Page 26 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Thirteen

Moe

Seaborn Beach

I adjust the ridiculous red skull mask over my face and glance around the bonfire.

It burns brightly on the beach, casting an orange glow over the dancing bodies and flickering shadows.

Sharkie has a speaker rigged to the bed of Sam’s truck, blasting music that shakes the sand beneath us.

Drunk soldiers dive in and out of the freezing water, while rookies patrol the perimeter, their flashlights skimming over the seagrass and gravel.

I don’t understand why we still wear these masks.

Technically, yes, they protect our identities during high-risk missions, but since our father passed away, we haven’t really needed them.

I know Greenport still uses them occasionally, and maybe Alpine does too, but I’m not sure.

All I know is that in the next team meeting, I’m going to rally a vote to get rid of them entirely.

Since my last visit with Raylen, thanks to Jack stealing her phone and letting me know she was pouting, I’ve immersed myself in mission preparation.

I’m overwhelmed with files—most of them blacked out, with missing photos and vague training notes.

There are no names, just blank spaces where people used to be.

I’m trying to memorize their tactics, build profiles, and study how each faction operates but it feels like I’m chasing shadows in the dark and making no progress.

This mission is everything to me, and it's consuming all of my time. I hate it.

Sam, Caspian, Jasmine, and Sharkie all have people who know them well—there are no secrets; everything is completely out in the open.

But as for me? I’ve created an outline in the Notes app on my phone just to keep track of what I’ve told Raylen, what I haven’t shared with her, and what I can’t disclose.

It’s fucking exhausting.

Almost as exhausting as planning this whole New Year’s celebration. Normally, Caspian keeps it low-key in the mess hall, but I begged him to let me do this one.

It was never just about ringing in the new year.

Tonight was a cover—a surprise bachelor and bachelorette party for Caspian and Sharkie, disguised as festive chaos.

They claimed they didn’t want a party and said they didn’t care, but we’re family.

We throw the party anyway. And selfishly, I needed a reason to bring her here.

“Oh my god! You stepped on my toe!” Jasmine yells from behind her half-faced, devil-shaped mask, and Sharkie laughs, tilting her head back, her black surgical mask muffling the sound.

“They’re plastered,” Sam mutters as he shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping beside Caspian, who is comfortably seated in the sand, watching his fiancée.

Caspian's plain black balaclava shifts as he smiles, and Sam's mask mimics the motion. They’re back to normal. Apparently, beating the bloody hell out of someone is the perfect way for them to make up. Too bad they didn’t get to have all the fun, though.

I grin at the thought, look to the hill, and rub the back of my head, loosening the elastic. Sam swats at the area, which makes me growl in frustration.

“Stop touching that! We told you to wear something comfortable—it’s not like you’d actually wear that on a mission,” he grumbles, and Caspian huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

My mask was intended as a jab at Sam's, who wears a full black balaclava with a skull design painted over the nose.

I wanted to say something corny like, "We're two halves of a whole—the perfect team.

" However, it seems he had the better idea, considering his mask is made of breathable fabric, allowing him to function properly, while mine is just plastic that slips against my skin, and the elastic pinches my hair.

What an arse! I blame him. It’s his fault for thinking two steps ahead and not stopping me when he walked in on my "perfect creation."

“Wanna bet?” I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see it. Without waiting for a response, I start walking toward the hill. I texted Raylen once, but she hasn't replied. My nerves are getting the best of me, and I'm worried she might actually back out.

This was my best idea—getting her close to my people.

It’s killing me that I can’t talk about her.

I need advice and help in this situation, but I can’t discuss it if no one knows who the woman is that I’m dealing with.

I’ve thought this through over and over, trying to figure out the best approach.

“Where are you going, little shit?!” Sharkie yells as she pulls her mask down to her chin to lift a full bottle of gin.

“I’ll be back!” I shout in response while Jasmine stumbles over to Sharkie’s side to pull the drink from her grasp.

Jesus, it’s going to be a night full of yelling soldiers making the most inhumane dark jokes, but it has to work. Sweat beads on my palms as I search my pockets for my phone, but I come to an abrupt stop when I reach the top of the hill. I can’t contain my wide smile.

Raylen’s perched on the edge of the bench, bandana masking the bottom half of her face. Her eyes narrow, lined darker than usual, and her lashes are thick. A baseball cap tugs her hair into loose waves over her shoulders. Almost unrecognizable.

Almost .

“I was wondering when you’d find me,” she says, her voice all bite. “You know how long I’ve been waiting? ”

I smirk, heart pounding like a drum line. “You could’ve come down.”

“I got spooked. Your people are loud.”

She’s teasing, but my body heats anyway. The sight of her in that black crop top and tight jeans—the flash of skin where her shirt hangs off her shoulder—yeah, I’d bend her over that bench in a heartbeat if she’d let me. But I can’t. Not yet.

“You should be spooked. These people are feral.” I tease, extending my hand. Her fingers slide into mine, soft and cautious.

“If you’re sacrificing me to sea gods, at least let me tie my hair back first.”

God, she’s fucking perfect. Now that there are little cracks in that barrier she keeps so high between us, I can see what I’ve known she’s been hiding all along.

I laugh. “You can use my hand as a ponytail.”

She punches my arm, and I pretend it hurts.

The bonfire smoke curls around us, and the crunch of sand beneath our shoes is louder than the music. I can feel eyes on me—every fucking one of them.

Raylen’s body is completely stiff next to mine, and I hate that she feels so uncomfortable. This was supposed to be an easy transition, but it hasn't even started, and it’s already proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.

Cordelia clears her throat as we pass, but I don’t stop to say anything. I already have this figured out. I’ll convince everyone she’s from a different faction and maintain my facade that this is simply some kind of business…as long as everyone keeps their mouths shut, it will all be just fine.

My gaze darts around, searching for a buffer. Someone who’ll believe me—or at least pretend to. My eyes land on Laura, and just from the way her glasses fog above her mask, I know she’s already figured me out.

“You're tense.” I tease, wanting her to relax in my arms like she did that night where I held onto her like a damn lifeline.

“What’s your favorite color?” I murmur, guiding her down the slope.

“Yellow,” she mumbles as her chin dips .

Of course it is.

“What’s yours?” Raylen asks quietly.

“Yellow,” I reply, smiling down at her.

She side-eyes me. “You’re just saying that because it’s mine.”

“Haven’t I told you, baby?” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be—as long as that means you still want me.”

“No you haven't–” She hesitates.

“Well, look there,” I hum, and Raylens’ head snaps up the same moment Laura's line of sight locks on us.

“Raylen?” Laura’s eyes squint as if she's trying to make sure this isn't just a figment of her imagination.

“Laura!” Raylen gasps like she’s stumbling into an old friend in a warzone. And honestly? I don’t blame her. This might be the worst introduction to my world possible.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Laura says lightly, but her glare could gut me clean. She hasn’t stopped staring since Raylen walked up—and not in the ‘you look hot tonight’ kind of way. More like the ‘what the hell did you drag into my classified nightmare’ kind of way.

I wince and immediately hate that I do.

“I thought you said you used to work with Moe?” Raylen asks, already tugging a red solo cup out of Laura’s hand. She lifts her mask just enough to take a drink like she needs something strong to get through this conversation.

“I—uh—” I choke on air. “I’ll be back, ladies.”

Before either of them can say more, I slip my hand from Raylen’s and head toward Caspian, Sam, and their dates, who are marching straight toward us like they’re about to carry out an interrogation. Please for the love of God let the “ no-work-talk ” rule I made up for this party come in handy.

“Who—” Sharkie starts, already pointing.

“The fuck—” Caspian interrupts, his tone sharp.

“Is that?” Jasmine cuts in sweetly, too sweet.

I throw up both hands. “Whoa! Harmony, people. You sound like a choir. I love that for us. Sam, your turn—come on, blend in.”

Sharkie giggles. Sam says nothing. Hell, he doesn’t even look at me. That’s not good. When Sam’s quiet, it means he’s piecing something together and that something usually ends in someone bleeding.

“Moe,” Caspian warns, his tone sharp and low. I reach for my hair, forgetting about the fucking mask straps.

“She’s, uh—she’s…” Words. Where the hell are my words? They were here a second ago.

“She’s… Raylen. A friend,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual.

Sam’s head snaps in my direction, his gaze piercing through me like he’s counting the lies on my tongue.

“Moe—” Caspian tries again.

“You’ve got your Colonel voice on,” Sam mutters, finally speaking. “No work tonight, remember? You and your girl are supposed to be celebrating your almost-wedding or whatever this beach chaos is.”