Chapter 25 Trust #2
"It's what I always wanted. A place where people could feel safe. Where they could heal. Where they could rebuild their lives." Mara looked at the compound with obvious pride. "Took years to put together. To find the right people. To build the infrastructure. But it works."
The front door of the main house opened and women started emerging. Logan recognized Sloane from the rescue operation. She approached with a slight smile.
"Steele. Good to see you vertical and not covered in tactical gear."
"Good to see you too, Sloane." Logan shook her hand. "Thanks again for coordinating the rescue."
"Thank Mara for assembling a team worth rescuing her for." Sloane stepped aside as the others came forward. "You've met most of us in passing. But let me do proper introductions."
Nadia was first. Athletic build, assessing eyes, the kind of presence that suggested she could kill you six different ways and was choosing not to. "You're the one who carried Mara out of that compound. Risk told me she couldn't walk. Thanks for not leaving her behind."
"Wasn't an option," Logan said.
Winter was next. Tall, broad-shouldered, looked like she could bench-press a car. "I'm Winter. I handle equipment and logistics. Also sometimes I cook but everyone complains about it." She looked Logan up and down. "You're smaller than I expected for someone in Delta Force."
"Winter," Mara said warningly.
"What? I'm just saying. I thought special forces guys were all huge." Winter grinned. "But I guess if you can carry Mara's stubborn ass out of an enemy compound, you're strong enough."
Kira stepped forward with a medical professional's calm demeanor. "I'm Kira. I handle medical operations. I was the one treating Mara when you brought her to Erbil. You did good work with the field care. The IV probably saved her from going into shock."
"That was Risk. Our medic."
"Risk is excellent. We coordinated well." Kira smiled. "Mara's healing properly. No permanent damage. She'll have some scars but she'll be fine."
Quinn was next, holding a tablet like it was an extension of her arm. "I'm Quinn. I run intelligence and tech operations. I'm also the one who connected you to us through Beth and Ghost. Small world."
"Very small world." Logan shook her hand. "Your intelligence was solid. Made the operation possible."
Reese came over from where she'd been working on something near the dock.
Oil on her hands, grease smudged on her face.
"I'm Reese. I fly the planes. Also fix the planes when they break.
Also fix basically anything with an engine.
" She wiped her hand on her jeans before offering it.
"You're the one Mara kept smiling about for three months. "
"Reese," Mara said, face reddening.
"It's true. Every time your phone buzzed you'd get this look. Like someone gave you a present." Reese grinned. "Nice to finally meet the guy behind the look."
Harper was last, quieter than the others but with kind eyes. "I'm Harper. I run the medical wing and coordinate residential care. I make sure the women who come here have what they need to heal. Both physically and mentally."
Logan shook hands with each of them, absorbing names and faces and trying to match them to the roles Mara had described over months of conversations. These were the women who'd built something incredible. Who'd saved hundreds of lives. Who'd come for Mara when she'd needed them.
"Come on," Mara said, taking his hand. "I'll show you around."
She led him through the compound, explaining each building's purpose.
The ops center with its banks of computers and satellite imagery displays.
The training facility with combat mats and workout equipment.
The medical wing with its examination rooms and recovery beds.
The residential areas where women stayed while they rebuilt their lives.
They ended up on the dock watching the sun set over the bayou. Mara sat close to him, her shoulder pressed against his, their fingers intertwined.
"So that's my world," she said quietly. "That's what I do and who I do it with. What I couldn't tell you about for months because I was scared of what you'd think."
"I think it's incredible. I think you built something that matters. Something that saves lives and gives people hope." Logan looked at her. "I think I'm honored you trust me enough to show me."
"I should have shown you sooner. Should have trusted you sooner." Mara leaned her head against his shoulder. "I was so busy keeping everything compartmentalized that I almost lost you. Almost died without you ever knowing the real me."
"I know the real you. Have known her for months.
This place, your team, the work you do, that's all part of it.
But the real you is the woman who texts me good morning every day.
Who sends me pictures of sunrises. Who laughs at my terrible jokes.
Who came for me when I needed her." Logan kissed the top of her head. "The rest is just context."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Watching the water. Listening to the sounds of the bayou. Eventually, Mara spoke again.
"The team wants you to stay for dinner. Nadia's cooking, which means it'll actually be edible unlike when Winter tries. They want to get to know you. Ask you invasive questions. Make sure you're good enough for me."
"And after dinner?"
"After dinner, I was hoping you'd stay. I have my own cabin on the property. Small. Private. Just mine." Mara looked up at him. "I want you to stay, Logan. Not just tonight. I want us to figure out how to make this work. The distance and the deployments and the complications. I want to try."
"I want that too." Logan pulled her closer. "We'll figure it out. One day at a time. One mission at a time. Whatever it takes."
"Whatever it takes," Mara agreed.
Dinner was exactly as chaotic as Mara had warned.
The whole team gathered around a long table in the main house kitchen.
Nadia had made jambalaya and it was incredible.
The conversation flowed easily, jumping from topic to topic.
They asked Logan about Delta Force, about his team, about growing up in Montana.
They told stories about operations and close calls and the women they'd helped.
Winter did threaten him, but only once. "You hurt her and I will find you. I don't care if you're Delta Force. I don't care if you're in a different state. I will find you and make you regret it."
"Understood," Logan said seriously.
"Good. Want more jambalaya?"
By the time dinner ended, Logan felt like he'd known these women for years instead of hours. They were family. Not by blood but by choice. By the work they'd done together and the risks they'd taken for each other. Mara had built something special here.
Later, in Mara's cabin with the lights low and the sounds of the bayou filtering through the windows, Logan pulled Mara close.
The cabin was small like she'd said. Cozy.
A bed with a handmade quilt. A desk by the window.
Photographs on the wall of her team, of sunrises over the bayou, of moments that mattered.
"This is really you," Logan said, looking around. "Not the operator. Not the leader. Just you."
"Just me," Mara agreed. She stepped closer, her hands sliding up his chest. "I've wanted this. Wanted you here. In my space. In my life completely."
Logan cupped her face, careful of the fading bruise. "Are you sure you're ready for this? Kira said you're healing but—"
"I'm ready." Mara kissed him, cutting off his concerns. "I'm tired of waiting. Tired of being careful. I almost lost this. Lost you. Lost us. I don't want to wait anymore."
Logan kissed her back, deeper this time, his hands gentle but sure. They moved to the bed slowly, taking their time, relearning each other after weeks apart and trauma that had changed them both.
The room was quiet except for their breathing and the faint creak of the old floorboards beneath their feet.
Moonlight slipped through half-closed blinds, painting silver stripes across the sheets and their skin.
No rush tonight—no ticking clock, no goodbye waiting in the morning.
Just the two of them, fragile and fierce, stitching themselves back together one touch at a time.
Logan eased her down onto the mattress, following until he hovered above her, weight braced on his forearms so he could look at her—really look.
His thumb brushed the faint scar along her jaw, a reminder of the night she'd refused to leave him behind.
Mara turned her head to kiss his palm, then pulled him down until their mouths met again, slow and searching.
They shed the last of their clothes without hurry. His shirt. Her tank top. His jeans. Her leggings. Each piece fell away like shedding armor they no longer needed. When they were bare, Logan pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed, breathing her in.
"I've missed this," he whispered. "Missed you."
Mara's fingers traced the newer scars across his ribs—marks from the cage, from survival. She kissed them one by one, soft and deliberate, as if she could heal them with her lips. "I'm here," she murmured against his skin. "Right here."
He rolled them so she was on top, hands settling on her hips as she straddled him. Mara leaned down, kissing him deeply while her hair curtained around them. She moved lower—kissing his throat, his chest, the flat plane of his stomach—until she reached him, hard and ready beneath her touch.
She took him in her hand first, stroking slowly, watching his face as his breath hitched.
Then she lowered her mouth, tongue swirling around the tip before taking him deeper.
Logan groaned low in his throat, fingers threading gently through her hair—not guiding, just holding on.
She worked him with reverence: long, slow pulls of her mouth, soft flicks of tongue, hollowing her cheeks until his hips lifted involuntarily and his hand tightened in the sheets.
"Mara—" His voice cracked. "God—"
She hummed around him, the vibration pulling another ragged sound from his chest. When his thighs began to tremble, she eased off, kissing her way back up his body until she could meet his eyes again—dark, blown with want and something deeper.
"Your turn," he rasped, rolling them once more so she lay beneath him.
He kissed down her body with the same patience she'd shown him: the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the sensitive skin just above her hip. When he settled between her thighs, he looked up at her—asking, always asking. Mara nodded, legs falling open wider, and he lowered his mouth.
His tongue was slow at first—broad, flat strokes that made her sigh.
Then firmer circles around her clit, gentle suction that had her fingers curling into his hair.
He slid two fingers inside her, curling them in that perfect rhythm while his mouth stayed devoted, licking and sucking until her hips rocked against his face and soft whimpers turned to trembling gasps.
"Logan—please—"
He didn't rush her. He built it patiently, steadily, until the pleasure crested in a long, rolling wave.
Mara came with a quiet cry—back arching, thighs clamping around his head—as pulses of release moved through her in slow, luxurious shudders.
He stayed with her through every aftershock, kissing softly until she tugged him upward.
They came together again, bodies aligning like they were made for this.
Logan reached for the nightstand, rolled on the condom with shaking hands.
Then he settled between her thighs, guiding himself to her entrance.
Their eyes locked as he pushed in—slow, careful, inch by inch—until he was buried deep, hips flush to hers.
For a moment they simply breathed together, foreheads touching, hearts hammering in sync.
Then he began to move—long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged pleasure through them both.
Desperate and tender at once: the way his hands gripped her thighs like he was afraid she'd disappear, the way she clung to his shoulders like he was her anchor.
Every thrust was measured but intense—his pelvis grinding against her clit, building that fire again. Mara wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer, deeper. Their mouths met in messy, open-mouthed kisses—tasting salt and need and love.
"I love you," he breathed against her lips, the words slipping out like they'd been waiting too long.
Mara's eyes shimmered. "I love you too."
The confession tipped them both over. Her second orgasm built fast this time—tightening, coiling, then shattering in sharp, desperate waves that milked him deep inside her.
Logan followed with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom, body trembling against hers in perfect echo.
They stayed locked together until breathing steadied, until the urgency faded back into quiet intimacy. He eased out gently, disposed of the condom, then gathered her close again—pulling the handmade quilt over them both.
Afterward, wrapped in the handmade quilt with Mara's head on his chest, Logan traced patterns on her bare shoulder and thought about how different his life had been six months ago.
Before Mosul. Before the cage. Before a woman with dark hair and determined eyes had come for him when she didn't have to.
"I love you," he said quietly.
"I love you too." Mara kissed him softly. "Thank you for coming here. For meeting my team. For wanting to understand this part of my life."
"Thank you for letting me in. For trusting me with it."
They lay together in comfortable silence, listening to the bayou, feeling the solid reality of being together without distance or danger between them. Logan thought about the future. About how
It wouldn't be easy. Nothing worth having ever was.
But they had time now. Had each other. Had teams on both sides who supported them.
That was enough.
That was more than enough.
It was everything.