Chapter 6
MICAH
Silas led me back through the War Room doors and into the hallway, moving with the same efficient silence he'd carried since picking me up at the airfield.
My head was swimming.
Not from the bourbon. Not from exhaustion. From the impossible weight of what I'd just learned.
Benson's family. Taken care of. College funds. Mortgage paid off. All of it done quietly, anonymously, by people I'd never met until today.
I wanted to call his wife. Confirm it. Hear her voice and know this wasn't some elaborate mind game designed to break me open and see what spilled out.
But that would be stupid.
She didn't know me. Had no reason to trust a stranger calling to ask questions about money that appeared out of nowhere. Better to let it lie. Better to trust—if that was even the right word—that Silas had told me the truth.
And if he hadn't?
I'd burn this place to the ground.
We walked through more hallways, past more rooms I didn't look into, until Silas pushed open a set of glass doors and gestured me outside.
The backyard—if you could call it that—opened up in front of me like something out of a different world entirely.
Massive lawn. Perfectly manicured. Sloping down toward the water in gentle, deliberate waves of green that looked like they'd been shaped by someone who gave a damn about symmetry.
Trees lined the edges, old oaks dripping with Spanish moss, creating natural privacy walls that made the whole space feel both open and contained.
And at the end of it all, where the grass met the dock, two yachts sat moored to the property's pier.
Not boats. Yachts.
Huge. Black. Sleek as knives. The kind of vessels that didn't just cost money—they cost the kind of money that made other rich people uncomfortable.
I stopped walking and stared.
"Jesus," I muttered.
Silas glanced back at me, eyebrows raised slightly. "Impressive, isn't it?"
"That's one word for it."
He didn't smile, but something in his expression shifted. Amusement, maybe. Or recognition that he'd had the same reaction once.
"I've got a quick thing to take care of," Silas said, turning to face me fully.
"After that, you've got options. You can take one of the rooms here at Dominion Hall.
We've got guest quarters. Or I can get you a ride to the Palmetto Rose—it's one of ours, quieter, more private.
Or if you'd rather, pick any hotel in the city. We'll cover it."
He said it all matter-of-factly, like living in a mansion with yachts was the most normal thing in the world. Like offering to pay for a stranger's hotel room was standard operating procedure.
Maybe for him, it was.
"I'll let you know," I said.
Silas nodded once. "Take your time. Look around. I'll find you in a bit."
Then he turned and walked back inside, leaving me alone in a backyard that could've doubled as a private park.
I stood there for a moment, hands in my pockets, staring at the yachts and the water beyond them, trying to process what the hell my life had become in the last twenty-four hours.
This was as off-kilter as I'd felt in a long time.
Maybe ever.
No. That wasn't true.
After my dad—that was the hardest.
Everything after that had been a slow descent into something darker, something necessary. I'd learned to live with it. To function. To be useful.
But this? This felt different. Like the ground had shifted beneath me and I hadn't noticed until I was already falling.
I shook my head and started walking, following a stone path that wound through the lawn toward a set of perfectly trimmed hedges. The air smelled like salt water and something floral I couldn't name. The humidity pressed against my skin, thick and warm, a reminder that I wasn't in Riga anymore.
I rounded the hedges and nearly collided with her.
A woman. Blonde. Wide-eyed. Looking like she'd just stumbled into a museum exhibit she didn't have a ticket for.
And drop-dead gorgeous.
The thought hit me before I could stop it, sharp and unwelcome.
She had that kind of beauty that didn't need effort—soft features, clear skin, hair pulled back in a way that looked accidental but probably wasn't. She wore a sundress that moved when she did, and for half a second, I forgot how to think in complete sentences.
Something stirred in me. Something I hadn't felt in so long I'd assumed it was dead.
I tamped it down hard, blaming this place. Dominion Hall. The steak. The bourbon. Maybe they pumped in psychedelics like Vegas casinos supposedly pumped in oxygen.
She noticed me at the same time I noticed her, and her eyes went even wider.
Then she smiled.
Shy. Genuine. Like she didn't know she was supposed to be careful around strangers.
We met in the middle of the path, going opposite directions, and for a second neither of us moved.
"Oh—hi," she said, breathless. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I was just—there's this flower, just down the path, and I didn't even know they could be grown here, which is silly because obviously they can be grown here if they're here, but I just—"
She stopped, her cheeks flushing pink, and I couldn't help it.
I smiled. Just a small one. A rarity.
"I don't know the first thing about flowers," I said.
Her face lit up like I'd given her permission to keep talking. "Oh, I know everything about flowers. Well, not everything, but a lot. My family's in the flower business. We grow them on Wadmalaw Island, and we have a shop downtown, and—"
She stopped again, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm babbling."
"You are," I agreed.
But instead of being annoyed—instead of finding her juvenile or silly—I found her strangely enchanting. Like the last innocent person on Earth had just been dropped in front of me, and I didn't know what to do with that.
I wondered again about mind-altering gases.
Then I went stern, because that was safer. "Flowers are a waste of money," I said flatly. "They die before you can get them in a vase."
The smile dropped from her face like I'd slapped her.
She went pale. Actually pale. Like I'd insulted her family or her faith or something equally personal.
But then she recovered.
Straightened. Lifted her chin. And when she spoke again, her voice had an edge I hadn't expected.
"Flowers," she said carefully, "have the ability to lift spirits. To bring smiles. To change lives, even if it's just for a moment. They remind people that beauty exists. That care exists. That someone thought they were worth the effort."
I raised an eyebrow. "You get that from a Hallmark card?"
Her jaw tightened. "No. I got that from my momma."
Then she turned on her heel and walked away, disappearing back down the path she'd come from, sundress swishing, head high.
It was like a slap in the face.
And I knew I deserved it.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty path, feeling something I hadn't felt in years.
Regret.
Not the kind that came from a mission gone wrong or a target missed. This was smaller. Sharper. More immediate.
I'd been an asshole to a woman who didn't deserve it, and now she was gone.
And for some reason, that bothered me more than it should have.
I thought about running. Getting the hell out of here and never looking back. This whole thing was stupid. Dangerous. Pathetic.
But then I thought about her smile. The way the little vein in her neck had pulsed when she talked about flowers. The way her breasts had moved when she shifted, the perfect curves under her dress that I had no business noticing but had noticed, anyway.
I slapped myself internally.
You're not a kid.
I wasn't. I was a grown man who'd killed more people than he could count, who lived in the shadows and didn't flinch when the world got ugly.
I didn't get distracted by pretty girls who talked about flowers.
Just like that, I was back to my darker self. The version that knew how to function. How to survive.
"Micah."
I turned. Silas stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
"See anything else you'd like to look at?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I've seen enough. I’m ready to get started."
"Today?"
I almost laughed. Almost.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm ready."
Silas's mouth twitched, just slightly. "It won't quite go that fast. There's paperwork. Background checks. Briefings. That sort of thing."
I'd expected that. Sort of. But part of me—the part that lived in the field, that thrived on action—had hoped for a direct flight back into the fire. Something to focus on that wasn't this place, these people, this strange pull I didn't understand.
"How long?" I asked.
"Few days. Week, maybe."
I nodded, jaw tight.
That's when I heard it.
Laughter. Women's laughter. Bright and sharp and intimate, drifting from somewhere inside the house.
Silas glanced back toward the mansion, then looked at me again. "Maybe the Palmetto Rose is the best bet," he said. "Too many visitors around here, anyway. And I'm guessing you'd like some privacy."
Privacy.
Yeah. That sounded right.
I didn't need to be around people right now. Didn't need to navigate whatever social dynamics existed in a place like Dominion Hall.
I needed space. Quiet. Time to think without feeling like the ground was shifting beneath me.
"Yeah," I said. "Privacy sounds good."
Silas nodded once, satisfied. "I'll make the call. We'll get you set up."
He turned and started walking back toward the house, and I followed, keeping my eyes forward, ignoring the laughter that floated through the open windows.
Ignoring the part of me that wondered if the blonde was still here.
Ignoring the part of me that wanted to find her and apologize.
Because that wasn't who I was anymore.
I was the guy who killed people and didn't look back.
I was the guy who didn't get distracted.
And I sure as hell wasn't the guy who chased after a woman just because she'd smiled at him like he mattered.
We walked back through the house in silence, past the entryway with the snake tank, past the butler who nodded politely, past rooms I still didn't look into.
Silas stopped near the front door and pulled out his phone, typing something quickly.
"Car'll be here in two minutes," he said. "Palmetto Rose is downtown. Quiet. Comfortable. You'll like it."
"Thanks."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I had the uncomfortable sense that he saw more than I wanted him to.
"You did good today," he said.
I frowned. "I didn't do anything."
"You showed up," Silas said. "You listened. You didn't run. That's more than most people would've done."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
Silas's mouth curved slightly. "Get some rest. We'll be in touch."
The car pulled up—a black sedan, understated, nothing like the armored tank we'd arrived in. A driver got out, nodded at Silas, and opened the back door for me.
I climbed in without another word.
As we pulled away from Dominion Hall, I looked back once through the rear window.
The mansion sat there, massive and impossible, framed by trees and sky and wealth I couldn't comprehend.
And somewhere inside, a blonde woman who talked about flowers like they mattered was probably still laughing with people who belonged there.
I turned forward and stared at the road ahead.
Privacy.
That's what I needed.
That's what I'd always needed.
And if a part of me wondered what her name was, what her voice sounded like when she wasn't babbling, what it would feel like to have her look at me again without disappointment—
Well.
That was a problem I'd deal with later.
Or not at all.