Page 2

Present Day

T he team was back in San Francisco, safe and sound. For the most part, anyway. Dr. Ivan Zaitsev, the Russian chemist, sat locked up in one of the empty apartments, the smallest one located the farthest away from the rest of their living quarters. Brax much preferred to keep him in a holding cell off-site, but that wasn’t currently an option. At least he wasn’t under the control of The Agency or the Bratva any longer, so that was a plus.

Sitting on a stool, his back against the island, Brax watched his team laughing, joking and celebrating, but he couldn’t get into the spirit. Even though he was damn happy for Saint and Mia, he wouldn’t be doing any rejoicing until they’d destroyed The Agency once and for all.

Saint wasn’t wasting any time moving on from his ordeal. He’d proposed to Mia already, and as soon as the shenanigans the team was currently engrossed in played out, they were getting married. For a guy who’d claimed he didn’t do serious relationships, Mia sure had Saint whistling a different tune. Despite the complete one-eighty, Brax could see how much the man had changed since meeting Mia. He smiled now, without a trace of irony or sarcasm. It took a little getting used to, to be honest.

Women always claimed they didn’t want to change a man, but they inevitably tried. Sometimes they even succeeded. Granted, Mia was changing Saint for the better by smoothing out his rough edges, but still. Those of the female persuasion were all the same, and he’d discovered he was better off alone.

Did it get lonely sometimes? Sure. But he’d been a fucking Delta Force commander, so hard things didn’t intimidate him. Yeah, celibacy sucked, but even when he’d been sexually active, none of those women had been as good as—

He shut the dangerous thought down fast. No. He refused to think about that lying, conniving, traitorous succubus. Lifting his glass, he took a thoughtful sip of the top shelf whiskey, mulling over his team’s next step and how they would use the captive chemist to cripple The Agency.

“Where is my fiancée?” Saint growled, prowling around the room.

“You have to pay the ransom!” Inda declared.

“C’mon, Saint, play along. They’re your traditions!” Ryland laughed, slapping the other man on the back.

“You idiots don’t know anything about Russian wedding traditions,” Saint stated, but he was smiling and all the growl was merely for show.

Zane read from a sheet of paper he’d printed off the internet. “It says you need to pay a ransom for the bride. That means you have to offer us gifts for her.”

“I’ll accept cash,” Ryland added with a cheeky grin.

Saint scoffed. Then he walked past where Brax sat and opened a cabinet. “How about some expensive vodka instead?”

“That’ll work,” Harper chimed in. “As long as we have something sweet to add to it.”

“I’ll grab the Midori,” River offered.

“Ooh, delish!” Inda turned to Lucas, sending him a sultry smile. Brax knew exactly what that look meant.

It meant she wanted a ring on her finger, too. Like Harper, Aubrey, River and now Mia had. That’s all women ever wanted. And some would go to any lengths to get it, he thought sourly.

“Are there any special wedding traditions you would want to do?” Inda asked Lucas, innocently batting her lashes.

Predictable. Brax shook his head.

“Why, yes, Onca. I’m a big believer in a very long, sex-filled honeymoon.”

She slapped his arm. “I bet you are!”

The hacker grabbed her, reeled her in and kissed her.

Saint cracked open the bottle and poured a glass for Brax first. “This is much better than that,” he stated, nodding to the whiskey. “But we’re celebrating, so here’s to being double-fisted all night.”

He clinked his glass against Brax’s and wandered back over to the party as Aubrey called for Mia, who came out of a nearby apartment.

“Your man has fulfilled his ransom,” River declared, raising her glass. “To Saint and Mia! It may have been a short engagement, but that’s how we do it around here.”

Congratulations filled the air.

Not long after, a Russian Orthodox priest in full liturgical vestments showed up at the door, courtesy of Zane. Brax wasn’t sure how he’d managed to pull it off in such a short amount of time, but there he was, ready to marry the happy couple.

The ceremony, spoken in both Russian and English, turned out better than Brax could’ve imagined. Even so, he didn’t believe in marriage. Not anymore. He’d taken one disastrous trip down the aisle and had regretted it ever since.

He had no idea whether or not his teammates’ marriages would last. He wished them all nothing but the best. At the same time, his jaded side knew better. Incredible sex, undying love, endless promises made in the throes of passion inevitably faded. Eventually, people’s true colors came out.

Once Saint and Mia exchanged their vows, they placed plain platinum bands on each other’s right ring fingers, which was the Russian tradition. The priest declared them husband and wife—God, help them—and they exchanged a long kiss. Then the priest made a quick exit as the party erupted.

Braxton wished he could shrug off his funk and let loose. God, he felt like a crabby old man. As much as he wanted to go and hide in his quarters, he was their leader and it was important for him to be there, to show solidarity. However, he planned to sneak away at the first opportunity that presented itself.

“I am the official ‘Tamada’,” Zane announced.

“Dude, you spend too much time on the internet,” Ryland said.

“What’s a Tamato?” Gray asked.

“Not tomato, Tamada,” Zane corrected, and they all laughed. “The designated master of ceremonies. And the first item on the agenda is a toast for the new couple.”

“Cuz we haven’t done any of those yet,” Harper added with a hiccup.

Zane lifted his glass of vodka—at some point they’d opened a second bottle—and everyone followed suit.

“Okay, please make do with my shaky Russian,” Zane said and smirked.

“You’ve got this,” Saint encouraged him. “Besides, no one understands but me and River.”

“True! Okay, you guys remember what to do?” Zane asked, and there were nods all around. “ Za-Molodykh ! For the newlyweds!”

“ Gor’ko !” Everyone shouted.

Saint burst out laughing then turned to his bride. “They just protested that the wine—er, vodka—is bitter. To sweeten it, we need to kiss for as long as possible.”

“I think that can be arranged,” she murmured.

“And if they don’t kiss long enough, we can demand they do it again,” Zane added mischievously.

Saint caught Mia’s lips in a heated kiss and, yeah, they didn’t need to demand anything. The kiss lasted far longer than anything Brax had ever seen. With a chuckle, he wandered back over to the island, set the vodka down and picked up the whiskey again. It was his drink of choice and went down in a smooth burn that he liked to savor.

Once he refilled his glass, he found a comfortable chair at the edge of the action and watched the party from afar. River’s furry feline made a beeline for him, jumped up and perched on the arm of the chair. The cat always seemed to find him. Brax absently stroked a hand down Neo’s back, eliciting loud purrs. It had been a long time since he’d had a pet and he’d forgotten the comfort they could provide. Maybe one day.

The cat began curling his claws into the chair’s fabric and Brax sighed. He’d definitely get a dog.

Zane kept the group highly entertained with jokes and games, and everyone offered toast after toast. They brought the food out not long after and dug into a feast Inda had prepared. The girls had even baked a wedding cake. Considering how tipsy everyone was, it was a good thing. They needed some food to soak up all the alcohol.

They deserve this, though , Brax thought. After months of fighting The Agency, his team needed to let off some steam and have a good time. There were still unanswered questions—like why the hell his name was on the list Zane and River had decrypted—but Brax knew they’d figure everything out. They didn’t have an option.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, checking the screen. Unknown. Curious, he opened the message: I have intel for you.

Frowning, he sat up straighter. The message on his personal phone—a number no one else but his team should have—caught his attention.

He texted back: Who is this?

Three little bubbles appeared. Disappeared.

“C’mon,” he whispered. Brax hated games, and whoever this person was, he or she was playing a dangerous one. Just as he was about to set the phone down, it buzzed again. He stabbed the screen and opened the message: 222 Elm Street.

That was it. Just a nearby address. Brax considered his options: take a teammate with him and go check it out. Or, ignore the message.

His gaze wandered over to his drunken crew. Zane was attempting to speak Russian, clearly blitzed, River hanging around his neck and correcting him. She was fluent. No-go there. Inda and Lucas were feeding each other wedding cake. Well, mostly smashing it in each other’s faces then licking it off one another. He couldn’t bother the groom, who seemed to have disappeared with his new bride anyway. Same for Ryland and Harper, who were always the first to head back to their apartment. Gray seemed like the obvious choice until Brax saw him on his hands and knees, acting like a horse, Aubrey sitting on his back yelling, “Giddyup!”

Brax shook his head. Everyone was in fucking love and three sheets to the wind.

“I’d be better off bringing you,” he murmured to Neo.

Pushing up out of the chair, he swallowed back the rest of his whiskey and set the glass down. Then he went to grab his Glock. Most likely the lead was bullshit, nothing more than a hoax. But Brax was thorough—in every aspect of his life—so he decided to check it out. Besides, he needed some fresh air to clear his head.