14. Fort Knox
Chapter fourteen
Fort Knox
Matt
The sun rises higher, bathing the street in light. The neighborhood stirs—garage doors, engines, a lawnmower firing up down the block. I shift in the seat and roll my shoulders, eyes fixed on the house.
No movement. No cars. No threat.
I exhale, scrubbing a hand down my jaw, then shoot a text to Melina.
Morning, beautiful. It’s been quiet out here all night. How’d you sleep?
A minute passes. Then another. Probably still asleep. Good—she needs rest. I reach forward and nudge the vent, cool air hitting my face. Finally, the phone buzzes.
Sorry, babe. I was in the shower.
My lips twitch. There are about a dozen things I could say to that. I pick the most obvious.
Now that’s a hell of an image to start my day.
Hush.
Can’t. Not when last night keeps replaying in my mind.
I swear I can hear her smirk through the receiver.
Imagine if you had let me do what I wanted to.
A groan rumbles in my throat.
Are you trying to kill me, woman?
Maybe. Now leave me alone so I can get ready.
Yes, ma’am.
I chuckle, setting my cell on the console. Thirty minutes later, the front door opens. I straighten as Harper steps out, ponytail swaying, bag slung on one arm. Kid doesn’t rattle easy. She spots me, gives a small wave, then slides into her car and drives away.
I wonder how the talk went last night. Melina sitting them down, laying it out—some asshole stalking their mom. Harper clearly took it in stride. Spencer, though? I’m not so sure.
Melina comes out next, coffee in one hand, keys in the other. Spencer trails after her, backpack over his shoulders, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He climbs into the passenger seat as she rests against the roof. I can’t hear what she's saying, but whatever it is makes him nod, his gaze straight ahead. She tousles his hair, then turns my way.
I roll the window down as she walks over, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She props herself against the frame, eyes lit with amusement.
“Are you certain you’re not my stalker?”
I give her a slow grin. “Stalking implies you don’t want me around. Pretty confident that’s not the case.”
She laughs, then glances at Spencer. When she sees he’s distracted, she leans in, forearms braced on the door. “Kiss me. I have to leave.”
I don’t hesitate before pressing my lips to hers. Quick. Too quick.
“All right. Let’s go,” I say, pulling back.
She doesn’t move. Just stands there, brow furrowing. “Let’s go?”
“Yeah, you know—driving, moving, getting the hell out of the driveway?”
Her lips part like she’s ready to argue, but then realization hits. “You’re following me?”
“Damn right, I am.”
“You’re impossible.” She mutters, shaking her head as she crosses the street.
When we return from drop-off, she pulls into the driveway with me tight on her six. Steele’s already out front, unloading equipment from the back of his truck like it’s Christmas morning. He glances up, that damn smirk firmly in place.
"Took you long enough. Y’all stop for a quickie?"
Melina snorts. “Pssh. He wishes.”
“Yeah, I think he does.” Steele cackles, amused.
I shoot him a look that says he’s skating on thin ice. His smirk widens.
"I have a work call in five. Can you two manage out here on your own?" Melina asks.
"We’ll survive," I say, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.
The moment the door shuts behind her, Steele starts. "Goddamn, you got it bad."
I groan. “Here we go.”
“Didn’t have you pegged as the hopeless romantic type, Mason."
“You gonna keep running your mouth, or lend a hand?” I mutter, flicking open my knife and cutting into one of the boxes.
“Never thought I’d see you volunteering for school-run duty either. What’s next, PTA meetings?”
I throw him an exasperated look. "You finished?"
"Not even close."
Outside, we work fast—cameras, floodlights, deadbolts, reinforced plates on the frames. Steele runs the fence line with perimeter sensors while I drill brackets into the brick. When we’re done, the place is locked down like Fort Knox.
Melina’s still in her office when we step inside, her voice muffled through the door. We move on to the interior. “Keep it quiet,” I mutter. “Shuffle your feet any louder and she’ll think a herd of elephants moved in.”
He grins, hands raised. “Wasn’t me. You’re the one dragging your boots like a rookie on a hump.”
Ten minutes later, her door opens. She steps out, eyebrows furrowing as she surveys the mess. “What exactly are you two doing in here?”
I straighten from the sensor I’m mounting. “Almost done. Steele will give you the rundown.”
“I didn’t realize you were doing this much.”
“Sweetheart,” Steele drawls, “we’re just getting started.”
I shoot him a side-eye. He only smirks wider.
“Wait—how much is all of this costing?”
I tense. Knew that was coming. To his credit, Steele doesn’t flinch. “Not your problem.”
She crosses her arms. “Steele—”
“Nope.” His tone is firm. “You’re family now. Family doesn’t invoice.”
She exhales, frustration edged with something softer. “You guys….”
“Don’t get mushy on me, Roderick,” Steele mutters, returning his focus to the keypad.
Melina shakes her head, a faint smile breaking through. “Can I get y’all anything? Water?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say. Steele nods.
A minute later, she’s back with three bottles. I drain half of mine in one pull. Damn, I was thirsty.
“Alright, quick tour,” Steele starts, gesturing around. “All the doors and windows have contact sensors. Each piece of glass is wired to scream if it breaks. Motion detectors cover the main rooms and halls. The whole system is tied to an app on your phone—you’ll see it in real time. We will, too.”
Melina’s eyes widen as Steele’s voice drops. “Outdoor cameras monitor every angle—porch, driveway, front and side yards, back fence. You name it. And if anyone steps where they shouldn’t, the floods are going to light them up.”
He points to the panel by the door. “Backup battery keeps everything live if the power’s cut. And panic buttons—one in every bedroom, plus one for each of you to carry.”
“Jesus.” Melina exhales sharply.
I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “Better safe than sorry.”
She nods. “Thank you—both of you.”
Steele waves her off. “Told you. Family.”
“Well, family or not, I think I owe you breakfast.”
Steele groans. “Hell yeah, I’m starving.”
Melina chuckles, tension slipping from her shoulders. “Is he always hungry?”
“Always,” I say.
She moves around the kitchen, gathering ingredients. The smell of bacon and sausage fills the air as they sizzle on the stove. She cracks eggs into a bowl while I sit back in my chair, watching her, mesmerized.
She’s at the counter, the same one I had her coming apart on last night, and my mind drifts—her moans, the way my name spilled from her lips. Heat rushes low, my cock straining against my jeans.
Jesus, Mason, get a grip.
The juicer hums as she presses fresh oranges. I clear my throat and glance at Steele. The man is smirking like an idiot, eyes lit up like he’s dying to call me out.
She lays out place settings, then loads the table with warm tortillas, hot sauce, salt, pepper, and a bowl of chopped cilantro.
“Damn,” Steele says, eyeing Melina before cutting back to me. “Home-cooked meals, a gorgeous woman who actually likes you, and a reason to play hero? You’re out here living the dream, Mason.”
Melina laughs at the look I give him, but I don’t bite. Truth is, I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I’m not about to question it.
“Alright, boys,” she says, setting the egg scramble on the table. “Dig in.”
I reach for a tortilla, but Steele beats me to it—loading his with eggs, cheese, and enough hot sauce to supply a platoon.
“Fresh-squeezed orange juice?” He takes a sip and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Melina, you’re setting the bar way too high.”
She laughs. “You’re just used to gas station burritos and SunnyD.”
Steele clutches his chest, all drama. “You wound me.”
I shake my head and take a bite, groaning in response. Melina arches a brow at me. “Good?”
I swallow and nod. “Really fucking good.”
Steele chews, grinning. “You’re spoiling us.”
“You act like I’m feeding you grapes on a silver platter.”
“Grapes, no,” Steele says around a mouthful. “A Michelin-star breakfast? Absolutely.”
I shake my head, amused. He has a way of getting under people’s skin—pushing just enough to be obnoxious without crossing the line. As much as I want to give him shit, I have to admit he’s growing on me.
And I’m grateful as hell—for the security system, for taking things seriously, for making Melina laugh despite everything.
He downs the last of his OJ and drops the glass in the sink. “Alright, lovebirds, I’m out. Gotta hit the office before Callahan spins up a recovery team.” He shoots me a look. “You coming, Mason?”
“I’m right behind you.”
He smirks, tossing a wink at Melina. “Don’t miss me too much, sweetheart.”
“Watch it, Steele,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it. He chuckles low and heads for the door, leaving us alone.
Melina turns to me, her expression softening. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “For all of this. I don’t know what I’d do…” Her throat works as she swallows, words breaking off.
I cup her cheek, tilting her face to mine. “You’ll never have to find out.”
***
I step into HQ and know I’m fucked before I clear the door. They’re all waiting.
Bishop. Hale. Brooks. Diego. And of course Steele—the smug bastard—kicked back like he’s been anticipating this all morning. I’m not three steps in before it starts.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Hale smirks.
Diego shakes his head, chuckling. “Mason, you romantic son of a bitch.”
Brooks sips his coffee, eyes steady. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
I drag a hand down my face. Here we fucking go. “Y’all done?”
“Absolutely not,” Steele grins. “How’s domestic bliss? You two christen the counters yet?”
I shoot him a warning look. I’d tell him to fuck off, but the bastard isn’t wrong.
Hale whistles low. “Oh yeah. He’s gone.”
Steele chuckles under his breath. “You boys should see the way he looks at her. One week in, and he’s already wrapped around her finger.”
Diego leans forward. “You pick out a ring for that finger yet?”
I flip him off. Across the room, Bishop is silent. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. I know that look.
No time to dwell on it. Callahan walks in, and everyone stills. His voice is all business. “Alright. Let’s talk about the leak.”
I exhale. “They confirm who it was?”
His gaze cuts to mine. “James Atwood. Our embassy contact. He was feeding intel straight to the cartel.”
“That motherfucker,” Hale mutters.
Steele lets out a low breath. “Called it.”
“How bad?” I ask.
Callahan crosses his arms. “Entry route. Timeline. Objectives. They knew when we were coming and exactly where to hit us.”
Bishop’s body is coiled tight, fingers flexing against the table.
“What are we doing about it?” I ask, voice low.
Callahan’s face stays unreadable. “That’s above our pay grade.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Atwood wasn’t just a liability—he was a threat. And threats don’t walk away.
Hale scoffs. “Good. If that bastard was still breathing, I’d end him myself.”
“Get in line,” Diego mutters.
Bishop doesn’t bite, his eyes locked on some invisible spot on the table.
Callahan’s voice hardens. “Point is, the leak’s contained. But we’re locking it down. No more blind trust. Not even with ‘friendly’ assets.”
Bishop finally speaks. “That it?”
“Unless you have something to add,” Callahan says, his gaze flicking from him to me. I’ve got nothing.
“All right, then. Get the fuck out of my briefing room.”
Bishop stands, slow, deliberate. He doesn’t say a word—just pins me with a look before walking out.
What the hell is his problem?
The team breaks off, scattering. Steele stays behind, watching his screens. I head for the one place I know Bishop will be.Not the gym. Not the lounge. The basement range is where he works his shit out.
The sharp tang of gunpowder fills my lungs as I step inside, shots thudding through concrete walls. Bishop’s there—feet planted, shoulders squared, SIG steady in his grip. His face is blank, detached. He empties a mag, drops it, and has another seated before the last casing hits the floor.
The tight jaw. The white-knuckle hold. He’s pissed—at me.
I step to the rack, grab a Glock, check the chamber, and load a mag.
With goggles down and ear pro on, I take the stall beside him.
He’s already hammering through another set, but I don’t say a word.
Just raise, sight, squeeze. Three rounds, center mass.
The concussive rhythm pounds against my muffs, but I tune it out.
He strips his weapon, sets it down, and reels in his target. I safe mine and do the same. My silhouette’s clean, clustered tight. He barely looks at his before crushing it in his fist and tossing it aside.
He clears the chamber and holsters it. I return mine and strip off my gear. He drags a hand over his face, then turns and heads for the exit. I follow him out, the door shutting behind us with a heavy thud. The gunfire’s gone, but the tension hangs.
A beat of silence. Then—
“You gonna tell me what your fucking problem is?”
Bishop finally looks at me.
“Oh, now you wanna talk?” His voice is sharp, edged with something I don’t recognize.
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.
“You had to go to Steele?” His tone is flat, dangerous. “Steele, Matt?”
I clench my jaw. “It wasn’t like that—”
“Bullshit.”
He steps closer.
“You’ve got a stalker on your back, and you kept me in the dark? I had to hear it from him—not you?”
“I needed his skills,” I bite out. “You don’t exactly specialize in cyber forensics.”
“That’s your excuse?” He gives a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
“And that’s not even the worst part.” His eyes lock on mine. “You didn’t tell me about her.”
Fuck. After everything we’ve been through, I couldn’t even tell him about Melina.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I should’ve told you. All of it.”
He doesn’t say a word.
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s been a whirlwind. Shit, has it even been a week?” I scoff. “The days are all running together.”
His arms fold tight across his chest.
“Come on, Bishop. You know you’re family.”
His jaw ticks.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”
The silence stretches, then he rakes a hand through his hair.
“Alright. I’ll quit being a bitch about it.”
I smirk. “That’d be great.”
He shoots me a look, shakes his head. “When do I get to meet her?”
I grin, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in for a quick, rough hug—the kind that lasts a second before we both pull away as if it never happened.
“How about tonight?”