Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Iwake before the sun rises, but I’m relaxed. No nightmares. My dreams were pleasant. But not as lovely as the dream I wake up next to.
Naomi sleeps beside me, her dark hair spilling across the pillow.
Her breathing is deep and even. She looks even younger in her sleep, her face calm and free from worry.
Which only makes me feel older and guiltier about having her last night.
But it doesn’t stop me from watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest or tracing the curve of her shoulder with my eyes where the sheet has slipped down.
I should wake her and tell her I'm stepping out; in case she stirs as well. But she needs rest more, so I’ll risk not being here when she does.
The morning air hits my face as I slip outside, salty and warm. The little fishing village is already stirring: older men mending nets, young men preparing boats. Here, it’s tough to be a ghost. Here, we stick out. But American money is welcome, which is enough to make people less curious.
At the panadería, I buy fresh pan dulce. The coffee comes from a small hut where an ancient woman with hands like twisted roots pours it thick and black into a thermos. Another stall sells masa, corn husks, and everything else I need for tamales.
When I return to the bungalo, I strip off my shirt before I start cooking. The day’s already warm and the kitchen is going to heat up as I get going.
I'm pleasantly surprised my hands remember the motions as I work in the tiny kitchen of our borrowed bungalow. I learned to make these in my time here. I enjoy cooking. Doing something with my hands that gives life instead of taking it.
The smell of steaming corn husks soon fills the small space.
I hear Naomi stirring, and soon, she emerges from the bedroom, hair tousled, wearing my T-shirt. It hangs to mid-thigh, and something deeply primal in me stirs at the sight. She blinks sleepily, then her eyes widen at the spread on the counter.
"You cook?" Her voice is still rough with sleep.
"That’s a strong word for what I’m capable of," I say, handing her a mug of coffee.
She takes it gratefully, wrapping both hands around it like it's precious. "Smells amazing."
I plate the tamales, still steaming, and set them on the rickety table by the window. The morning light frames her head as she sits, haloing her like the angel she is.
"I didn't know what kind you'd like, so I made three kinds."
She takes a bite and closes her eyes, making a sound that sends heat straight through me. "God, that's good."
We eat in silence for a few minutes, ravenous after everything that’s happened. I watch her lick sugar from her fingers, and I have to look away, or I’m not going to let her finish breakfast.
"No nightmares?" she asks.
I pause, food halfway to my mouth. "No."
"Me neither." She looks at me over her coffee cup, something vulnerable in her eyes. "First time in weeks."
We need to talk. About Logan, about what happens next, about whatever this is between us. But for now, we eat tamales in the day's new light, and I pretend that we could always have mornings like this.
When we’re nearly finished, I begin. "You probably want to know who that man was. And how I know him."
Naomi takes a sip from her mug, eyes steady on mine. "I do. But I wanted to wait until you were ready. I also wanted you inside me, so I wasn’t going to spoil the mood.” She gives me a saucy look, and I smile despite what I have to tell her next.
I sigh and nod, pushing my plate away. "His name is Logan Black. He was a part of my team."
Her Cheshire grin fades but not into something sour or dark. She’s open—patient. Not pushing but not retreating. Just present. I’m grateful for it.
“I told you I was in the Army. Tier one operator. Special Forces. But I didn’t tell you just how special.
” I take a sip of coffee, stalling slightly.
"I was part of a program called Project Guardian. We were recruited from other top programs. It wasn’t just training.
” I forced myself to look into her eyes.
I wanted to be seared by her judgment. I deserve it.
“There was experimentation. Genetic modification.” Naomi’s throat works, but she doesn't say anything. “They kept us separate for that part. But I know most didn’t survive. In the end, there were eight of us. We were capable one-man armies. But as a unit, we could take down entire cities.”
“I thought it was strange what you could do. When you killed that bear, I just thought I’d never been around someone who was Tier One. But it was more than that.”
I nod. “At times, I’ve been holding back.” Which means I’ve been lying to her.
Naomi stares off into the distance, nodding. I’m already losing her. The truth of what I am is already pushing her away.
“Static was part of that program, too?”
“Yes. I was the team leader. Until…”
“Barakesh,” she finished for me. Naomi, capable, shrewd, sharp Naomi, is already reading the end of the story.
It’s my turn to look out the window at the sea. I’m not sure I can look at her for this next part.
“We were tasked with extracting a terrorist threat in that town. The target not only had a small army protecting him, but he was utilizing human shields as they so often did, surrounding himself with women and children like a coward so that no one could get to him. But that’s what we were designed to do. ”
“What happened?”
I closed my eyes, and I could see it. The night had spared me, but now I had to face it in the light of day.
“The firefight was going well, but slow. We had to be perfect in our target selection. We were bogged down and separated. But we were fine. We were getting to the target. But Logan was always impatient. He began lighting fires. I didn’t catch him doing it until the fourth building.
I ordered him to stop. Innocent people would be burned alive.
He just laughed. I remember tightening my grip on my weapon.
I don’t know what I would have done, but…
But there was an explosion, and when I recovered, he was gone.
Then it was pure chaos. Fire, bullets, screaming, panic. ”
I opened my eyes so I didn’t have to see, but there was Naomi’s face. It wasn’t hard, but I could see the worry.
“I found the target. Or rather, the target found me. The whole town was in flames. He was escaping with what could have been his wife and children. I knew I couldn’t secure him and bring him to evac alone.
So I killed him. In front of them. The wife threw herself on his body, screaming at me.
The sons looked like they wanted to kill me.
I remember the daughter’s face. She spat on his body.
But she didn’t look at me with any less hate.
I screamed at them to run. The buildings around us were going to collapse.
They eventually did. And then I escaped to our exfil location.
Everyone was there, except Logan. And I left him.
I figured he was dead. Doesn’t excuse leaving a man behind, but I’m not sure I wouldn’t have killed him myself if I saw him again. ”
Now she knew the truth of what I was. The twisted double helix of the creature they made me and the terrible things I’ve done, bound together to make me the monster I am.
We were silent for a long time. I'm still unable to look at her. I’m sure she’s looking at me with disgust.
"I'm a monster. I'm sorry I hid that from you." The words scrape my throat on their way out. I focus on the worn floorboards beneath my feet, still unable to meet her gaze. "I should never have touched you."
The morning light becomes harsh, revealing every scar on my body. Some are visible, most are not.
"You deserve someone good. Someone who hasn't done the things I’ve—"
“Stop.” The word was firm but not harsh. "Look at me," she says quietly.
When I don't, she places her hand under my chin and gently tilts my face up. The touch is so tender it almost breaks me. I’ve never really considered how brave or not I am. But bringing my eyes to hers might be the hardest thing I have ever done.
I expect her to look like when I first met her. Stern. Or worse. Filled with disgust or hate. But that’s not what I find at all. She’s looking at me with kindness. With understanding.
"I'm grateful I found you," she says. "Not just because I might be dead if I hadn't. Not just for what you've done for me. But because of who you are."
I try to shake my head, but she holds me steady. Her delicate finger moves to rest against my chest, directly over my heart. That gentle touch burns through me.
"This," she says, pressing slightly. "This is what matters. This is who you are."
“But the things I’ve done…”
"Are not all you are." Her eyes never leave mine. "I know you could have killed me in those woods, and no one would have ever found my body. I know you could have left me with those men. I know you risked everything to help someone who held you at gunpoint."
She steps closer, her body nearly touching mine. "I know that when you kiss me, your hands shake. Like you're afraid of breaking me."
"I am," I admit.
"You won't." She reaches for my hand and places it against her cheek. "You're not a monster, Walker. Monsters don't fear being monsters."
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her.
"I've spent years alone," I say. "Punishing myself. Trying to disappear."
"I see you," she whispers, rising on her toes. "I see all of you. And I want what I see."
Her lips meet mine. The kiss is certain. She's choosing with her eyes wide open.
My hands find her waist and lift her gently. She wraps her legs around me as I carry her back to bed. I lay her down gently. Not because she’s fragile and I might break her. But because she’s the most precious thing in the world.
She pulls me down to her, her fingers tracing the scars on my back and the muscles underneath. When we met, we crashed into each other like a storm, but now we move together like the tide. Slow, inevitable.
“I want you," she breathes against my neck.
It feels like absolution. I don’t know if I deserve it but it doesn’t matter. She is everything, and that includes being my judge. I promise her all that I am, broken pieces and all.
I strip her of my shirt. She’s not wearing any panties.
The heat of her, the scent of her—both salty and sweet—fills my senses.
"Walker," she breathes my name like a prayer.
I hover above her, suddenly uncertain. "Are you sure?"
Her answer is to pull me down to her, her lips finding mine again. Her fingers trace the scars on my back, mapping the history of violence written on my skin. But there's no judgment in her touch, only desire. Especially when they run off the ridges of my abs.
I pull back to look at her. "You're beautiful.” The word is completely inadequate, but I fill it with as much meaning as I can.
That beautiful blush that I’ve fallen in love with spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, to the swell of her breasts. I follow its path with my lips, worshipping every inch of her. Her breath catches when I take her nipple into my mouth, her back arching off the bed.
Her hands are in my hair, on my shoulders, pulling me closer. I trail kisses down her stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips.
I take my time, kissing my way back up her calves, the inside of her knees, her thighs. Her scent fills my head, making me dizzy with want.
When I taste her, her moan breaks the morning quiet. Her hands fist in my hair, guiding me. I lose myself in her pleasure, in the salty-sweet taste of her, in the trembling of her thighs against my shoulders.
"Walker," she gasps, "I need you. Please."
I rise, shedding my sweatpants and briefs before settling between her legs. The feeling of her skin against mine, with nothing between us, is almost overwhelming. I pause, my forehead pressed against hers, breathing her in.
"I never thought I'd have this," I confess.
Her eyes, blue as the sea outside our window, meet mine. "You have me," she says simply. "All of me."
When I enter her, it's slow, deliberate. We both gasp at the sensation. She wraps her legs around my waist, drawing me deeper, and I have to close my eyes against the intensity of it.
Her hands trace the muscles of my back, my shoulders, exploring my body as I explore hers. There's no rush, no desperate race toward release. Just the two of us, together accepting that this is right. That this is where each of us should be.
I watch her face as pleasure builds, memorizing every expression, every soft gasp. When she comes, her eyes never leave mine.
My own release follows, crashing through me like a wave. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her name against her skin like a confession.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her back.
Outside, the world continues. The threat we face is still real. But here, in this tiny world we’ve created, we feel safe. Seen. Here in this world, I’m a good person, where I deserve to be with the most beautiful, wonderful woman in any world.
But that outside world comes crashing in like a different kind of wave when I hear a chirp from Static’s emergency cell phone. And then we hear Static’s distorted voice. “Buenos días.”