Chapter 25
The next morning, Griff stood at the window of the safehouse, watching dawn paint Charleston's skyline gold. His palms were slick with sweat. His heart hammered against his ribs. In less than an hour, his team would be here. In person this time.
The video call yesterday had been awkward enough. But facing them in the flesh after months of silence? A whole different animal.
His stomach churned. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm his breathing. He wished he had a relationship with the Lord like Sarah did. Or the rest of his team, for that matter. For a longtime now, his relationship with faith had been more wrestling match than comfort zone.
Which was entirely on him. He meant to change that. Wanted to. But he had no idea where to begin. Thoughts for another time.
Behind him, Sarah slept curled on the leather couch, her laptop still open beside her, code scrolling endlessly across the screen.
She'd finally crashed around four AM, mid-sentence about encryption patterns.
Even in sleep, she looked ready to spring into action—a habit she'd probably developed after their first encounter.
His hands trembled slightly as he checked his watch. They'd be here any minute. What would he even say? "Sorry I ghosted you all?" "Thanks for coming even though I'm a terrible friend?"
The familiar sound of motorcycles broke the morning quiet. Two bikes, approaching from different directions but arriving simultaneously. Had to be Axel and Izzy—still coordinating like they shared a brain even after all this time.
Griff's chest tightened painfully. His pulse spiked.
The garage door opener activated—of course they'd already gotten the code. The bikes' engines echoed in the enclosed space below before cutting off. Footsteps on the internal stairs—Izzy's determined stride, Axel's heavier tread.
Griff met them at the top of the stairs, hand shaking as he gripped the rail.
Izzy punched him. Hard. Luckily not in his injured shoulder.
"Jerk," she said, then pulled him into a fierce hug that nearly cracked his ribs, despite the fact that he outweighed her by a good seventy pounds. "Love you."
Over her shoulder, Griff met Axel's eyes. Their teammate looked tired but relieved.
"Good to see you, brother," Axel said, pulling him into a bear hug the moment Izzy released him. "Don't do that again."
"I—" Griff started, then stopped. What was there to say?
The garage door activated again. Through the window, Griff saw a tricked-out Range Rover pull in, all murdered-out black with tinted windows. A moment later, Ronan appeared at the top of the stairs. Their team leader looked older. New lines around his eyes, a weight that hadn't been there before.
Maya followed him up, her presence both unexpected and somehow fitting. She moved with the contained grace of someone trained in violence but choosing restraint.
"Good to have you back, Ghost," Ronan said quietly.
The words carried layers Griff couldn't unpack. Questions unasked. Hurt unacknowledged. Relief despite everything.
"Is that her?" Izzy had noticed Sarah stirring on the couch, voice dropping.
"Sarah. Yeah." Griff's voice came out rougher than intended.
Izzy studied her with the tactical assessment of a trained operator, cataloging everything. "Smaller than I expected for someone who took you down." A grin tugged at her lips. "So how exactly did that go down?"
"Bear spray," Sarah mumbled from the couch, awake but not opening her eyes.
"Bear spray?" Axel's voice cracked with disbelief. "Seriously?"
"My bad," Griff muttered, face heating. "I had to come in hot—"
"And you weren't expecting a squint to fight back," Ronan finished, and his mouth twitched—the closest he got to a smile these days. "I like her already."
Maya stepped forward, extending her hand to Sarah who had finally sat up. "Maya. Nice to meet you in person. That was impressive work on the financial trails."
"Oh, this is never going away," Izzy announced gleefully. "The legendary Ghost, taken out by an accountant with camping equipment." She headed off to explore the rest of the safehouse.
More engines outside—muffled, pulling directly into the garage. Deke's truck, from the sound of it.
"I'm loving this," Deke rumbled once he'd made his way upstairs. The former NFL player looked like a mountain in tactical gear, but his eyes went soft when he saw Griff. "Son," was all he said, but it carried forgiveness.
"Look who decided to rejoin the living," Axel said, but underneath the joke was real hurt that made Griff's chest ache.
He'd shut them all out. His family. The people who would have died for him—who still would, apparently, since they were here.
"Kitchen's through there," Griff said, because logistics were easier than emotions. "The weapons cache is—"
"Already found it," Izzy announced, reappearing from the hallway that led to the garage. "Christian's collection is beautiful. Excessive, but beautiful."
"You picked the lock?"
"Picked is a strong word. I negotiated with it." She grinned, but her eyes were assessing him, looking for damage. They all were.
Kenji and Zara arrived next, pulling straight into the garage.
Within minutes, they had Finn, their newest team member, helping them set up their mobile command center in the dining room.
The familiar sound of their bickering—"That cable goes there," "No, it doesn't," "Do you want optimal signal flow or not?
"—made something in Griff's chest loosen fractionally.
Sarah had gotten to her feet, watching them all with wide eyes. She looked small and civilian among all the tactical gear and easy violence of his team. When she moved toward the kitchen, Griff had to stop himself from moving to her side—a protective instinct he didn't want to examine.
But Izzy caught the aborted movement. Raised an eyebrow. Said nothing. Yet.
"So you're the one who found it all," Deke said to Sarah. Not a question. "The financial trail Doc mentioned on the call."
"I found the money. Griff found me." She paused, a slight smile playing at her lips. "After I pepper-sprayed him into submission."
"Bear spray," the team corrected in unison.
"This is going to be a thing, isn't it?" Sarah asked.
"Forever," Izzy confirmed cheerfully. "I'm already planning the commemorative t-shirts."
The invisible barrier cracked. Not gone—Griff could still feel the weight of his abandonment hanging between them—but cracked enough to let a little light through.
"We should review the intelligence," Ronan said, already shifting into command mode. "Griff, walk us through what you've found since yesterday's call."
The use of his name instead of 'brother' stung. But what did he expect after three months of silence?
They gathered around Zara's screens as Sarah pulled up her files. Griff stood back, letting Ronan run things. He'd never wanted command anyway—Tank used to joke that Griff was allergic to leadership, happiest alone on overwatch with his rifle and radio.
Tank. The absence of him was a physical thing, a gap in their formation they all felt but no one mentioned.
Sarah began explaining the Charleston Option in detail, her nervousness from the video call replaced with professional confidence. Financial trails, personnel movements, the scope of the conspiracy. With each revelation, the team's expressions grew grimmer.
"They're going to kill them all," Izzy said quietly. "Everyone on that list."
"Unless we stop them," Sarah said.
"We will," Ronan said with the quiet certainty that had made men follow him anywhere.
Griff noticed Sarah's slight bow of her head—a prayer, quick and subtle. He waited for the familiar irritation at religious gestures, but it didn't come. Instead, he found it... steadying, somehow. Like Tank's pre-mission rituals, the ones they'd all pretended not to notice.
The team noticed he didn't react to her prayer. Deke and Kenji exchanged glances. Izzy's expression softened slightly.
"I should have called you sooner," Griff said suddenly, the words ripping out of him.
The room went quiet.
"Yeah," Ronan agreed. "You should have."
"But you called," Deke added. "That's what matters."
The tension didn't disappear, but it shifted. They were here. They'd come when he called, even after everything. That was who they were.
A knock at the door made everyone tense, hands moving to weapons.
"That'll be Doc," Sarah said, moving to answer it.
Doc entered carrying two large thermoses and a tactical bag that clinked suspiciously. She wore a simple blazer and slacks, and her pearls, looking like any well-dressed Charleston matron out for morning errands.
"Children," she announced. "I brought breakfast and ammunition. Not necessarily in that order."
"My kind of woman," Ronan called out. "Good to meet you IRL."
"Much better in person, dear boy. I can actually throw things at you if you misbehave." Doc surveyed the team with sharp eyes. "You're all much prettier than your files suggest. And taller than you looked on video."
"You have files on us?" Kenji sounded both offended and impressed.
"I have files on everyone. Coffee?" She held up one of the thermoses. "Made it at my rental. That espresso machine downstairs looked far too complicated for this early in the morning."
The small woman commandeered the kitchen. Deke followed, drawn by the promise of coffee and the energy of someone used to command.
"Former military?" Deke asked.
"Intelligence, darling. Far more dangerous."
Griff watched Sarah integrate with his team, not trying to be one of them, but finding her own space. Helping Zara with data correlation. Asking Kenji about encryption patterns. Letting Finn explain field medical procedures.
"She's why you came back."
Griff didn't startle—he'd heard Ronan approach. His team leader stood beside him, watching Sarah demonstrate something on her laptop that had Zara actually looking impressed.
"She’s collateral damage. Or would have been."
Ronan snorted. "Been there. Keep telling yourself that, cowboy." He paused. "Tank would have liked her."
The name hung between them, finally spoken.
"Yeah," Griff agreed quietly. "He would have."
"He wouldn't want you carrying this guilt."
"I know."
"But you're going to anyway."
"Yeah."
Ronan clasped his shoulder—the good one. "We all are. That's why we're here. To finish what he started."
Through the window, Charleston's skyline looked peaceful. Somewhere out there, Buckley was preparing his trap. In twenty-four hours, the summit would begin.
Griff looked at his team—his family—preparing for war. At Sarah, finding her place among them. At Doc, somehow corralling elite operators as easily as if they were errant children.
He'd brought them all into danger. Again.
But watching them work together, watching Sarah explain her discoveries while his team built plans around them, Griff sensed something he hadn't felt in months.
Not hope exactly. He'd learned better than hope.
But maybe something close to it.
Purpose. And the possibility that they might all survive this.
Tank had believed in impossible odds. Maybe it was time Griff remembered how to believe too.
"Alright, children," Doc called from the kitchen. "Breakfast first, war planning second. And someone needs to move that motorcycle with the 'Student Driver' magnet. It's visible from the street."
"That's Finn's," everyone said in unison.
"I'm still learning," Finn protested, already heading for the garage. "Motorcycles are different from dirt bikes!"
The team exchanged glances, and for the first time in three months, Griff found himself almost smiling.
They were idiots. But they were his idiots.
And tomorrow, they'd walk into hell together.