Chapter 12 #2
"Because I care what happens to you." I step closer. "Because I watched you fight tonight and I'm done pretending I don't want this."
His hand comes up. Rough calluses brush my jaw, touch controlled but the violence still hums beneath it. Just under the surface.
"After we’re sure Traci's asleep." Voice drops, goes rougher. "My room."
Not a question. A statement of intent delivered with the same direct honesty I brought to the conversation.
Heat floods through me despite exhaustion and stress and the blood still soaking my clothes from treating casualties.
"Okay," I manage.
He holds my gaze for another beat, then steps back. Returns to defensive mode, checking the perimeter one more time before settling into watch rotation.
I head to the bathroom to clean up. Wash blood from my hands, change into clothes that don't smell like gunpowder and copper. The mirror shows exhaustion in the lines around my eyes, but there's something else there too. Something that looks like anticipation.
Dangerous territory when there might be another assault. But Eli's right—might as well have something worth surviving for.
An hour later, I check on Traci, pressing my ear against the locked door. I can hear her breathing steady and even. She’s asleep. Door still locked from inside. Safe as we can make her.
I find Eli in his room at the end of the hallway. He's cleaned up. Changed clothes, washed away blood and cordite. But the combat's still there in how he moves, how he tracks me crossing the threshold. Predator watching prey.
"Traci's asleep," I say.
He crosses the room in three strides. Hands frame my face, mouth claims mine with bruising force that tastes like violence barely leashed.
I meet him there. No hesitation. No gentle exploration. Just raw need and the darkness we're both carrying.
His hands work with brutal efficiency. Our clothes disappear like tactical gear he's clearing. I map scars across his chest, feel coiled muscle beneath skin that's seen too much combat.
We hit the bed hard. Eli pins me, weight pressing me into the mattress, hands catching my wrists and slamming them above my head.
"Rough." Not asking permission. Stating fact.
"Good."
Something breaks loose behind his eyes. Control fracturing, darkness spilling through the cracks.
He releases my wrists. Slides down my body with violent intent, mouth tracing throat to breasts. Takes each nipple between teeth, just this side of pain, makes me arch and gasp.
Lower. Hands grip my thighs, spread them wider, hold me open. Then his mouth finds me and it's not gentle. Tongue and teeth working with the same tactical precision he brings to killing. Finding weaknesses, exploiting them, driving me higher until I'm shaking apart beneath him.
I bury fingers in his hair, hold him there, ride the wave building. When I come it tears through me and he doesn't stop. Keeps working until I'm oversensitive and trembling, pulling him up by the shoulders.
"My turn."
I shove him onto his back. Settle between his thighs and take him in hand first. Learn the weight, the shape. Then mouth, taking him deep enough to feel him hit the back of my throat.
His control shatters. Hands fist in my hair, hips drive up despite the effort to stay still. Rough sounds tear from his chest, animal and raw.
When I pull back his eyes are black, all pupil.
"Inside." Command, not request.
"Yes."
He positions himself. Drives home in one brutal thrust that punches air from my lungs. Then he's moving, hips pounding with force that'll leave marks, hands gripping hard enough to bruise.
I wrap legs around him, pull him deeper, meet each violent thrust. This isn't soft or romantic. It's combat by other means, two people who lived in violence finding something real in the wreckage.
When the second climax hits I bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. Eli follows seconds later, face buried against my neck, body going rigid before everything breaks.
We collapse tangled together. Breathing hard, sweat cooling, the violence finally draining out.
Silence stretches. His arm tightens around me.
"Long time," he says finally. Words rough, abbreviated. "Since I had anything like this."
I lift my head. See honesty cutting through the darkness in his expression.
"Not going back," he says. "To isolation."
Before I can respond, footsteps sound in the hallway. Quick. Urgent. Someone moving with purpose.
Eli's instantly alert, reaching for the weapon he positioned within arm's reach of the bed. I grab clothes, start dressing with the efficiency of someone who's done this before.
A knock on the door. Cara's voice.
"Helena. Eli. You need to see this."
We finish dressing and emerge to find Cara in the hallway, laptop in hand, expression caught between triumph and concern.
"Federal prosecutors just arrived," she says. "Three of them, accompanied by FBI agents. They've been reviewing the evidence I uploaded to secure servers, and they're ready to move."
"Move on what?" I ask.
"On Graves. They have enough for arrest warrants based on Traci's testimony, the contractor confessions, and the financial evidence." Cara's voice is tight with controlled intensity. "But they need Traci to give formal testimony in person. In Anchorage. Tomorrow."
The hallway goes silent.
Tomorrow. Less than twelve hours from now. Taking Traci to Anchorage means exposing her on the road, putting her in a federal building where anyone could be compromised by Graves's network. It means trusting systems that already failed her once.
But it also means ending this. Putting Graves in custody where he can't send more contractors, can't threaten Traci, can't continue running a trafficking empire from behind a federal badge.
Eli's already in tactical mode. "Security protocols?"
"Full federal protection. Marshals escort, secure facility, victim advocate present during testimony." Cara meets his eyes. "They're taking this seriously, Eli. They know what's at stake."
"When do they want to leave?"
"Early morning. Before dawn." Cara's jaw tightens. "They want to move while Graves's remaining assets are still regrouping from tonight's assault."
I look at Eli. See him calculating distances, threat vectors, exposure windows. Running the same tactical scenarios he's been running since Traci arrived.
"We need to tell her," I say quietly. "She deserves to know what's coming."
"She's asleep," Eli says.
"Then we wake her up." I keep my voice firm. "Because this is her choice. Her testimony. Her decision about whether she's ready to face Graves's lawyers and the federal system that failed to protect her the first time."
Eli studies my face, then nods once. "Together."
We head to the infirmary. I knock softly on Traci's door.
"Traci. It's Helena. Federal prosecutors are here. We need to talk."
Silence. Then the lock clicks and the door opens.
Traci stands there in sleep clothes, hair mussed, eyes wary. Reading our expressions for signs of threat or safety or whatever truth we're about to deliver.
"Federal prosecutors want you to testify," I tell her gently. "In Anchorage. Tomorrow morning. They have enough evidence to arrest Graves, but they need you to give formal testimony to make the case solid."
She processes this. Then reaches for her notebook.
Will it end this? Will he go to prison?
"If your testimony holds up, yes." Eli's voice cuts in, flat and direct. "But testifying means Anchorage. Lawyers trying to break your story. Systems that didn't protect you before."
Traci's hand trembles as she writes.
I want him to pay. For everything he did. Everything he put me through.
"Then you testify," I say quietly. "And we'll be with you every step."
She looks between us. Searching for certainty in an uncertain situation. Then she nods once, sharp and decisive.
I'll do it.
Outside the window, Alaska stretches into darkness. Somewhere out there, Simon Graves is gathering what remains of his network. Maybe planning another assault, another attempt to eliminate the witness who can destroy him.
But tomorrow, before he gets another chance, we're taking Traci to Anchorage. Putting her in front of federal prosecutors who finally have enough evidence to bring down a decorated U.S. Marshal running a trafficking empire.
Tomorrow, this ends... one way or another.