taking hold. And for the first time since he’d walked off that plane and into the bayou, he felt at home.
That his future might be more than endless regret slowly sinking into the black water.
“Jesus, buddy, leave a damn sock on the door or something.”
Patch’s voice boomed through the rickety cabin, shaking the windows as he moved to the middle of the living room, arms crossed, scowl shaping his lips. He shook his head, looking as if he couldn’t decide on his next move before mumbling a hushed, “Fuck it,” then marching over.
He pushed past them, grabbed a mug and a plate, then started loading on food while pouring coffee almost over the brim. “You realize we eat at that table, right?”
McGuire helped Riven slip off, smiling at the way her knees buckled a bit before she caught her balance on his arm. “Please, you spend most of your time on the couch.”
Patch paled. “God, don’t tell me you’ve christened that, too.” He cut McGuire off with a sweep of his hand. “Don’t. Just let me live in my denial.” He took a few steps, stopped. “How close was I to walking in on all of that?”
McGuire laughed. “I don’t think you want to know that either. And in my defense, you’ve knocked every other day.”
Patch continued to the couch, kicked up his feet on the coffee table. “I thought I heard you talking.” He shivered. “God, now I’m thinking about that, and I think I’ve lost my appetite.”
He shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth, chewed while looking disapprovingly over at them.
McGuire merely sighed, grabbed Riven’s hand, then led her back to the bedroom.
They grabbed some clothes, had a quick shower, then settled on the couch.
Patch nudged him once, looked at Riven, smiled, then got down to work, scrolling through photos of the different piers — CCTV and angles McGuire was certain Savvy had captured using one of the CIA’s satellites.
The day slowly bled into night, anticipation of the upcoming mission clawing away at the temporary life they’d carved out the past few days. At the sanctuary the old cabin had provided, even if it had been more illusion than substance.
A light rain drummed against the tin roof, the soft patter blurring the hard edges of the room.
The vanilla-scented candle he’d found that first night flickered on the table, the wax slowly dripping down the side.
Out on the bayou, their skiff rocked against the dock, the odd squeak of the old wood sounding above the other noises.
No gunfire.
No chaos.
Just the world slowly spinning around them.
Riven rested her head on McGuire’s shoulder, the gentle weight grounding him. A tangible reminder of how much he had to lose. That, regardless of how the rest of the op played out, he needed to keep her safe. Know that she’d made it out the other side intact, even if he didn’t.
A soft brush of her hand on his arm drew his attention, and he smiled as he stared into her blue eyes, the color bright amidst the drab interior.
She studied him, and he swore she read every thought, every twitch that broadcast his intentions — that he’d die before he let Langley or Herrera hurt her. Though, based on the way her eyes narrowed, her breath roughening as she tilted her head, she had her own plans.
McGuire nudged her. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She stared him down. “Will you tell me yours in return? Because I have the feeling I know exactly where they’re headed.”
“Riven, I…”
His phone chirped, the steady vibration bouncing it across the coffee table. He glanced at Patch, the same conclusion written on his buddy’s face. That the situation had already gone sideways.
McGuire palmed the cell, took a breath, then answered it. “This can’t be good news.”
Savvy tsked. “Just once, would it kill you to say hello?”
“I already know it’s you. So? What’s wrong?”
She sighed, the heavy sound detonating through the space.
“My surveillance feed just picked up an unscheduled trawler arriving at the number four warehouse. Men are moving pallets off as we speak. I’ve confirmed El Martillo’s there.
And there’s an inbound barge that’s just been put on the docket by our resident Army-Reservist out of Belle Chasse. It’s due to arrive in two hours.”
“Shit. They’re moving the explosives tonight.”
Patch cursed, stood, darted out the door toward the bunkhouse as McGuire pushed to his feet.
Savvy tapped her fingers in the distance. “Looks like it.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “So, Langley wasn’t completely convinced about the ledger.”
“For all we know, they always push it ahead by a day. To compensate in case this exact situation occurs. Either way, you’ve got two hours to get to that warehouse — confirm it’s legit and mark the crates so my team can ride in and arrest everyone. Hopefully prove it’s tied to Langley.”
“See, I knew it was bad news.”
“About that… There’s one additional piece that might turn out in our favor. Seems Langley left Virginia on Senator Morrison’s private jet thirty minutes ago. No manifest. No flight plan. Which we both know means he’s going somewhere he doesn’t want traced.”
“You think he’s coming here.”
“After everything that went down? No way he’s going to let this shipment go without personally escorting it. But it also means Keane’ll be there. And Morrison’s private security force, so… watch your back.” She breathed into the phone. “McGuire?”
“Yeah, Savvy.”
“Don’t make me bury you for real.” She hung up, her final words hanging in the air.
Riven hooked his elbow when he started packing up. “What she said.”
He sighed, took one last moment to taste her lips. Savor the feel of her in his arms before they headed out — ended the war. “As long as you do the same. I want a future, Riven, and I want you in it.”
He dropped one final kiss on her mouth, then packed their bags — met Patch on the porch. They headed for the skiff, the moon already glowing through the rising fog.
Jumping onboard, they headed out.
Either they brought Langley and Herrera to their knees, or they died trying.