Epilogue
ALPHABET
Afew months later, everything in our world had somehow settled into a rhythm that made sense—if you squinted, tilted your head, and accepted that “normal” for us now included deck repairs, shared morning coffee, weapons drills, and an internationally recognized model curled up on our laps while we ran surveillance.
Grace had gone back to work in carefully curated, heavily secured, strategically limited bursts. She’d also discovered—much to my suffering and her absolute joy—that she could weaponize my one secret against me:
My real name.
Which is how we ended up here, in the middle of an op, with her currently holding that damn secret hostage while I monitored from the safe house with Bones, Lunchbox, and Voodoo on the ground.
They had just finished a sweep of the backstage areas when her voice lit up my comms—sweet, playful, and dangerous.
“AB,” she sing-songed, “I think you owe me something.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Gracie, I thought you promised to edge it out of me.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” she chirped.
I choked. Loudly.
“Gracie,” I hissed, “you realize we’re on comms, right?”
“Yes,” she answered cheerfully. “And you’re the eyes in the sky. So… watch me.”
“Oh, hell,” Bones growled.
“Oh, this should be fun,” Lunchbox said, far too delighted.
And Voodoo? He didn’t say a word.
Of course, he didn’t have to. Because the second Gracie stepped into the camera frame, he stepped into view right behind her, muttering something that looked a whole lot like you little menace.
From my vantage point, I watched her strut through the venue with a confidence that could bring empires to their knees.
People were cheering. Cameras flashing.
A beat later, it hit me: There was a show happening.
A lingerie show.
“We talked about this,” I groaned into the mic.
“No,” she corrected, grinning at one of the girls who winked back, “you talked. I listened. Now, I’m doing whatever I want.”
“You’re supposed to be the distraction,” I muttered, “not the whole damn show…” But that got me nowhere so, I tried, “Gracie, come on. Let’s discuss this later.”
“Okay,” she agreed brightly, but continued to head straight for the side of the stage and reached behind her waist.
To untie her dress.
“Dollface…” Bones warned, murder and devotion mixing in his tone.
Grace kept going.
The hoots and whistles doubled. Models laughed. And Gracie—my sweet, chaotic, beautiful nightmare—shimmied the top half of her dress down.
Thank every deity ever invented that she was wearing the lace set and the silk cami we’d insisted on. Still didn’t do anything good for my blood pressure.
“Tell her,” Bones ordered. “Or I will.”
“Nope,” Grace said sweetly. “Doesn’t count if he doesn’t tell me.”
Lunchbox snorted. Voodoo rubbed his forehead. Bones muttered a prayer for patience.
Grace looked straight into the nearest camera, like she knew it was my camera, one hand on her hip, lips curved, eyes wicked.
And the dress slid a little lower.
God help me.
“Fine,” I exhaled. “Fine. But you have to get off the stage first.”
“Nope,” she chirped. “We tried that last time, and you didn’t pay up.”
Voodoo was already three steps up the runway, resigned amusement on his face as she prepared to drop the dress the rest of the way.
I cracked.
“Algernon,” I snapped. “It’s Algernon, dammit! My mother loved the sound of it and no one could spell it or pronounce it, so I prefer Alphabet!”
Silence.
Then Grace, dress still barely hanging on, turned, looked directly into the lens, and smiled like she’d just won the Super Bowl.
Voodoo grimaced. Bones groaned. Lunchbox straight-up wheezed with laughter.
“Gracie wins,” Lunchbox announced. “She said she’d get it out of you before the mission was over.”
“Wonderful,” Bones deadpanned. “Now let’s all get back to work—and Dollface? I am going to spank your ass later.”
Grace reached for Voodoo’s hand, still glowing with triumph as he helped her down from the stage. She turned to let him redo the ties on her dress, but happiness filled her voice as she said, “What did I say about threatening me with a good time?”
“On that note,” I cut in, grinning despite every shred of dignity I’d just lost, “looks like we’ve got movement.”
The target stepped into camera range.
Grace straightened, eyes sharpening. Voodoo moved to offer her his arm.
Bones and Lunchbox took position.
And for the first time, the wild, impossible truth hit me with full force: Grace wasn’t just part of us. She was meant for us.
“Alright, team,” I said, steadying myself as adrenaline kicked in and Goblin bumped my thigh with his nose as if reminding me that he was here too. “It’s showtime.”