11. Chapter 11
Gunner found Suzuki on the wall, drinking.
Out of character for the disciplined Air Force commander. But there she was, sitting with her back against the parapet, bottle in hand, staring at nothing.
He could smell the alcohol from ten feet away. Whiskey. Strong stuff from pre-collapse military supplies.
She looked up when he approached. Her eyes were red. Not from crying—Suzuki didn't cry. From exhaustion and grief and fighting her biology for too many days.
"Commander," she said. Formal. Even drunk. "Come to tell me drinking on duty is against regulations?"
"You're not on duty. Tucker has the watch."
"Good. Because I'm not fit for command right now." She took another drink. Winced. "I'm not fit for anything."
Gunner sat beside her. Close enough to feel her body heat. Far enough to give her space.
"Want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
They sat in silence. The fires on the southern horizon were closer now. Maybe fifteen miles. Voss's army, methodical and unstoppable.
Suzuki took another drink. Then started talking anyway.
"Three thousand people," she said. Voice rough. "The Northern Federation. We had schools. Clinics. Courts. Fucking courts, Gunner. We were rebuilding civilization while everyone else was fighting over scraps."
She laughed. Bitter. "Took Voss two weeks to destroy it. Two weeks. Professional assault. Coordinated strikes. We never stood a chance."
"You survived."
"I ran. Took my best soldiers and ran while three thousand people knelt and accepted collars." Her hand tightened on the bottle. "I watched them from the ridge. Watched Voss's soldiers line them up. Tag them. Catalog them. Turn human beings into inventory."
She drank again. Long pull. The alcohol was hitting hard now. Her control slipping.
"You want to know the worst part?" she asked. "They didn't fight. Most of them just... accepted it. Knelt. Let Voss collar them like dogs. Because fighting meant dying and they thought submission meant survival."
"Did it?"
"I don't know. I left before I could find out." She looked at him. Eyes glassy from alcohol and grief. "Does that make me a coward?"
"It makes you a commander who saved what she could."
"Bullshit. I saved myself. My soldiers. The people I liked. Everyone else got left behind."
Gunner let the silence hold. Sometimes there was nothing to say.
Suzuki finished the bottle. Set it down carefully. Her hands were trembling—not degradation, just too much whiskey on an empty stomach.
"You want to know what I think about when I can't sleep?" she asked.
"Tell me."
"Your pack." She gestured vaguely toward the settlement below.
"I watch you. Watch Isabella with Storm.
Watch Gabriela in the lab with her pregnant belly.
Watch Tasha teaching Phoenix. Watch Zara—" She stopped.
Smiled bitterly. "I can smell what happened in the medical tent last night. Enhanced senses. Can't escape it."
Her scent spiked. Sharp arousal mixed with alcohol and grief.
"You have something I couldn't build with government," she said. "Family. Loyalty that isn't about chain of command or duty or survival. They follow you because they want to. They fight for you because they love you. They give you children because—"
She stopped. Looked away.
"Because biology is cruel and I'm so fucking jealous I can barely stand it."
The confession hung between them. Raw. Honest.
"I haven't been touched in three years," Suzuki said quietly. "Not since before the Federation. I chose leadership over... this." She gestured between them. "Chose duty over wanting. Built walls instead of family."
She turned to face him. Too close. He could smell the whiskey on her breath. The desperate arousal underneath. The grief she'd been drowning.
"And now I'm sitting here drunk on your wall, watching your fires get closer, knowing in four days I'll probably die fighting for a settlement that isn't even mine. For a pack I'm not part of. For children I didn't birth."
Her hand moved to his chest. Just touch. Tentative. Testing.
"I can feel your heartbeat," she whispered. "Enhanced senses. It's faster than baseline. Stronger. Everything about you is stronger."
Gunner's cock hardened. Immediate. Unavoidable. Her scent was overwhelming this close—alcohol and grief and desperate want all mixed together.
She felt it. Felt him getting hard against her thigh through their clothes.
Her breathing changed. Faster. Shallower. Her pupils dilated so wide her eyes looked black.
"You want me," she said. Not a question. "Your body wants me even when I'm drunk and broken and useless."
"You're not useless."
"I'm not pack either." Her hand slid down his chest. Toward his belt. "But I could be. Right here. Right now. You could take me against this wall and make me yours and I wouldn't fight. I'd beg for it."
Her hand reached his belt buckle.
Gunner caught her wrist. Stopped her.
Suzuki's eyes went wide. Confused. "What—"
He stood. Pulled her up with him. Backed her against the stone wall, one hand beside her head, not touching her otherwise.
Just proximity. His body heat warming her. His cock hard against her thigh through their clothes. His scent overwhelming her enhanced senses.
"Not like this," he said quietly.
"Why not? I'm offering—"
"You're drunk. You're grieving. You're looking for something to make the pain stop." His other hand moved to her jaw. Tilted her face up. "That's not choosing me. That's using me. And I don’t get used by anyone."
Suzuki's breath caught. "I'm not—"
"You are." His thumb traced her lower lip. Light. Deliberate. "And I won't be your grief fuck, Catherine."
She made a sound. Involuntary. Desperate. Her whole body shivered at the touch, at hearing her name from his mouth.
"When you come to me," Gunner said, voice dropping lower, "you come sober. You come because you chose it with clear eyes and full understanding of what it means."
"I'm always grieving," she whispered.
"Then grieve sober and choose me anyway."
His thumb pressed against her lower lip. She opened automatically, let him slide inside. Sucked on his thumb without thinking.
Her pussy clenched. She could feel the wetness soaking through her underwear. Could feel her nipples hard enough to hurt beneath her tactical vest.
She was desperate. Aching. Three years without touch and now an apex male had her pinned against a wall with his cock hard against her and she wanted to climb him like a tree and fuck him until neither of them could walk.
"Please," she whispered around his thumb.
"No."
He pulled his hand back. Stepped away. Put space between them.
Suzuki's legs almost gave out. She gripped the wall for support, breathing hard, thighs pressed together trying to manage the heat building between them.
"You're cruel," she gasped.
"I'm patient." Gunner's voice was steady. Controlled. "When you're ready—when you choose this for the right reasons—you'll come to me. And I'll give you everything you need."
"What if I'm never ready?"
"You will be. Your biology won't give you a choice much longer."
He walked away. Just turned and left her on the wall, drunk and desperate and furious.
Suzuki stayed pressed against the stone, breathing hard, one hand between her thighs trying to ease the pressure.
She'd offered herself. Completely. And he'd refused.
Not because he didn't want her—she'd felt his cock hard against her, smelled his arousal mixing with hers.
Because he wanted her to choose him. Sober. Clear. Not running from grief but running toward something.
"Fuck," she whispered into the darkness.
She understood now. Understood why four women followed this man. Why they gave him children. Why they built pack around him.
Because he could have anyone. Could take what he wanted. And chose not to.
Chose to wait until they chose him.
Her thighs were soaked. Her nipples ached. Her pussy clenched on nothing, desperate to be filled.
She wouldn't last long.
0347 HOURS — COMMAND CENTER
Gunner stood at the tactical displays, reviewing defensive positions.
His cock was still half-hard. Suzuki's scent lingered on his skin where she'd touched him. Whiskey and desperate arousal and grief.
He could have taken her. Could have fucked her against that wall. Could have given her what her body was screaming for.
But she would have regretted it. Would have woken up sober and realized she'd submitted while drunk and broken. Would have questioned whether she'd chosen or just collapsed.
So he'd walked away.
Let her biology do the work. Let the need build until she came to him clear-eyed and desperate and absolutely certain.
Four days until Voss arrived.
Suzuki wouldn't last three.
The door opened. Isabella entered, Storm asleep against her chest.
"Heard you turned down the commander," she said.
"News travels fast."
"Tucker was on watch. Saw the whole thing." Isabella crossed to him. "You're playing with her."
"I'm making sure she chooses."
"She's been choosing for days. Her body made the choice the moment she walked through our gates. You're just making her suffer."
"I'm making sure she doesn't regret it."
Isabella studied him. Then smiled. "You're either very wise or very stupid. Possibly both."
"She'll come to me."
"I know. Probably tomorrow night." Isabella shifted Storm in her arms. The baby was deep asleep, finally worn out from fighting naps all day. "When she does, do you want me there?"
"To watch?"
"To enforce pack hierarchy. Make sure she understands submission before her pussy gets what it wants."
Gunner considered. Suzuki was different from the others. Commander. Used to authority. Isabella's presence would establish dominance clearly.
"Yes," he said. "When she breaks, you watch."
"Good." Isabella's smile was predatory. "I want to see an Air Force commander discover that military rank means nothing when you're on your knees begging for the alpha's cock."
She headed for the door. Paused.
"Four days until Voss," she said. "We're running out of time."
"I know."
"Then make Suzuki break fast. We need her functional and integrated before the battle. Can't have her distracted by unfulfilled biology when eight hundred soldiers hit our walls."
She left.
Gunner turned back to the tactical displays. But his mind was on the wall. On Suzuki pressed against stone, desperate and offering, her body screaming for what her pride wouldn't let her beg for.
Tomorrow night.
Maybe sooner.
Biology didn't negotiate.
And Suzuki had been fighting hers for too long.
0643 HOURS — MEDICAL BUILDING
Suzuki woke with a pounding headache and the worst case of sexual frustration she'd ever experienced.
The whiskey was gone from her system. Enhanced metabolism burned through alcohol fast.
But the memory remained. Crystal clear.
She'd offered herself to Gunner. Drunk. Desperate. Begging.
And he'd refused.
Not because he didn't want her. She'd felt his cock hard against her. Smelled his arousal.
Because he wanted her to choose him sober.
"Fuck," she muttered into her pillow.
Her hand slid between her legs. She was soaking. Had been all night. The need hadn't faded with the alcohol—it had gotten worse.
She touched herself. Tried to ease the pressure.
It didn't work. It never worked anymore.
Her body knew what it needed. And it wasn't her own fingers.
Three years without touch. Seven days fighting her biology since arriving at North Haven. One night of drunk confession and being refused.
She couldn't last much longer.
Didn't want to.
Tonight, she decided. Tonight she'd go to him. Sober. Clear-eyed. Choosing.
And she'd finally get what her body had been screaming for since the moment she walked through his gates.