21. Chapter 21
Colt
For the first time in months, something that felt dangerously close to happiness had taken root in my chest.
It was a fragile thing, built on the foundation of weeks spent in Caroline's apartment, mornings waking up beside her, evenings spent talking about nothing important.
The kind of domestic peace that I'd never imagined was possible for someone like me.
Someone whose life had been defined by survival and violence and the constant management of threat.
But for four days, I let myself believe it could last.
Then I walked into Ditch's office to review security reports with Ghost, and everything changed.
Ghost was already there, his expression locked down in the way it got when something serious was happening.
He'd been working on the Xtinction surveillance analysis for weeks, trying to make sense of the scattered intelligence reports that had been coming in about safehouse incidents, information leaks, and security breaches.
"I found something," Ghost said without preamble. "And I need you to sit down before I tell you."
I didn't sit. Just waited, because standing meant I was ready for whatever was coming.
"The surveillance incidents we've been tracking," Ghost continued, pulling up files on the computer screen. "The ones we thought were random. They're not random. They're coordinated. Look at the timeline. Look at the locations."
He walked me through it methodically. Safehouses in Galveston. Austin. San Antonio. Each one had experienced some form of surveillance or attempted breach. Nothing stolen. Nobody physically harmed. But evidence of systematic reconnaissance.
At first, it looked like what we'd been assuming. Xtinction remnants testing our defenses. Gathering intelligence about security protocols and response times. Mapping out the Lords' network.
Then Ghost pulled up another set of files.
"Background checks," he said. "Multiple database searches. Sophisticated. Someone with resources bypassed standard security protocols and pulled information on several Serpent Sinners members. Deep background. Financial records. Personal relationships."
"Who?" I asked.
"That's where it gets worse. Someone ran the same kind of investigation on Caroline."
The room tilted slightly. I gripped the edge of Ditch's desk to steady myself.
"Her work history," Ghost said, his voice careful. "Her home address. Every former relationship. Her entire professional background. Multiple searches across different databases. This was thorough, Colt. Someone spent time and resources getting to know her."
My PTSD symptoms—the hypervigilance, the sensory sensitivity, the fragmented thinking that had become manageable over months of therapy—all of it disappeared beneath something clearer and far more dangerous.
Pure focus. Pure tactical clarity. The part of me that was still the Sergeant at Arms reasserted control completely.
"Pull everything," I said. "I want to know who accessed those databases. I want to know what methods they used. I want to know why anyone would be interested in Caroline specifically."
For the next six hours, Ghost and I reconstructed the digital footprint.
Found the access points. Identified the characteristics of whoever had conducted the investigation.
The sophistication suggested military or law enforcement training.
The scope suggested institutional resources.
The timeline suggested this had been ongoing for months.
By the time Ditch returned to the office, we had a partial profile. Someone with training. Someone with access. Someone who understood how to move through digital systems without triggering standard security measures.
But it was the final connection Ghost made that rewrote everything.
"One of the individuals associated with Don's black-site operation," Ghost said, pulling up another file. "Had financial connections to someone named Marcus Delacroix."
I knew that name. Had heard it from Caroline during one of those early conversations in her apartment when she was showing me the damage that other people's violence had created.
Marcus Delacroix. The man who'd spent three years convincing her that she deserved to be controlled.
The man who'd made her believe that isolation and fear were necessary parts of love.
"Tell me there's not a connection," I said.
Ghost met my eyes. "I wish I could."
He walked me through the evidence. Delacroix had financial ties to several individuals involved in the black-site operation. One of those individuals had been conducting surveillance on multiple Lords properties. The same individual who'd pulled comprehensive background information on Caroline.
"Someone from the surviving Xtinction network," Ghost said quietly, "recognized her name when she came to the hospital. Made the connection to you. And then did some digging. Found her ex. Found the leverage."
I stood up and I walked to the window of Ditch's office, looking out over Houston. The city that had become home. The place where I'd thought I could finally have something real.
"How much time do we have?" I asked.
"Based on the surveillance pattern, they're still in reconnaissance phase. But it's accelerating. I'd estimate two to four weeks before they transition to active threat."
Two to four weeks before the people who'd tortured me decided to use the woman I loved as a weapon against me.
I pulled up a photograph of Caroline on my phone.
The one from the fundraiser where she'd been laughing with Rochelle, her hair down, her expression completely unguarded.
She'd been happy that night. Genuinely happy.
And someone out there had been documenting her existence for the purposes of using her against me.
My hands started shaking. Not from fear for myself. I knew how to survive threats. I'd survived interrogation and torture and the complete destruction of my ability to trust anyone. I could survive anything external.
But Caroline? The thought of her in danger because of me. Because of her connection to me. Because my past had finally caught up with both of us.
That broke something inside me that I wasn't sure I could fix.
"Get Ditch back in here," I said to Ghost. "And keep this quiet. Nobody else knows yet. The second we bring this into the open, people will react. And if people react, there's a chance word gets back to Caroline before we have a plan."
I needed to prepare. Needed to put protection in place. Needed to build contingencies that would keep her safe while we figured out how to eliminate the threat permanently.
The happiness I'd felt four days ago didn't seem fragile anymore. It seemed naive. Like I'd forgotten who I was. What I was capable of. What people like me were supposed to expect from life.
Not happiness. Not peace. Not someone to come home to at night.
Threat. Crisis. War.
That was the reality I'd been born into. That was the only thing I was actually equipped to handle.
And now, the woman who had become everything for me was going to be collateral damage in a war she never asked to fight.