Chapter 10
It took a few hours for the rest of the team to arrive.
One by one, they filtered into the main briefing room, the air heavy with fatigue but sharpened by purpose.
The table stretched long beneath the overhead lights, maps and monitors glowing faintly along the walls.
Watchdog sat at the far end, his tech tablet in front of him, his side aching beneath the bandages.
He had refused the bed. This, this was where he belonged.
Bein came first, Aoife trailing with a soft hand on his arm before retreating to let the team gather.
Duchess was next, sharp-eyed, her braid neat and her stance straight as a soldier, or perhaps the ex-spy she was.
Reaper and Bishop slipped in together, Bishop with his usual calm weight, Reaper grinning faintly as though itching for trouble.
Snow hurried in not long after, her pale hair tied up, eyes quick and concerned. Titan and Lotus arrived with Hurricane close behind, their presence steadying, the air shifting with their gravity.
“Charlie can’t make it. Iris has a fever.”
Iris was their rainbow baby and the absolute apple of her parents’ eyes. The thought of the little girl being poorly filled him with worry. “Shit, is she okay?”
Bishop nodded. “Teething. Man, it’s a bitch. Her little gums are raw.”
“Poor thing, you should try brandy.”
Bishop looked at him with a what the fuck look, his eyes wide. “I’m not giving my infant child booze.”
“I meant for Charlie.” Watchdog’s lips twitched, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.
Bishop barked out a laugh and bumped his knuckles. “Good call, buddy. My wife could do with some sleep. She’s exhausted.”
“Bish, you looking to get shot again? You can’t say that about your wife, man.”
Titan shook his head at Bishop. “You’re dumber than a screen door on a submarine.”
Bishop just grinned. “She loves me, and anyway, I hid all the sharp objects and guns.”
This felt good; it almost made him forget why they were all there.
And then Bás entered, Val just behind him, Monty and Scout padding at her heels. Bás carried the storm on his shoulders, his jaw tight, but his hand brushed Val’s as they sat. The room quieted in unison.
Watchdog drew in a slow breath. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s last-minute. I know I’ve earned your anger. But you deserve to hear everything. No more walls.”
Duchess folded her arms. “Good. Because secrecy isn’t teamwork, Watchdog.”
He inclined his head, accepting the rebuke. “Agreed.” He tapped the tablet, the monitors flashing alive with files, images, money trails webbed across continents. Oliver’s face appeared on one side of the screen, flanked by blurred stills of men in Diepsloot, South Africa.
“I’ve been following threads left after Hansen,” he began, his voice steady though his chest tightened.
He saw Bás’s shoulders tense at the sound of Hansen’s name.
The man had hunted Bás for years, hurting those he loved and even kidnapping Valentina.
Finding out Hansen was Bás’s brother had been a blow but Bás hadn’t faltered and had ended the threat permanently when he killed him.
Just maybe not ended the network of crime as they’d thought.
“Not just him, but his network. He wasn’t working alone.
Money has been moving, quietly, carefully, through shell companies, bank accounts, front organisations.
And it all circles back here.” He tapped Oliver’s face, enlarging it.
“Oliver Grant. MI5 officer. Well-respected. Clean record, on paper. But the trails lead to him.”
“I know this guy.” Duchess pointed at the image. “We only worked together once, before I quit, but he was a rising star.”
“Yeah, well, somewhere along the line his star got mixed up in some shady shit.”
Bishop leaned forward, brows drawn. “Are you certain?”
“Certain enough that I didn’t want to bring it to you half-formed,” Watchdog answered. “But every time I trace it, Oliver’s shadow is there.”
Snow frowned, chewing her lip. “And the men tonight? Who were they?”
“Contractors,” Watchdog said grimly. “Former militia. South Africa. Some of them were tied to Hansen. Others were new faces. But they were watching Clara, not Oliver. Which means she’s a piece on their board, whether she knows it or not.”
Reaper whistled low. “And you decided to snatch her first.”
“I decided she was safer with me than in their hands,” Watchdog countered, his voice rising despite himself. He steadied, his fingers flexing against the table. “She has no idea what she’s walking into. And Oliver, whether he’s complicit or compromised, can’t be trusted to keep her safe.”
Duchess’s gaze flicked to Val, then back to him. “So you went rogue?”
“Yes.” The word landed hard. “I didn’t want to drag you into this until I had proof. Until I was sure.”
Titan’s deep voice rumbled. “And in the meantime, you bled alone.”
The words cut sharper than intended. Watchdog leaned forward, his hands braced on the table. “I can’t…” His throat tightened, words catching. “I can’t be the weak link again. I can’t be the reason we lose another one of us.”
His eyes went to Lotus without thinking. She froze, the room holding its breath.
She stood, crossed the space without hesitation, and pulled him into a hug, arms fierce around him. “You listen to me,” she said, voice rough. “It was never your fault. Rykov made his choice, and he was one of us to the end. You don’t get to carry that alone.”
Emotion pressed at his chest, hot and sharp. Before he could speak, Lotus pulled back, her fist catching his arm hard enough to sting. “And don’t you dare be so bloody stupid again.”
Reaper barked a laugh, the sound cracking the tension, and even Bishop’s mouth curved faintly at the corner.
Watchdog huffed, rubbing his arm, but some of the weight shifted from his shoulders. “Duly noted.”
Bás leaned forward now, palms braced against the table, his voice firm. “Then we face this together. But I need to know one thing, Watchdog. How does Clara fit into this?”
Watchdog exhaled slowly, meeting his leader’s gaze.
“She’s Oliver’s fiancée. But the engagement isn’t what it looks like.
She’s not in love with him; she’s tied to him by circumstance, by family obligation.
And now she’s a target because of him. Whether he’s selling information or compromised by Hansen’s network, she’s leverage. She’s vulnerable.”
Val spoke gently, her hand resting on Bás’s forearm. “And he took her because he thought she was safer here.”
“Because she is safer here,” Watchdog said fiercely. “Those men were outside her flat. They would have taken her if I hadn’t.” His jaw locked, the thought unfinished.
Bás studied him for a long moment. Then he leaned back, nodding once. “So, we protect her.”
Snow tilted her head. “Does she know any of this?”
“No,” Watchdog admitted. “Not yet.” His eyes flicked to the camera feed still running in the corner of the room, Clara’s sleeping form a quiet constant. “But she deserves the truth. Just…not all at once.”
Bishop’s voice was calm, certain. “Then we start with keeping her alive.”
The room murmured assent. Titan leaned forward, the glow of monitors catching the sharp set of his jaw. “You should’ve told us sooner.”
Watchdog’s throat tightened. “I know.”
Duchess’s voice softened, her arms uncrossing. “But you’re telling us now. That’s what matters.”
Lotus smirked faintly, folding her arms again. “And if you try this lone-wolf crap again, I’ll shoot you myself. In the leg. Just so you remember.”
Laughter broke around the table, low but real. The tension eased, replaced by something stronger, resolve, unity, the old rhythm sliding back into place.
Bás straightened, his voice cutting through with authority. “Then it’s decided. We hunt this network. We dig Oliver out. And we do it together.” His gaze locked on Watchdog’s. “No more solo missions.”
Watchdog inclined his head, the weight of their eyes on him, but for the first time in months, it didn’t feel like judgement. It felt like family.
“Together,” he said quietly.
Bás pushed to his feet, bracing both hands on the table as he looked around at the faces gathered.
The room stilled. His voice carried steady authority, tempered by the steel of experience.
“All right. We’ve all heard it. Hansen’s network isn’t dead.
Oliver Grant is in it, whether willing or compromised, we don’t yet know.
Clara’s caught in the crossfire. That makes her ours to protect until we know otherwise. ”
Every head nodded.
“Duchess.” His gaze landed on her. “You know MI5 better than anyone here. Reach out to your contacts. Discreetly. I want to know what chatter there is on Grant, and if anyone’s asking the wrong questions.”
Her chin lifted. “Understood.”
“Titan, Hurricane.” He pointed next. “Run Oliver’s professional circle. Dig into his colleagues, his movements, any sudden money shifts. Use the overseas contacts if you have to. If he sneezes, I want to know which hand he used to cover his mouth.”
Titan smirked faintly. “Copy that.” Hurricane gave a short nod, already pulling up files.
“Snow, Reaper.” Bás’s voice cut through again. “Find out who those men in the van tonight were. IDs, associates, what work they’ve done since South Africa. I want to know who they answer to and who signs their paychecks.”
Reaper leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Oh, good. Grunt work. My favourite.”
Snow rolled her eyes, smacking his arm. “We’ll get it done.”
“Bishop.” Bás turned. “Grant’s family. Clara’s family. Friends, associates, who they owe money to, and who they have influence with. If someone is pushing Clara into this marriage, I want to know why.”
Watchdog spoke before Bishop could respond, his voice cutting sharply through the air.
“I already know why. Clara’s parents are in debt.
Badly. Their home is at risk. Grant’s influence and money would secure it.
They’ve been pushing her toward him for years, and now that his career’s on the rise, they’re using her sense of duty to save themselves. ”
The silence that followed was heavy. Duchess’s expression hardened, while Val’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
Bishop gave a short nod. “Then I’ll confirm it, dig deeper. If money’s moving, I’ll find it.”
“Good,” Bás said. “Val, Lotus, you’re on Clara for now. Keep her safe, keep her fed, keep her calm. She’s not a prisoner, but she can’t walk out that door until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Lotus raised a brow. “You want me to play babysitter?”
“Yes,” Bás said flatly. “Because she’ll test limits, and you won’t let her get away with it. And because Watchdog will ignore his stitches if he thinks she’s uncomfortable. That make sense?”
Watchdog felt heat climb up the back of his neck. Lotus smirked knowingly. “Crystal clear.”
Bás’s gaze swept the table once more. “We work this together. We find the cracks, we pull the threads, and we end this before it touches one more hair on our family. Understood?”
A chorus of assent rumbled back at him. The team began to rise, the scrape of chairs and the hum of conversation filling the air as assignments took shape.
Duchess already had her phone in hand. Snow and Reaper bickered good-naturedly as they headed toward the monitors.
Titan clapped Hurricane’s shoulder, the two of them moving as one toward the data feeds.
Watchdog leaned back, letting the rhythm of it wash over him. The hum of voices, the flow of orders, the weight of responsibility distributed across capable hands, it steadied him. The world slipped back into something ordered, structured. Manageable.
He turned to his console, pulling up the feeds. Clara’s apartment appeared first. She was awake now, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hair loose around her shoulders, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She stared at the wall for a long moment before burying her face in her hands.
Watchdog’s chest tightened, but some part of him eased, too. She was alive. Here. Safe.
“Watchdog.” Bás’s voice cut across the monitors as the last of the team filed out. “Stay.”
He nodded, closing the feeds with a swipe.
When the room was empty, Bás crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. “What is Clara to you?”
Watchdog’s throat tightened. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the words clipped but true.
“Be careful with her,” Bás said.
“I won’t hurt her,” Watchdog replied at once.
“I’m not worried about her,” Bás countered.
The words cut deeper than a blade. Watchdog looked away, his jaw tightening.
Bás let the silence stretch, then shifted, his voice gentler. “How’s your mum?”
Watchdog dragged in a breath, steadying himself. “Not good. Most days, she doesn’t remember me. Some days she…some days she calls me by my father’s name. A man I’ve never known.” His voice cracked. “She’s slipping, Bás. And I can’t stop it.”
For a moment, the commander’s mask slipped. Bás stepped forward, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “I’m sorry.”
Watchdog swallowed hard. “So am I.”
Bás squeezed once, then stepped back, his voice firm again. “And one more thing.”
Watchdog arched a brow, wary.
“You speak to your therapist before you do anything else.”
He froze. “Bás.”
“No.” The word was sharp, brooking no argument. “You’re no good to her, to us, or to yourself if you don’t. You’ve been carrying too much alone, and that stops now.”
Watchdog’s jaw clenched. He hated the thought of it, opening the locked doors in his head, letting anyone in. But Bás’s stare didn’t waver.
“Understood?”
He exhaled slowly, forcing the word past his teeth. “Understood.”
Bás gave a short nod, satisfied. “Good man.”
When he left, the room felt quieter, the hum of the monitors steadying Watchdog’s pulse. His gaze drifted once more to Clara’s feed, to the sight of her sitting alone in a room that wasn’t hers.
For the first time in a long while, he felt something other than chaos. Not peace, but order. And with order, maybe, came the smallest edge of hope.