Chapter 21
The hum of Chris’s laptop is the only sound in the tent besides the restless shuffle of boots against the floor as the boys pace.
It’s all they’ve been doing for days. Taking a break from wearing a groove in the floor, I’ve been staring at the same government screen for over an hour, the cursor blinking back at me like it’s mocking me for trying.
Mattis and I have been talking for the last few minutes, comparing our minimal notes.
“Nothing?” Chris asks from across the tent, his voice a low rumble and laced with exhaustion. The four of them have been sleeping in shifts, ensuring two of them have eyes on me every minute of every day.
“Nothing,” I whisper, rubbing my eyes. “Every file is either conveniently missing or so redacted I can only read about five words of it.”
The connection crackles, and Mattis’s voice filters through the satellite feed. “It’s not your imagination, Reese. I’ve been tracing the links for three days. There’s a full blackout over that sector. Even old data caches have been purged.”
I glance toward Chris, who’s crossing the distance between us with his arms folded across his chest. His expression is unreadable. “So, what you’re saying is that it’s like someone went through the internet with a damn vacuum cleaner?”
Mattis snorts at Chris’s ignorance of technology. “A very expensive vacuum cleaner. The kind that only the government agency you keep telling me not to hack or billion-dollar corporations can afford.”
I slump back in my chair, defeated. “So we’ve got nothing.”
“Not exactly.” The sound of furious typing fills the line. “How much do you know about the pipeline project?”
“Enough.” I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “They’re relocating locals to make room for it, and the Energy Ministry has been hyping it as a ‘national renewal initiative.’”
“Yeah. The revised construction route cuts directly through the province where your village was located. You don’t need a degree in political corruption to see what’s going on. The population was standing in the way of profit, and someone decided it was cheaper to erase them than to relocate them.”
My stomach twists at the possibility he could be right. “God.”
Chris pauses for a second and then starts pacing again, coiled tight and ready to explode. I can practically hear the gears turning in his mind—how to verify it, how to protect me, how to shut it all down before someone shuts us down.
Mattis sighs through the static. “Look, I’ll keep digging. But whatever this is, it’s above my clearance level—and probably yours, too, Hawk.”
“Appreciate the confidence,” Chris grouses. “Keep me posted.”
The call clicks off, and silence falls heavy between us. I close the laptop, the glow fading from the tent, leaving us in half-darkness.
“They killed them all to clear a route for oil,” I mutter. “An entire village… to save a few thousand dollars.”
Chris looks at me, his jaw clenched and teeth grinding. “And they’ll kill anyone who tries to bring it to light.”
I know what he’s implying. Stay out of it, Reese. Don’t dig any deeper. But he should know me better than that by now. “I can’t stop,” I blurt. “You know I can’t.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, then nods once, resigned. “Then we do it my way.”
It’s after midnight when he sneaks me out of the tent to break into the records room.
The base is relatively quiet, save for the occasional distant rhythm of plane engines.
Hawk moves like a shadow ahead of me, his eyes taking in every sight along the otherwise memorized route.
I stay close, clutching his hand as he drags me behind him.
It is smaller than I expected. It’s essentially a box of concrete walls, steel doors, and no windows.
Chris pulls a bypass key he “borrowed” from the command hub earlier today from his pocket to unlock it.
After swiping the key card, the click of the latch echoes louder than expected, and he hastily sweeps me through the door.
The air in the room is cold and stale, sending a chill down my spine.
Or, maybe it’s my nerves, not the temperature.
We make our way down the short hall, and I’m relieved when the tiny admin post we pass is vacant.
“Come on.” The clink of a lock echoes down the hallway when Hawk swipes the card again, pushing open a heavy metal door several feet ahead of me.
Inside, rows of metal filing cabinets stretch into the dark, punctuated by a single desk covered in disorganized folders and maps.
“Look for anything tied to the pipeline,” I whisper. “Environmental reports, supply manifests, logistics contracts—”
Chris shoots me an inquisitive look. “You’ve done this before.”
“Investigative Journalism 101,” I deadpan. “Or maybe it was 301.”
“Of course. Investigative Journalism 301: Breaking and Entering to Scoop the Story,” he teases with a tiny smile before moving to the other side of the room.
I pull open the nearest cabinet drawer, the beam of my flashlight darting over dates and seals.
Every label sounds more ominous than the last: Strategic Expansion Plan, Territorial Reinforcement Directive, Civilian Resettlement Coordination, Resettlement—I swallow hard.
A folder marked Zulu Corridor Operations catches my attention.
I slide it free and spread it open on the desk.
The documents are all marked CONFIDENTIAL and stamped with signatures I can’t decipher.
There’s a detailed map, hand-drawn and annotated in neat, sharp handwriting.
I trace the red line cutting the country in two.
The same red line passes directly through the coordinates of the village.
Bile rises in my throat. “Chris.”
He’s beside me in seconds, his flashlight steady over the papers. His jaw tightens. “Son of a bitch.”
“This was planned,” I say. “They knew what they were doing.”
He flips through the pages, pulling out another document—a report labeled Clearance Phase. His gaze darkens as he skims it. “Troop movements. They sent in a team three days before the massacre.”
“Who authorized it?”
He finds the signature at the bottom. “Colonel James McKenna.”
My pulse stutters. “The commanding officer?”
“Yeah.” His voice is low, dangerous.
The loud click of a door unlatching echoes on the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots stomping down the hall.
“Shit.” Chris’s hand shoots out, snapping the folder shut.
“MPs.” He kills the light and grabs my wrist, pulling me between the rows of filing cabinets.
The footsteps draw closer, stopping just outside the room.
My pulse races when the lock to the file room clicks and the hinges creak as the door begins to open.
He curses under his breath and yanks me into the closet at the rear of the room, closing it silently behind us. The space is small and dark. I can feel every inch of him pressed against me, the warmth of his body seeping through my clothes. My back hits the wall, and his chest is flush with mine.
A beam of a flashlight slices across the floor under the bottom of the door.
Chris presses a finger to my lips, demanding I stay quiet.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me tighter, and my hand instinctively grips his shirt.
His heart beats against my own, slow and steady, even as mine threatens to explode.
It takes a full minute before I realize I’m shaking—not from fear, but from the electric awareness of his body pressed against mine.
His breath fans hot against my temple, his thumb tracing slow circles at my hip.
The flashlight passes, then fades. The footsteps retreat across the room, but neither of us moves.
“I think they’re gone,” I whisper.
“Shhh...” His jaw brushes my hair back, and I can feel his hesitation and the restraint stretched thin between us. His hand reaches between us, and he pops the button on my pants.
“Chris,” I whisper-shout as he lowers the zipper.
“We should wait to be sure they’re gone. That they’ve left the building.” His fingers brush along my stomach, inching lower until they’re dipping beneath the splayed fabric and into my panties. “And I haven’t been alone with you in days.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the only sound from my lips is a garbled moan as his fingers slide between the lips of my pussy. He lightly dusts over my clit, and I can’t stifle my moan.
“You need to be quiet, baby.” He presses the palm of his free hand over my mouth and eases a finger inside me.
Thrusting and curling, the pad drags along my G-spot as my hot and heavy breaths blow against him.
He works me to the brink quickly, like he’s never forgotten exactly how to please me.
A breathy groan rattles from me when he adds another finger.
“That’s it. Are you going to be a good girl and come all over my hand? ”
“Yes, Daddy.” I whimper the muffled words against the warmth of his hand.
He thrusts harder and faster, his fingertips rubbing over my G-spot as the heel of his palm grinds against my clit.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, fisting it tightly as the pleasure in my core swells.
It explodes, firing through my body as I come.