10. Walt
TEN
Walt
Through the soft ambient lighting of the hallway, I guide Malia back toward the dining room, my hand steady at the small of her back. The silk of her dress whispers beneath my palm, but my thoughts linger on the delicate lace tucked in my pocket—still warm from her skin, still damp with evidence of how I affect her.
As we emerge from the restroom, the restaurant’s sounds wash over us: the gentle clink of silverware, murmured conversations, and wine glasses meeting in distant toasts.
But all my senses focus on Malia—the subtle tremor in her breathing, the way she carefully measures each step as if hyperaware of the air against her now-bare skin.
My fingers brush the lace in my pocket, and I remember how it felt to inhale her scent—sweet, musky, and uniquely hers. The knowledge that she’s walking beside me without panties, that she surrendered them at my command despite her innocence—or perhaps because of it—makes my blood run hot.
“You’re doing so well,” I murmur, low enough that only she can hear. Her step falters slightly, and I steady her, fighting back a smirk as her brother comes into view at our table.
I guide her into the booth first, deliberately brushing against her as she slides in. Her sharp intake of breath is barely audible over the restaurant’s ambient noise. I settle beside her, casually draping my arm along the booth behind her shoulders.
“Everything okay?” Malikai asks, adjusting his glasses. He’s the picture of brotherly concern, utterly unaware that his sister’s panties are currently pressed against my thigh in my pocket.
“Perfect,” I respond smoothly, reaching for my wine glass with my free hand. My other hand dips into my pocket, fingering the delicate lace while maintaining eye contact with him.
Your sister just gave me her panties and confessed she’s saving her virginity for me.
She wants me to teach her about submission and pleasure.
The irony of the situation—sitting across from her protective older brother while possessing such an intimate token—adds an edge of danger that only heightens my awareness of her.
Every shift of her body beside me, every carefully controlled breath, reminds me of her confession in the bathroom.
A virgin.
And not just any virgin—one who craves the darker pleasures I plan to introduce her to. The responsibility and privilege of being her first sends heat coursing through my veins.
The waiter appears to clear our plates, and I take advantage of the moment to lean close to her ear, ostensibly to be heard over the noise.
“I can smell how wet you are,” I whisper, delighting in her sharp inhale. “Such a good girl, sitting here so properly while I hold your pretty panties.”
Her wine glass trembles slightly as she raises it to her lips. Malikai launches into a story about their childhood, oblivious to how his sister squirms beside me, how her thighs press together under the table.
I finger the lace in my pocket again, remembering her breathy confession: “I want everything you promised.”
The words replay in my mind as I catch her eye across the rim of my wine glass. Her cheeks flush prettily as I raise an eyebrow, a silent reminder of exactly what “ everything ” entails.
Soon, I think, watching her nibble her lower lip. Soon I’ll teach her exactly what submission means. But for now, I savor the anticipation, the sweet torture of waiting, as we sit across from her brother, sharing a secret that makes every moment electric with possibility.
Malikai deflects another question about his research, smoothly steering the conversation back to Guardian HRS operations.
This is the third time tonight that he has dodged discussing his quantum work. For someone Malia describes as obsessed with his research, his reluctance is interesting.
“The tiramisu here is exceptional,” I interrupt his questions about our Protectors, personal security experts, gesturing to the waiter. “You have to try it.”
The dessert arrives—layers of coffee-soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone cream dusted with rich cocoa powder. Malia’s eyes widen slightly as I gather a small portion with my fingers rather than using the delicate dessert fork provided.
“Open,” I command softly, holding the morsel to her lips.
Her hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before she complies, her lips parting. The intimacy of feeding her, of watching her accept what I offer, sends heat coursing through my veins.
Her tongue darts out to catch a drop of cream, and I have to suppress a groan. When she releases my fingers, I deliberately lick them clean, maintaining eye contact. The flush creeping up her neck tells me she remembers exactly what else I plan to taste.
Malikai’s phone buzzes against the table. The same ringtone as earlier—the one that made him tense and check his watch repeatedly. He glances at the screen, and I catch a flash of something like fear before he masks it.
“Excuse me,” he says, already standing. “I need to take this.”
As he strides away, his fingers flex, curling into tight fists before relaxing—a restless, unconscious motion. His right hand twitches, just once, as though resisting the urge to grip something—or someone. The subtle tremor ripples through his fingertips before he shoves his hand into his pockets, his shoulders rigid with control he’s struggling to maintain.
Something’s off.
“Walt?” Malia’s voice pulls me back to her. In the soft lighting, she looks vulnerable and uncertain. “About what I said earlier—about…” She can’t say it.
I turn toward her, letting my arm drop from the booth to curl around her shoulders. The silk of her dress is cool beneath my fingers, but her skin burns hot.
“Are you disappointed?” she whispers. “That I’ve never?—”
“Listen to me carefully,” I interrupt, turning her face toward mine. “You being a virgin doesn’t disappoint me. It makes me want you more.” My thumb traces her bottom lip, remembering how she trembled in the bathroom. “Knowing I’ll be your first…” I let my voice drop lower, rougher. “And your last…”
Her breath catches.
“You heard me.” I brush my nose along her jaw, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume mixed with arousal. “Once I have you, once I show you everything I promised? You’ll never want anyone else.”
The lace in my pocket burns against my thigh, reminding me of exactly how wet she got from my earlier promises. How readily she responded to commands.
“But what if…” She bites her lip, and I have to force myself not to claim her mouth right here. “What if I’m not good at it? At any of it?”
“Baby,” I chuckle darkly, “you’re already perfect. The way you respond to my touch and how eager you are to please…” My hand slides to her neck, and I feel her pulse race. “We’re going to have so much fun exploring exactly what you can take.”
Malikai’s voice carries from the hallway—sharp and agitated, not the measured tones of an academic discussing research.
“Is he always like this?” I ask, nodding toward where her brother paces. “The mysterious calls, the evasive answers?”
Malia frowns, worry creasing her brow. “No, actually. He’s usually so focused, so steady. Almost robotic sometimes with how precise he is.” She watches him gesture sharply into his phone. “I’ve never seen him this—scattered.”
I file that away, adding it to the growing list of inconsistencies. A quantum physicist who won’t discuss his work. Who asks pointed questions about security protocols. Who gets mysterious calls that leave him shaking.
“He’s probably just stressed,” Malia says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “His research is at a critical stage?—”
“What exactly is his research?” I keep my tone casual, even as I catalog every detail of Malikai’s agitated movements. “You mentioned fusion reactions?”
“Honestly? I don’t understand it. Something about quantum tunneling effects in plasma containment?” She shrugs. “He usually loves explaining it, but lately …”
Malikai returns before she can finish, his tie slightly loosened, glasses askew. His fingers drum an erratic pattern on the table as he signals for the check.
“Everything okay?” I ask mildly, noting how his eyes dart between exits.
“Fine, fine.” He forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just a small issue at the lab. Nothing to worry about.”
But as I help Malia from the booth, I catch him checking his phone again, his hands still trembling slightly. Whatever’s going on with Malikai, it’s not just lab trouble.
As someone responsible for his sister’s safety, I intend to find out what he’s hiding.
Evening shadows stretch long across the pavement as we exit Salvatore’s, the warm glow from inside spilling out behind us. A light breeze carries a mix of aromatic scents from the kitchen vents, mingling with the crisp scent of approaching rain.
My hand settles naturally at the small of Malia’s back as we pause under the awning.
Things feel different between us.
Inevitable.
Malikai’s fingers drum against his thigh—a nervous gesture I cataloged throughout the evening. “We should get going. It’s getting late.”
Something in my gut tightens—that sixth sense that’s kept me alive through countless missions. The parking lot is too quiet, too still. Even the crickets have gone silent.
I scan our surroundings, muscle memory taking over. The parking lot sprawls before us, half-empty at this hour. Standard layout—rows of vehicles creating channels of shadow between security lights. Four vehicles stand between us and Malikai’s rental.
Two lamp posts out—creating shadows perfect for concealment. The restaurant’s exterior lighting casts long shadows across the asphalt.
Two security lights are dark.
The lot is too quiet.
No other patrons leaving.
No staff on smoke breaks.
“No rush.” I carefully note how Malikai’s eyes dart between shadows. “The tiramisu was worth lingering over.” I scan the perimeter as I speak, professional habits kicking in despite the civilian setting.
Malikai’s behavior sets off every alarm in my head. His movements are erratic—head swiveling too quickly, hands shaking as he fumbles with his keys.
My years of experience kick in.
Four exits.
Two cameras.
Both dark.
Loading dock to the east.
Tree line beyond offering cover.
Malikai checks his phone again—the fourth time in ten minutes. His hand trembles slightly, causing the screen’s blue light to dance across his features. The gesture reminds me of soldiers before an ambush, that desperate last check for intel or orders.
“Kai?” Malia’s voice holds concern. “What’s wrong? You’ve been jumpy all evening.”
“Nothing.” The word comes too quick, too sharp. “Just—lab stuff. You know how it is.”
But I’ve seen this before. In hostages who knew their captors were coming. In targets who felt the noose tightening. This isn’t the distraction of an academic.
This is prey sensing the hunter is close.
“The car’s right over there,” he says, gesturing to his rental—a non-descript sedan parked under one of the dead lights. His other hand keeps touching his breast pocket, an unconscious tell suggesting something valuable hidden there.
We start across the lot, our shoes clicking against the asphalt. Each sound makes Malikai flinch. He’s scanning constantly now, not even trying to hide his paranoia. The confident scientist from dinner has vanished, replaced by someone who expects violence at any moment.
A car door slams in the distance. Malikai stumbles, nearly dropping his keys.
“Here, let me,” I offer, reaching for them. The movement puts me between him and the darkest section of the lot.
Two men by the dumpster, suits too nice for trash duty.
A van idling just beyond the property line, its position offering clear sight lines.
The security camera above the entrance is dark—recently disabled.
My hand instinctively moves to the small of my back where my Glock should be, but I’m unarmed. Dinner with the girlfriend’s brother didn’t seem to warrant tactical gear.
Rookie mistake.
The weight of my absent Glock is an uncomfortable void against my back.
The click of dress shoes on the pavement draws my attention. The men by the dumpster are moving, their casual poses shifting to something more purposeful.
Professional.
Military.
“Kai?” Malia’s voice carries concern. “Are you okay?”
Her brother’s glasses catch the light as his head jerks toward a sound I can’t hear. “Fine. Just… Let’s get to the car quickly.
The screech of tires on asphalt splits the night. A black SUV barrels into the lot, headlights off, engine growling like a predator. No plates. Reinforced bumper. Tactical modification package.
These aren’t amateurs.
Time crystallizes into perfect clarity as adrenaline floods my system. Malikai’s reaction tells me he knew they were coming.
“Move!” I grab Malia’s arm, already calculating trajectories and cover options. The SUV’s approach angle cuts off access to Malikai’s car. The restaurant’s entrance is too far. That leaves…
“Down!” I shove them behind a concrete planter as the SUV’s tires squeal. The acrid smell of burning rubber fills the air. My body moves on pure instinct, muscle memory from countless missions taking over.
Time slows, fragments into tactical segments:
The SUV’s approach vector—professional, designed to cut off escape routes.
The way Malikai’s face drains of color—he expected this. His hand lifts and hovers over his breast pocket.
Malia’s rapid breathing beside me—civilian, priority protect.
The click of car doors opening—multiple hostiles deploying.
I need a weapon. Need to get them to cover. Need to figure out what the hell Malikai has gotten his sister involved in.
But first, I need to keep them alive.
The SUV’s engine roars closer. Malia’s fingers dig into my arm. Her brother mutters something like equations under his breath, numbers tumbling out in a desperate stream.
This isn’t a random attack.
They’re here for someone.
And I know exactly who.
Malikai’s fingers scrabble at his breast pocket, frantic movements that set off every combat instinct I possess. He yanks something free—small and metallic, glinting in the parking lot lights.
“Take it!” he hisses, trying to shove it into my hands. “You have to?—”
Pure tactical reflex takes over. Unknown object, potential threat—I bat it away without conscious thought. The object skitters across the pavement, scraping against asphalt before disappearing under a concrete planter.
Malikai makes a strangled sound of despair. “No! You don’t understand?—”
I hook his elbow, trying to drag him toward cover, but he resists. His body goes rigid as he stares at where the object vanished, his face a mask of pure terror.
“We have to get it!” He tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip. “You don’t understand what they’ll do?—”
Movement catches my eye—the suits by the dumpster advance…
Shit.
“Get down!” I push backward, trying to keep both siblings shielded. The SUV’s brakes squeal. Doors burst open. Three more hostiles emerge—combat stance, tactical gear.
Professional hitters. We’re outnumbered. No weapon. No backup.
Think. Move. Survive.
Something’s off about his tension—not fear. Calculation.
“Walt!” Malia’s scream pierces the night as two men drag her brother toward the van.
The suits open fire.
White-hot pain explodes in my shoulder. Another round tears through my chest.
I stagger but stay upright, forcing my body between Malia and the approaching men. Blood soaks my shirt, turning silk to crimson. Each breath burns, but I reach back for her, trying to keep her safe.
One of the suited men speaks into a radio, his voice clipped and professional. “Primary target secured.”
A crackled response. Words I can’t make out.
“Target’s sister is present.” The man’s eyes fix on Malia.
More static. A single word cuts through: “Insurance.”
“Understood.” His expression shifts, cold calculation replacing professional detachment. “Grab the girl.”
“No!” The word rips from my throat, copper-tinged and desperate. I try to push her further behind me, but my legs betray me, blood loss making every movement sluggish.
“Nothing personal,” the man says, gesturing to his team. “But your brother’s been very uncooperative. Maybe you’ll help him remember his priorities.”
Strong hands grab her. She fights—God, she fights—kicking, scratching, screaming my name. The sound of her terror cuts deeper than any bullet as they drag her toward the van.
“Walt!” Her voice breaks on my name. “Please!”
“No!” The word rips from my throat.
I lunge forward, my body refusing to obey as blood pumps from my wounds. One of the men slams his rifle butt into my solar plexus, dropping me to my knees. He follows it with a kick to my gut, and I collapse on the ground.
They force Malia into the van. Her dark hair wild and her eyes wide with fear and something worse—betrayal.
Not of me, but of Malikai, who won’t even look at her.
“Your brother made his choice,” one man tells her as they slam the door. “Now you get to live with it.”
Doors slam. Tires squeal. The van accelerates, taking my whole world with it.
I lurch forward, legs going numb. Blood drips onto the asphalt as the van disappears.
They took her to force his cooperation. Made her collateral damage in whatever game her brother’s playing.
The thought burns hotter than my wounds as consciousness fades.
They took her.
And her brother let them do it.
The thought pounds through me with each fading heartbeat as I collapse.
They took her.
Darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. In the distance, sirens wail.
They took Malia.
Cold seeps into my bones as I press my face against the rough pavement. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth.
They took her.
And I failed to protect her.
Consciousness slips away as red and blue lights paint the night.
Find her, I think into the darkness.
Whatever it takes.
Find her.