Chapter 13 #2
She reaches out. Touches my chest gently, carefully avoiding the worst of the bruising. Her hand is warm against my skin. Steady.
"Come here," she says quietly.
Not a question. Not a demand. Just an invitation.
I should resist. Should maintain distance. Should protect her from the inevitable damage that comes from getting too close to me. Instead, I let her pull me closer. The walls I have spent years building collapse completely.
I kiss her.
Her lips part under mine, soft and warm. I taste mint and something sweet underneath, feel the sharp intake of her breath as I deepen the kiss. Her hands slide from my face to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair and gripping hard enough to sting. The pain grounds me, makes this real.
She pulls me closer and the kiss turns hungry. Her tongue sweeps against mine and heat floods through me, pooling low in my gut. Every nerve ending fires at once. Four days of torture and I barely felt it, but this—her mouth moving against mine, her nails scraping my scalp—this I feel everywhere.
My hands find her waist, slide under the hem of her shirt to bare skin. She's warm and soft and perfect. I pull her against me and she comes willingly, her body molding to mine like we were made to fit together. Her heartbeat pounds against my chest, racing to match the frantic rhythm of my own.
She makes a sound—half gasp, half moan—and it snaps whatever control I'm holding onto.
I lift her and she wraps her legs around my waist, arms tight around my neck.
My ribs scream in protest but I don't care.
Pain doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the taste of her, the feel of her thighs locked around me, the way she's breathing my name against my mouth.
The movement sends pain lancing through my ribs but I do not care.
We barely make it to my quarters.
The door slams shut and I press her against it, my mouth never leaving hers.
Her back arches off the metal surface as my hands slide under her shirt, palms flattening against the smooth skin of her sides.
She's all heat and curves and I can't get enough.
Her fingers work at my belt with fumbling urgency while I tug her shirt over her head, breaking the kiss just long enough to drag the fabric away.
The sight of her stops me cold. Black bra, flushed skin, lips swollen from my mouth. Beautiful. Dangerous. Mine.
"Bed," she breathes, and I lift her again. Her legs tighten around my waist as I carry her the few steps to the narrow cot. I lower us both down and she pulls me with her, our bodies tangling together on top of the rough blanket.
Clothes disappear in a desperate rush. Her hands push at my pants while I unhook her bra, the clasp giving way under my fingers.
The fabric falls away and I forget how to breathe.
My hands map her bare skin—the dip of her waist, the curve of her ribs, the soft weight of her breasts.
She gasps when my thumbs brush over her nipples, her back bowing off the bed.
"Alex." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a demand all at once.
Her fingers trace down my chest and I freeze.
Not from desire—though there's plenty of that—but from the sudden awareness of what she's seeing.
Every scar. Every mark. The puckered bullet wound in my shoulder.
The raised line across my ribs where a knife came too close.
The burns on my back, twisted skin that tells stories I've tried to forget.
"These," she whispers, fingertips ghosting over the bullet scar.
Her touch is feather-light, reverent. She traces the path of old damage with careful precision, moving from my shoulder to the knife scar across my ribs, then reaching around to feel the twisted skin on my back. Mapping each wound like it matters. Like I matter.
"Beautiful."
The word doesn't make sense. "You're insane."
"Maybe." But her voice cracks with emotion. She leans down, pressing her lips to the bullet scar, then the knife wound, then trailing kisses across each damaged piece of me. "But I mean it."
Something in me breaks open. Some final defense I didn't even know I was holding. I pull her mouth back to mine and kiss her with everything I've been holding back. All the fear and need and desperation.
She responds with equal intensity. Her nails rake down my back—carefully avoiding the burns—and I groan into her mouth. Her hips rock against mine and I'm suddenly desperate to feel her, all of her, nothing between us.
"Delaney." Her name comes out rough. Wrecked.
"Yes." Not a question. Permission and demand all at once.
I roll us so she's beneath me, settling between her thighs. The heat of her against me nearly undoes me right there. She reaches between us, her hand wrapping around me, guiding me to where she's already slick and ready.
The first press inside steals my breath. She's tight and hot and perfect, her body yielding to mine inch by inch. Her head falls back, throat exposed, a low moan escaping as I sink deeper. I freeze, giving her time to adjust, every muscle locked as I fight for control.
"Move," she breathes, her legs wrapping around my hips, heels digging into my ass. "Alex, please—"
I move. Slow at first, each thrust deliberate, watching her face as pleasure washes over her features. Her eyes flutter closed and I lean down, catching her mouth in a kiss as I pick up the pace. She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to take me deeper, nails scoring my shoulders.
The pain from my ribs registers somewhere distant but I don't care. Nothing matters except the way she feels wrapped around me, the sounds she's making, the way my name falls from her lips like a benediction.
"Look at me." The words come out as a command and her eyes snap open, locking with mine. The connection hits me like a physical blow—not just our bodies joined but something deeper. Something that terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.
Her breath hitches and I feel her tighten around me. "Alex, I'm—"
"I know. Let go. I've got you."
She shatters beneath me, her body clenching around mine, my name a broken cry on her lips. The sight and sound and feel of her coming undone destroys me. I follow her over the edge, burying my face in her neck as release crashes through me with devastating force.
For long moments we just breathe. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back. My weight is probably crushing her but she doesn't complain, just holds me close like she's afraid I'll disappear.
Eventually I roll to the side, gathering her against my chest despite my protesting ribs. My fingers trace patterns on her skin. Mapping every curve. Every line. Memorizing the feeling of her in my arms.
"Still here?" I ask quietly.
"Still here," she confirms. Her hand rests over my heart.
"Good." I tighten my arms around her. "Because I don't think I could let you go now even if I wanted to."
She lifts her head. Looks at me with those sharp, intelligent eyes that see through every defense I try to build. "Then don't."
I kiss her again. Slower this time. Savoring it. Trying to commit every detail to memory because some part of me still believes this cannot last. That the world will find a way to take her from me like it has taken everything else.
But for now. In this moment. She is here. Real. Mine.
We lie together in the darkness of my quarters. Her breathing gradually evens out. Sleep pulls at both of us. We have been running on adrenaline and fear for days. The crash is inevitable.
I am just starting to drift off when the alarm sounds.
Sharp. Piercing. Cutting through the quiet like a blade.
Base security breach.
Delaney is on her feet instantly. Training kicks in despite exhaustion. She grabs her clothes. Starts dressing. "What does that mean?"
I am already moving. Pulling on pants. Reaching for my weapon. "It means the Committee found something."
The alarm continues its relentless wail.
Somewhere in the base, Kane is mobilizing the team.
Tommy is pulling security feeds. Willa is prepping medical.
Stryker and Rourke will be running perimeter checks.
Sarah helping with intel analysis. Khalid securing Odin and monitoring the backup exit routes.
"Stay close," I tell her.
"That's the plan."
We move into the tunnel. The alarm echoes off stone walls. Emergency lights cast everything in red. Other doors are opening. The team mobilizing. Weapons being grabbed. Tactical positions being taken.
We reach the command center. Kane is already there. So is Tommy. The main screen shows news footage—not thermal signatures, but CNN.
My face. Delaney's face. Side by side.
"—federal manhunt expanded," the anchor says. "The FBI agent wanted for treason has been spotted with suspected domestic terrorist Alex Mercer. Roadblocks established across three states. Reward increased to five million dollars for information leading to their capture—"
"How?" Delaney breathes.
Tommy's fingers fly across keyboards. "Gas station security footage.
From when you were running after Wyoming.
Took them this long to process all the feeds, but facial recognition finally tagged you both.
" He pulls up the grainy image. "It went out on law enforcement channels an hour ago. Committee picked it up immediately."
Kane's expression is grim. "They don't have Echo Base. But they've narrowed the search radius. Every cop, every federal agent, every Committee asset in the region is now looking for both of you."
"The decoy operation," Stryker says. "We need to run it now. Before they tighten the net further."
I look at the screen. At Delaney's FBI photo next to mine. At the word WANTED burning in red.
She's officially one of us now. Hunted. Burned. No going back.
Her hand finds mine. Squeezes once.
I squeeze back.
"Then we give them what they're looking for," I say. "On our terms."