Chapter 10
JACOB
T he Eclipse cut through the Atlantic with ease, the coastline unspooling to starboard as Marcus played tour guide.
I wasn’t a stranger to the Eastern Seaboard—years of ops and training had taken me from Norfolk to Miami, sandy spits to concrete piers, and I’d seen enough of the coast to know its moods.
But Marcus’s enthusiasm was a force, his voice carrying over the wind as he pointed out landmarks like a kid showing off his favorite hiding spots.
“That’s Morris Island,” he said, gesturing at a low smear of sand.
“Lighthouse is half-sunk now, but it’s got stories. Civil War shit, ghosts, the works.”
His grin was infectious, and despite the lingering throb in my head, I appreciated the effort. The guy was trying, and I wasn’t so far gone I couldn’t give him that.
We stood on the flybridge, the teak deck warm under my feet, the horizon a sharp line of blue and green.
The yacht was a floating fortress—billionaire huge, all sleek lines and overpowered engines, the kind of wealth that didn’t just buy luxury, but control.
I filed the details again: the radar mast humming with tech that could probably track a minnow in a storm, the crew moving with a quiet efficiency that screamed training, the way the tinted windows reflected the sea like they were guarding secrets.
My hangover was a dull ache now, dulled by the coffee and the salt air, but my mind stayed sharp, mapping, assessing. Marcus might’ve been a smartass, but this setup was no joke.
“So, what’s with the tour?” I asked, leaning on the railing, keeping my tone even. “You showing me the sights to soften me up?”
Marcus laughed, that bright, unguarded sound that seemed to bounce off the water. He leaned back, his wetsuit still damp, blonde hair catching the sun.
“Nah, man. It’s because the beautiful but pain-in-the-ass Dr. Allard is giving the Navy a run for their money.
” He rolled his eyes, playful but pointed.
“Look, I get it—the military fucks up the environment sometimes. We’ve all seen the headlines.
Oil spills, sonar screwing with whales, whatever.
But come on, when’s enough enough? How the hell are guys like us supposed to find and kill bad guys when every environmental weenie with a pen makes our lives miserable? ”
I didn’t disagree. Hell, I agreed more than I wanted to admit.
I’d seen trainings scrubbed because of an endangered woodpecker, a whole battalion grounded over a bird no one could even find.
I’d stood there, sweating in my gear, thinking about the Marine who might die because we didn’t get that extra day on the range.
Would the environmentalist who pushed that paperwork be happy with the trade-off?
Probably. They’d sleep fine, their conscience clean, while we buried our own.
The thought soured me on Camille, just a bit. If she was the enemy, so be it. Time would tell. I kept my face impassive, giving Marcus a nod.
“Yeah. I’ve seen it. Good intentions, bad outcomes.”
He tilted his head, like he was reading me.
“Exactly. And that’s where Dominion Hall comes in.
We’re the glue in this town—Charleston’s got its power players, and we’re the ones who keep things from falling apart.
Someone with a pretty smart head figured we could smooth things out between the Navy and Allard. Keep the peace, you know?”
I raised a brow, sipping the cold dregs of my coffee. “Why do you give a shit? Let the Navy and the enviro-nuts duke it out.”
Marcus shrugged, his grin turning sly. “Sometimes the fun’s in the mess, you know? Stir it up, see what floats.” He paused, his eyes glinting with that comical glimmer I was starting to recognize. “Which brings us to you.”
I straightened, my pulse ticking up. “Finally. Why the hell am I here?”
He leaned against the railing, the wind tugging at his hair.
“Originally, you were gonna help me scope out what the Navy’s doing—or not doing.
Recon, real quiet-like. Scuba Steve style.
But I’ve been thinking, and I’m calling an audible.
” He gave me a look, sharp and knowing, like he’d seen right through me.
“You’re gonna play liaison with Dr. Camille Allard.
But … you must be on your best behavior, Marine. ”
My jaw tightened. That look—he knew. Somehow, Ryker or Atlas had tipped him off about me and Camille. My night with her—her nails, her moans, the way she’d taken me like she was claiming me—flashed through my head, and I fought to keep my face blank. I wasn’t about to lie, though. Honor was honor.
“I slept with her last night,” I said, voice low, steady. “But I can keep it professional.”
Marcus threw his head back and laughed, a loud, gut-deep sound that echoed over the water. He pointed at me, still chuckling.
“Goddamn, Marines are so cliché. You roll into town, bang the hot doctor, and think you can just salute and move on? Classic.”
I wanted to snap back, but his laugh was too infectious, and I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. “Fuck you,” I said, but there was no heat in it, and I ended up chuckling, too, shaking my head. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Never is,” he said, slapping my shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. Everything’s gonna be great. The family’s gonna welcome you with open arms.”
There it was again—that word, family , heavy with something I couldn’t pin down. It wasn’t just comrades, not just the brotherhood I’d known in the Corps. There was a hint of something more.
My gut churned. Caleb had been here, Marcus had said, and my brother hadn’t told me a damn thing. Was this some elaborate prank?
No way.
These guys were too sharp, too calculated. But the questions piled higher, and I made a mental note to call Caleb the second I had a chance. I needed to know what the fuck was going on.
The Eclipse powered on, the coast sliding by—Folly Beach, Morris Island, the low humps of dunes and marsh grass. Marcus pointed out a pod of dolphins arcing through the water, their fins slicing the surface like knives.
“Dr. Allard’s people would lose their minds over that,” he said, grinning. “Me? I just think they’re cool.”
I nodded, my eyes on the water, but my mind was elsewhere.
Camille.
The Navy.
Dominion Hall.
Caleb.
The pieces didn’t fit, not yet. I needed to start asking real questions, to gauge what I was being dragged into.
I turned to Marcus, keeping my voice even but direct. “How much are you and your brothers worth?”
He went serious, his grin fading, and crooked a finger, motioning me closer. I leaned in, and he whispered, “Billions and billions, my boy.” Then he cackled, a wild, whooping sound, and vaulted back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You should see your face, man. Priceless.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or fucking with me, and that uncertainty was worse than either truth.
Billions? The idea was absurd. I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of money if it fell in my lap. Pay off my mom’s house, maybe. Buy my brothers a round of beers that didn’t taste like piss. Beyond that? It was just noise.
But the way Marcus said it, the way his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes, made me wonder if the fiction was scarier than the truth. Or maybe the other way around.
“Relax,” he said, reading my silence. “Money’s just a tool. Means we don’t have to beg for what we need. You’ll see.”
I didn’t answer, just gulped the last of my coffee, the bitterness grounding me.
The yacht banked slightly, the horizon tilting, and Marcus disappeared belowdecks without a word.
I leaned on the railing, cataloging more details: a crew member coiling a line with the precision of a bomb tech; a faint scar on the teak where something heavy had been dropped and quickly repaired; the way the Eclipse ’s engines purred, too smooth for a boat this size, like they were hiding horsepower no one needed to know about.
My head was clearer now, the hangover fading, but the questions kept stacking—Dominion Hall, the Navy, Camille, Caleb. I was a Marine Raider, trained to find the threat, neutralize it, move on. But this felt like a mission with no briefing, no rules of engagement.
Marcus reappeared, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He tossed it to me, and I caught it, the weight heavier than I expected.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Tent for the beach,” he said, grinning. “Some other shit for Dr. Allard and her team. You know, to make nice.” He winked, the gesture so over-the-top I almost laughed again. “You’re welcome.”
I set the duffel at my feet, the canvas rough under my palm. “You’re delivering me to her door?”
“Pretty much,” he said, already heading toward the bridge. “Don’t screw it up, Marine. She’s a lot, but I bet she’s worth it.”
He disappeared, leaving me with the bag and the hum of the engines. The coastline grew closer, Charleston’s skyline sharpening—palmettos, church steeples, the faint outline of Dominion Hall’s stone walls.
I wondered what Camille would think when I showed up, duffel in hand, like some errand boy for her cause. Would she laugh that throaty laugh? Or would she look at me like I was the enemy, another cog in the machine she was fighting? I didn’t know which would be worse.
The Eclipse slowed, easing toward the dock, the crew moving with that same silent precision. I gripped the duffel’s strap, my eyes on the shore. Marcus’s words about family echoed, mixing with the ache in my chest, the one that had followed me from Montana to every warzone I’d ever walked through.
Brothers take care of brothers, he’d said, but I didn’t know what that meant here. Not yet.
I thought about Camille again—her fire, her fight, the way she’d claimed me last night like it was her right. She wasn’t just a one-night lapse; she was a current, pulling me somewhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.
And Caleb—my brother, my blood, keeping secrets in a city I’d been dragged to without warning. I needed to call him, get answers, figure out what game these Dominion Hall guys were playing.
The yacht’s hull kissed the dock, a soft scrape of wealth against wood. I stepped off, duffel in hand.
Marcus called from the bridge, “Give her hell, Jacob! But, you know, politely!”
I raised a hand, not turning, my face still impassive. The harbor shimmered, the air thick with salt and possibility. Camille was out there, fighting her war, and now I was supposed to be her liaison.
Ally or enemy, I didn’t know yet. But I’d find out.