25. Riley
Riley
I wake up slowly the next morning, the motel room still dim with the heavy curtains drawn tight against the windows, blocking out most of the daylight.
The bed feels unfamiliar under me, too firm and too small compared to the big, warm one in Mason’s cabin where I had felt so safe and cherished.
My body is sore in the most intimate places, a delicious ache that brings back flashes of everything we’ve shared.
I stretch carefully, the cheap motel sheets cool and slightly scratchy against my bare legs, and turn my head toward the small table near the window.
Mason and Kane are both still awake, sitting in the two worn chairs by the small table.
They look exhausted, dark circles under their eyes, but they’re alert, postures straight despite the long night.
The room smells like stale coffee from the half-empty pot on the table and the faint chemical scent of motel cleaner that clings to everything.
A small lamp on the table casts a yellowish glow, making their faces look tired but determined.
Mason’s steel eyes soften the moment they meet mine, but there’s a hardness around the edges that tells me he hasn’t slept at all.
His flannel shirt is rumpled, sleeves rolled up to show the strong lines of his forearms, and the sight of him makes my heart do that familiar flutter even through the exhaustion.
“Did you two sleep at all?” I ask, my voice still husky from sleep as I sit up and pull the thin blanket higher around my shoulders. The fabric is rough and smells faintly of laundry detergent, nothing like the warm quilts back at the cabin.
They glance at each other, then both smirk in that way only men who’ve seen too much together can. Mason’s smirk is small and tired, barely lifting the corner of his mouth, but Kane’s is wider, almost amused, crinkling the corners of his kind eyes.
“No,” Kane says, leaning back in his chair with a low chuckle that fills the small room and makes the tension ease just a little. “Not a wink. Your boyfriend here doesn’t believe in sleep when there’s protecting to be done.”
I like Kane. He has a kind energy despite the hard lines of his face and the tactical gear he still wears.
He treats me like I’m a real person, not just a package to be moved from one safe house to another.
I smile at him, pulling the blanket tighter around me as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Does Mason ever sleep while on duty? Or is he always like this? All intense and watchful, like the mountain itself decided to grow legs and stand guard?”
Kane laughs, a deep, genuine sound that bounces off the thin walls and makes me smile wider despite everything.
“Oh, he sleeps. Sometimes. There was this one time during a long surveillance op up in the mountains. We were supposed to be on watch rotation. Mason took first shift and refused to wake me up when his time was over. I woke up six hours later to find him still sitting there, rifle across his lap, staring into the trees like he could will the enemy into existence just by glaring hard enough. When I asked him why he didn’t wake me, he just grunted and said, ‘You were snoring too loud. Figured the bears would get you first if I left you alone.’ I told him I don’t snore.
He said, ‘Exactly. That’s how I knew something was wrong. ’”
I laugh softly, the sound surprising even me.
It feels good to laugh, even for a moment, in the middle of all this fear.
The sound bubbles up light and bubbly, cutting through the heavy atmosphere in the room.
Mason just shakes his head, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the tiniest hint of that rare smile I love so much.
It makes my heart squeeze. Even tired and worried, he still tries for me.
Before I can ask Kane for more embarrassing stories about Mason, there’s a sharp knock on the door.
My stomach drops instantly, a cold knot forming deep inside.
Mason and Kane are on their feet in a second, hands near their weapons, bodies tense and ready like coiled springs.
Mason moves to the door first, checking the peephole with careful precision before opening it just enough to see who’s there.
The two men from last night step inside, their expressions professional but cold, eyes scanning the room like they’re assessing a shipment rather than a person.
I don’t like them. Not even a little. It’s not just because they tried to separate me from Mason last night at the airfield.
There’s something about their eyes, the way they look at me like I’m cargo instead of a scared woman who just wants to live her life.
Their suits are too crisp, their postures too rigid, and the faint scent of cheap cologne and bureaucracy clings to them.
Mason doesn’t like them either. His shoulders go rigid, his posture shifting as something sharp and protective settles over him, thickening the air between us.
The taller one speaks first, his voice clipped and businesslike. “We’re here for the handoff.”
Mason doesn’t move. His arm stays protectively in front of me like a shield, his body angled slightly in front of mine. “Like fuck you are. I’ll hand her off myself.”
The shorter agent sighs, clearly annoyed, his polished shoes squeaking slightly on the thin carpet as he shifts his weight. “This is protocol, Cole. You’re not assigned to this detail anymore. Let us do our job.”
Mason’s voice is low and dangerous, the kind of tone that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Your job is to keep her safe. And right now the only way I know that happens is if I’m in this room with her. You got a problem with that, take it up with Stevens.”
The tension in the small motel room thickens instantly, the air growing heavy and charged. The agents look frustrated, their postures stiffening, hands twitching like they want to reach for their badges or phones. “We’re calling Stevens. This shit’s ridiculous.”
I knew this moment was coming. The moment I’d finally have to say goodbye. The moment I’d finally be handed off to live a new life. Tears well in my eyes. “Mason, promise me you’ll look after my father.” I try not to cry but the tears fall anyway.
I’m not ready to say goodbye. I hate this. I hate it so fucking much.