Page 20 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Ten

Moe

Seaborn Base

“Watch it,” Sam growls as the woman at his feet threads a needle through the cuff of his slacks.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.

The penguin tux looks like it's trying to strangle him. Fabric pulls at his shoulders like it’s offended by the size of his frame.

The whole thing’s a joke. He looks like an oversized Ken doll being crammed into a too-small display outfit—and somehow, it’s happening in the middle of Caspian’s office.

“Fucking hell, Sam, do you ever stop complaining?” Cas mutters, smoothing the front of his own tux with military precision.

The contrast is laughable. While Sam looks like he’s being tortured by couture, Caspian is the picture of composed elegance.

Tailored. Polished. Micro-controlled. Like he ironed the goddamn thing with his own hands at dawn.

“Depends on the day… and who’s touching me,” Sam snaps, cutting a sharp glare at the woman adjusting his thigh.

I flash her an apologetic smile as she moves over to straighten my button-up shirt. She’s got soft, hazel eyes and a mouth pinched tight in concentration. I highly doubt that wrestling cranky covert soldiers into tuxedos was on her bucket list, but here she is—calm, precise, professional.

Jasmine had called in a favor from her designer friends in the States.

Supposedly one of the top labels, flown in just to prep our suits and Sharkie’s dresses for the wedding.

Which is still six months out. But Caspian’s been running this wedding like it’s a black ops mission.

Ever since Sharkie’s panic calmed down, he’s taken the reins with a vengeance.

Bridezilla might be outdated—it’s the groom I’m worried about.

“Do you have the blue suits?” Caspian calls over his shoulder, prompting a groan from Sam.

“No offense, but if you push me into one more of these ridiculous outfits, I might just have to fight you,” Sam jokes.

Caspian doesn’t flinch. “Just because you didn’t have a wedding doesn’t mean you get to complain about mine.”

The room falls silent. That one sentence changes the atmosphere completely. My body tenses as I step between them, raising my hands as if I’m about to defuse a bomb.

“Alright,” I say carefully, “maybe let’s not start World War Three in a tailor’s borrowed space, okay?”

Sam’s expression twists into something between disbelief and fury.

“What did you just say?”

Sam is about to snap; it’s visible in the tension in his jaw and the flush creeping up his neck. Cas hit a nerve—the kind you don’t joke about. We all have our limits, and talking about someone’s relationship—especially one forged in blood—doesn’t just cross the line; it completely erases it.

Caspian turns away and runs a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the tension. He’s unraveling, and honestly, he has been for weeks. But he won’t talk about it—not to me, not to anyone.

Sam is already tearing off his jacket, his knuckles white as he crushes it in one fist. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re not dismissed,” Caspian grunts, not daring to look in Sam's direction.

“We’ve been cooped up in this room for hours,” I say lightly, trying to defuse the room with humor that isn’t there.

Sam throws the jacket to the floor.

“Apparently, I’m not married either,” Sam snaps. “That's what you’re implying, isn't it? All because I didnt have some big fucking lavish wedding?”

Caspian’s hand clenches against his chest, thumping twice like he’s trying to physically shut himself up.

“For fuck’s sake,” he starts, but Sam’s already halfway to the door.

The slam rattles the walls.

I flinch.

“Cas?” I ask, but he’s already bracing his palms against the edge of his desk like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“Just go, Moe,” he growls.

My jaw tightens.

He doesn’t mean it, not really, but still—it digs under my skin.

I return to the woman, adjusting my suit, and give her a nod to finish her work. It’s easier than leaving in the middle of a fight. My heart’s still pounding. I keep my tone even. “Do you remember that time Father took us to the Desert?”

“What?”

I spread my arms, letting the tailor check the fit beneath them. “That grey fox statue still has a chip in its ear.”

Caspian’s mouth twitches. He finally turns, exhaustion softening his sharp features. “I could’ve sworn they’d fix that by now.”

“Twelve years,” I say. “Since that first trip. We tore through that base like wild animals. You, me, Hayden…”

Playing tag in a place filled with extravagant furniture and military equipment wasn't the best idea. In our defense though, no military should resemble a damn castle let alone be filled with some of the most expensive antiques on earth.

He snorts. “And you nearly broke the statue.”

“I tripped. You tried to catch me, and we both went down. Hayden saved the damn thing like a ninja. ”

His smile falters but doesn’t disappear. “I asked him about it once. Said sometimes broken things stay broken on purpose. That they tell a story.”

I nod. Hayden told me the same thing. “Good and bad.”

We both know it wasn’t all fun. That trip marked the start of the end, when our father blew things up with Hayden’s. We’ve had to learn how to tread lightly in the wreckage our parents left, but watching how it all went down taught us a lot about power and loyalty.

About when to kill, when to forgive, and when to shut up and survive.

Caspian nods, jaw ticking. “He hasn’t been too much trouble for you, has he?”

“You mean Hayden?” I smirk. “He told me something else, too. Said we shouldn’t pay for our parents’ sins. But we damn well better learn from them.”

Caspian exhales slowly. “We should.”

He removes his tuxedo jacket and tosses it onto a chair.

“You’re dismissed. Black suits will do,” he says.

“Are you, uh—are you alright?” I ask, catching the hesitation in my own voice.

He looks at me— really looks—and something unreadable flickers in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Or regret.

I roll my eyes and start peeling off the tux, swapping it for jeans and my usual hoodie. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’ve never taken a bullet before.”

“It’s not the bullets that worry me,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. He sounds like he wants to say more, but he holds back. So, I crack a joke—because that’s my go-to when the atmosphere feels too heavy.

“If you’re feeling that stressed, take it out on me. You know Sam gets sensitive when your little bromance starts to fall apart.”

His laugh is reluctant, but it’s genuine. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know.” I glance at him, giving his shoulder a light, brotherly tap with my fist. “Better me than the hothead or your girl, right? ”

He gives me a look, and for a brief moment, it feels like it used to. But the guilt is always close to the surface—the kind you can’t scrub away, no matter how many missions you complete or lies you tell to sleep at night.

I almost pulled the trigger on him once. Almost didn’t flinch. That kind of experience changes everything, even when you pretend it never happened.

I step back, moving toward the door, needing air and something different. Raylen hasn’t heard I’m back yet, and I like the idea of surprising her. Maybe I’ll bring snacks or suggest a movie night. Definitely not a film we'll actually watch.

“Where are you going, anyway?” he asks behind me.

I pause at the frame and shrug. “Surprise visit.”

“To someone I know?” he calls.

“Maybe one day,” I toss back with a grin. “But for now? Go apologize to Sam. You two are giving me a migraine.”

Three knocks. Two calls of her name. No answer.

Great.

So much for the surprise.

After cleaning up, I decided to go through with my little plan—show up unannounced and act like some lovesick idiot with a hero complex. But now I’m standing here like a complete loser. The door is locked, the lights are off, and there’s no sign of her.

I let out a low growl and jiggle the handle, even though I already know it’s locked. What was I expecting? That the door would be wide open so I could just stroll in, sit on her bed like a creep, and maybe dig around in her underwear drawer?

I scoff at myself, shaking my head, and start pulling out my phone, caught between texting her and just stewing in silence. Instead, I swipe over to the tracker synced with her car.

Maybe she broke down somewhere. She doesn’t even know I’m back home, so of course she wouldn’t tell me if she did. Still, it would be nice if she thought to.

“Baby steps, Moe. Your girl needs you to take baby steps,” I repeat like some insane mantra.

Her location pops up, and I’m already on my way.

Daniel’s Bar and Grill is a bit rowdy and flashy, but it's popular for casual nights out—great for drinks and even better for dates. It must be fate that she's there. I'm sure I can convince her to stay for dinner and maybe get her to open up, as I often come close to doing.

And maybe—just maybe—if all goes well, I’ll end the night fucking her senseless like I promised.

My feet move automatically as I shove my phone into my pocket and head toward my car. I could give her a heads-up, but where's the fun in that? I guess I’m a hopeless romantic. Or something worse.

The drive is smooth and easy. My fingers tap against the steering wheel in time with Layto's "Lifeline," while she entirely consumes my thoughts. Not my mistakes. Not my mission. Just Raylen—the girl who turns every part of me inside out.

I pull into the parking lot and spot her old junker car immediately. Christ, I wish she’d let me buy her something safer. Maybe I’ll bribe her. Sugar Daddy Moe —that has a nice ring to it. It’s kind of funny, considering I’m probably a few years younger than she is.