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Before she answers, I turn to see who all’s arrived. The men stand around their black SUVs, shaking hands. Most I know, one I don't and...

"The fuck?" Stomping down the steps, I storm toward the fucker who I've dreamed of killing with my bare hands. "No one said anything about him being here."

Raider steps in my raging path but I shove him aside. Next Drake maneuvers between me and the fucker and grips my shoulders.

I shoot Drake a seething glare and lunge forward.

"He needs to be a part of the debrief," Drake grits out, still holding me back from the bloodshed I'm desperate for. "Stop with this bullshit. It happened. We move on."

"He's not getting anywhere near her," I snarl. "This was not part of the deal. She's FBI, not CIA."

Mac moves to the middle of the group, clearly confused as to why I'm acting like a rabid dog. "They were a part of the operation Fate signed up for. She asked them to help, not the other way around. What's your damn problem, Nash?"

I search the group but everyone looks away, avoiding the conversation, except the king of bureaucratic assholes who's smirking with his hands tucked into the pockets of his ugly-as-hell suit.

"How does he not know?" I say through gritted teeth to Drake, then push from his hold and storm back to the house. Before anyone can follow, I slam the door behind me and grab a wide-eyed Fate by the hand.

Panting, I lean against the door of my bedroom and pull her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her back. Out in the living room, the pounding of shoes and boots against the hardwood signals they're not leaving until this is done.

"Who is he?" she whispers against my chest. "Why don't you want me near him? Will he hurt me?" The tremble in her voice settles my boiling anger.

Cupping her face, I force her to look up. "No one will hurt you while I'm here. Do you hear me?" She nods, but tears well in the corners of her eyes. I'm scaring the shit out of her. "That man is the reason we were left to rot as long as we were. He kept the guys from extracting me, both of us. It all could’ve ended the fucking day after I was captured, but that motherfucker—"

Unable to finish, I pull her lips against mine, eager for the reassurance that she’s really here. We got out. We're here together, and this moment, us, is real.

Desperation leaches from my lips to her as I flip us, her back now pressing against the door. I snake a hand into her pink hair to hold her in place as I attempt to transfer a fraction of her strength to me. Her teeth sink into my lower lip, shooting desire through my veins. With a groan of approval, I pin her hips to the wall with my own.

Long, comforting strokes of her fingertips up and down my back calm the building fury to a manageable level. Hesitant to let reality settle around us, I pull back and rest my forehead against the door. "Sorry," I breathe. “I needed that. Needed you.”

Gripping my knot of hair, she angles my face down to meet hers. The intenseness behind her eyes, a new kind of fire, glows brightly. "Well let's go meet him, shall we?" she says with a smile I could almost call sinister.

I swipe her hand from the doorknob as I search her eyes. "You're kind of intense right now, Pops. It’s damn hot, but—"

"It's fine. I'm fine." The smile she offers before pulling the door open is a mix of fury and hate.

Ah hell, what did I unleash?

There's no hesitation in her steps as we walk into the living room where Drake, Raider, Mac, FBI Idiot 2, and Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker wait. Scanning the room, she smiles at Mac, who looks to me wide-eyed. He must see it too. She's about to snap.

"Fate." I take a step toward her, but the look she shoots back makes me retreat. No way in hell I'm stepping in to save that fucker’s life. She'll bury him in the grave he dug himself.

Drake and Raider monitor her every move across the room, their hands casually shifting closer to their sidearms. Tension crackles in the awkward silence pulsing through the room as she meets everyone.

Standing in front of Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker, her smile drops. "Have we met before?" she asks and extends a hand.

"The initial meeting, I was there," he says with a cocky smile. His gaze lowers to her shoes, then trails back up with a chuckle. What. The. Fuck. He’s dead. "Good to see the time in Africa didn't do too much damage. You're still as beautiful as you were that day."

I’m mid-step to beat the shit out of the idiot when she slams her tiny fist into his balls.

"You motherfucker," she screams and slams her knee into his face as he’s bent over, holding his ailing nuts. "You could’ve gotten him out. Piece of government shit."

Before she can land another blow, he shoves her back. Blood flowing from his nose, he takes a step toward her, sending every other man in the room toward him.

"Don't you fucking touch her," I growl, pulling a trembling Pops behind me.

"Fucking bitch! It was all her idea. What happened over there, everything that happened over there, including your fucked-up op, is her damn fault."

Over the pounding in my ears, Pops’s shocked, broken whimper floats through loud and clear. Pretty sure it's his cheekbone that sends the crack echoing through the living room and not my knuckles, but the idiot doesn't back down. Instead he balls his fists and takes a swing of his own.