Chapter 31
Bastien Montclaire
Every breath between now and then is foreplay.
I’ve been watching her cameras all night, my eyes glued to the monitors. Her house is quiet, the lights low across every room. It’s the stillness that settles right before sleep.
Her bedroom is dim. She disappeared into the bathroom and hasn’t come out. She’s showering, getting ready for bed.
Getting ready for me.
My encrypted phone line lights up. Black hardware, no display, no traceable signal. This phone doesn’t ring unless someone from the old world is calling. Only a handful of people have this number, and none of them reach out unless it’s serious.
I answer without hesitation. “Yeah.”
“Hey, are you busy?”
The voice is familiar and rough around the edges. It’s a voice shaped by deserts, gunfire, and operations that never made the news.
Terrence Freeman.
We met twelve years ago, halfway across the world, back when we were both still new to the blood and grit of it all. Green Berets, prepared for a war you can’t explain to anyone who hasn’t lived it.
He’s the one who pulled me out of a compound in Kunar after a mission went sideways. We’ve spilled blood together, dug shallow graves, and burned secrets. We’ve done things decent men wouldn’t survive.
My eyes flick to the monitor. Laurette is still in the bathroom, the light glowing under the door. No movement or sign of distress.
“Never too busy for an old friend.”
“I was thinking about coming over. I need to talk to you about something.”
Terrence doesn’t talk. Terrence acts.
If he’s circling the conversation instead of landing it, that means the damage is already done. And whatever is coming next is not simple.
“Is it bad?”
“It’s not good,” Terrence says.
“I was on my way out.”
My eyes flick back to the screen, and the bathroom light switches off. A second later, she steps into the bedroom, steam trailing behind her, a towel wrapped around her hair. Her skin is bare, still damp.
“A woman?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
That earns a dry chuckle from Terrence. “Of course it is.”
My only reply is a grunt.
Laurette crosses the room without hesitation and opens the top drawer of her dresser—her lingerie drawer. She sifts through the lace and silk with careful precision.
She has no idea I’m watching.
Or maybe she does.
I told her once that I would be… that I always am. Whether she believes that reaches her bedroom, I’m not sure. She never looks toward the camera, never acknowledges it. But she moves through the space naked and unhurried, chin lifted, body on display with a quiet confidence that feels deliberate.
It’s a performance, whether she means for it to be or not.
She has no idea how close I am or how easily I’d end this call. How fast I’d choose her over everything else—over consequence, over collapse, over the world burning down if that’s the price.
“I’ve got a problem I can’t handle alone.”
Those words stop me cold.
He’s handled war zones with a knife and bad intel. We’ve pulled bodies out of holes that didn’t exist on any map. We’ve cleaned up messes no government would ever claim. If he says he needs backup, it’s already a fucking disaster.
My gaze drifts back to the screen. Laurette pulls a dark scrap of lace from the drawer and holds it up to the light. Examining it. Considering it… to wear for me.
“You’re already en route?”
“Ten minutes out,” he says.
“See you soon, brother.”
My focus returns to the monitor. Back to her.
Laurette stands in front of the dresser, a strip of lace still dangling from her fingers. She studies it for a beat longer, then slips it on with the kind of casual confidence most women fake and few ever master.
Black lace. Low on the hips. Barely there. Meant to be seen and enjoyed by a man.
Meant to be taken off slowly.
She moves with fluid ease, one hand dragging her damp hair out of the way as she fastens the matching bra.
Not performing—but not unaware, either.
She might not know I’m watching right now… but she knows I could be.
And that, I think, is exactly the point.
She’ll be expecting me soon, but my girl will have to wait a little longer tonight.
I pull out my phone.
Running late. Be a good girl and don’t even think about slipping a finger between your legs. That pussy belongs to me.
I hit send. Let her sit with that while she waits.
When the knock comes, it’s right on the mark. Two quick raps. Only a man trained to count seconds knocks that way.
I open the door.
It’s been a while, too long, but some things don’t change with time.
Terrence steps inside—same build, same presence. All quiet threat and coiled restraint. The kind of man who doesn’t posture.
His eyes meet mine, and in that half-second of silence everything old between us locks back into place—the years, the blood, the things we never spoke aloud.
No handshake. No small talk. We’re not those kinds of men.
He scans the room on instinct—always assessing, always ready.
His gaze settles on me with that look he only gets when the shit has already hit the fan.
And whatever it is, it’s bad.
“Wealthy family out of Boston.” He shrugs out of his jacket and drops into the chair across from mine. “They reached out to me directly. Said they couldn’t go through official channels. Law enforcement is off the table.”
I lean back, arms crossed, letting him talk.
“It’s their daughter. She married for love… or thought she did. Believed it came with money, prestige, and doors that opened on their own. But what it came with was blood. The man she married isn’t just connected. He is the connection. Head of a cartel.”
He leans in, eyes cold.
“Now there’s a kid, a son he parades around as proof of his legacy. Like his bloodline makes him untouchable. He talks about that boy as if he’s not a child, but an heir. Grooming him already. Turning him into the next monster in line.”
Cartel men don’t see wives and children. They see bloodlines, power, and patrimony. He’s not raising a son. He’s building a throne. And he’ll burn anyone who stands in the way.
“She can’t leave. Guards shadow her everywhere. Calls are monitored and scripted. The excuses she feeds her family are not hers. They’re his. You know how these men work.”
Women vanish when they try to leave. No noise. No bodies. Just silence.
“She got one call out. Not to her parents. Too risky. She called a friend. Told her he’s keeping her and their son locked down. Said they haven’t been off the estate in months. She begged for help, and the friend went straight to the parents.”
She risked everything for that call. Which tells me she’s desperate, and she knows how bad it’s going to get.
“The husband owns the police, politicians, judges—everyone whose job it is to keep a woman safe.”
“That complicates things.” And leaves no room for mistakes.
“The family wants no headlines. No bodies. Unless there’s no other choice,” Terrence says.
He slides a tablet across the table. A map loads with satellite footage of green acreage strangled by stone walls. At the center sits a compound that resembles a war bunker more than a home.
“Mexico. The place is a fortress with full perimeter guards and ground sensors. It’s locked down like a black site.”
I study the layout, angles, and weaknesses. “You can’t breach it alone.”
His jaw flexes. “No. Security’s tight. Timing’s tighter. And if I try it solo, I don’t come out. I need someone who knows how to move like a ghost.”
Terrence meets my eyes. “I need you.”
I slide the tablet back to him across the table.
It’s not the mission I’m weighing.
It’s her.
I just need to feel safe tonight. Her voice from three nights ago still plays on a loop in my head.
Going with Terrence means leaving her exposed.
No eyes on her. No fallback. No shadow waiting in the dark.
And with the Lemaire family still out there, pretending her danger ended with Julian’s death would be the biggest lie I’ve told myself yet.
His death didn’t end their need to stop the trial.
If anything, it stripped away the last restraint.
And she’s still the one obstacle they’d kill to remove.
“I need to think about it.”
Terrence’s eyes narrow. “Are you in the middle of a job?”
“Not exactly.”
His brow lifts. “Not exactly? The hell does that mean?”
I shrug, leaning back in my chair.
Terrence watches me for a beat, then tries another angle. “You wouldn’t have to work the rest of the year with what they’ll pay you.”
I almost smirk. “It’s not about the money.”
He studies me. “It’s the woman, then?”
I don’t even pretend otherwise. “Yeah. A woman with a talent for attracting danger.”
His brow lifts. “She’s under your skin.”
“She’s under a lot of things. But mostly, she’s under my watch.”
His grin widens. “That explains the hesitation.”
“She’s crossed a family that doesn’t like to lose. The kind that makes problems disappear quietly and permanently without lifting a finger.”
Terrence nods once. “I know the kind.”
“I already neutralized one threat, but this family doesn’t fold. They wait, reframe the problem, strike when no one’s looking. I’m not ready to leave her exposed.”
Terrence gives a low whistle, shaking his head. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day Bastien Montclaire goes soft over a woman.”
“I’m not going soft.” I glance at him, deadpan. “And she’s not just any woman.”
That earns a snort and a grin that says he’s enjoying this way too much. “You’ve walked away from every woman I’ve ever seen you with. No repeats. Half the time, you don’t even stay till sunrise.”
“All true,” I say, not bothering to soften it.
“So why her? Why now?”
I pause, letting the silence sit before I answer. “Because she has my attention. And that doesn’t happen.”
Terrence studies me, expression unflinching. “She's the one?”
The words hang there, and I don’t answer right away. My jaw tightens before I let out the truth. “Not sure the one exists for me, man. But she’s the closest I’ve ever come.”