Page 38 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Nineteen

Moe

The airstrip we don't talk about

The wind bites, sharp and dry, cutting across the airstrip as if trying to flay my nerves raw. Sam’s pacing. Cordelia and Jasmine are hovering near the plane. And Caspian? He hasn’t spoken more than a few clipped words since we stepped out of the car.

Raylen’s not here yet but that’s intentional.

I told her to come separately—to wait until I text since the whole plane prep would be boring…

aka I was scared shitless of this moment and needed an excuse to keep her away from the plane until the team left.

It’s the only way I could make sure she doesn’t walk into a situation where the truth spills too early.

The others still think she’s staying behind, still think I’m not going to tell her a goddamn thing and I need to keep it that way— for now.

“Equipment is in the cargo, and the bed and breakfast is secured since you couldn’t just pick a hotel,” Sam mutters as he paces in front of me, checking through the mental list he’s probably had memorized for days.

“Greenport has been notified of your arrival window, team briefings are scheduled, and every last damn knife has been triple-counted.”

“And he’s set, Sam,” Caspian says gruffly behind me. “It’s covered.”

“He better be,” Sam mutters, glaring at the jet like it’s a ticking time bomb. “Because if something goes sideways, Jasmine and I won’t be there to pick up the fucking pieces. ”

“Jesus, you’re worse than a clingy ex,” I mutter, finally turning to face him. “I’m right here, you know. Fully alive. Highly trained. Exceptionally handsome.”

“You’re a pain in my arse,” Sam bites back, but it’s half-hearted. His eyes flick to mine, and I see it: that old flicker of trust. Still fractured, but healing.

Jasmine strolls down from her private jet, checking her watch like she’s on deadline.

Thankfully, she offered for me to use it after convincing Sam to let them fly commercial to America for her sister's wedding. He hated the idea, something about how it seemed dangerous, but I agree with her—it sounds fun. After all, they’re not going to America for business, and it’d be nice for them to have some time without having to act like hardened soldiers.

“Looks like Sam’s having an existential crisis.” Cordelia whispers like Sam can’t hear her as she throws an arm around me from behind, dragging me down an inch so she can properly lean into me.

“It’s not existential. It’s logistical,” Sam growls.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart,” Jasmine chimes as she steps off the jet, bun perfectly in place. Her eyes scan the runway before landing on the warehouse, gaze lingering for a moment before snapping to me with a weak smile.

For a moment, it almost feels normal, like we didn’t tear into each other in a security room. Like Cordelia didn’t trespass into Raylen’s life, and Jasmine didn’t help, but none of us mention it. That’s the unspoken rule now. We’re not okay, but we’re moving forward anyway.

Sam checks his watch, then gives Jasmine a subtle nod. “Let’s go. I don't want to miss your sister giving me the go-ahead to kill her new husband.”

“Sam Morona! No murders on this trip!” Jasmine yells as Sam wraps his arm around her waist, grinning.

“You’ll be alright?” Cordelia asks as she straightens my collar, voice softer now.

“I always am. ”

She pulls me into a hug anyway.

“You’re not alone in this,” Cordelia murmurs. “No matter how it feels.”

Then they’re gone, loading into their vehicles like civilians. Which means I’m alone with…

I glance at Caspian.

Great .

He’s got that same tight-jawed look he’s been wearing for days, like every breath costs him. I wait for him to say something snarky, but he doesn't.

Instead, he shifts his weight and mutters, “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“Too late not to be.”

Caspian lets out a breath and rubs his hand against his chest, stopping at the buttons to tap his fingers against them, like he’s bracing himself for a confession.

“There’s more to this mission than you know,” he says slowly. “Greenport… isn’t just a checkpoint. One of the high-ranking operators there—he’s—he’s tied to you.”

My pulse stutters.

“What do you mean tied?”

Caspian hesitates. I can see the name sitting on his tongue like it’s burning him. “He’s someone you’ve wanted to find. Someone you’ve talked about… for years.”

I take a full step back, throat dry. “Don’t.”

“Moe—”

“No.” My voice cuts sharper than I expect. “Don’t say it. Not yet.”

Caspian looks stunned for half a second. Then his mouth presses into a flat line. “You really want to walk into that without knowing?”

“I need to figure it out myself.”

“That’s not—”

“I said no,” I repeat, more quietly this time. “If I find out from you and it all goes sideways, I’ll never stop resenting you for it. You know I won’t.”

He stares at me as if he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nods once, tight and reluctant.

“This mission... It’s not just a job,” he says quietly. “It’s my way of giving you what you’ve always wanted: answers. I’ve been trying to keep my side of the deal. I know we agreed on after my wedding, but this was the best opening–”

“Cas…” I can’t listen anymore, not when I truly feel like a monster now. I asked him for this. This whole time, he’s been fighting to give me what I want, even though it was tearing him apart. And yet I’m still doing things that will destroy him.

A shaky breath escapes me. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. I am, too. We’ll get through it. We always do.” He reaches out, ruffles my hair like we’re kids again, then playfully smacks the back of my head for good measure.

“Asshole,” I mutter.

“You and that damn mouth,” he laughs.

“I wonder where I get it from,” I tease.

He nods, and we both look toward the hill. Raylen isn’t here yet, thankfully. I wouldn’t know how to handle that situation after the bombshell that was just dropped, and it would probably ruin this fragile connection we’ve created.

“Promise me I won't lose you too,” Caspian mutters.

The words are almost too soft to hear, but they hit harder than they should.

He doesn't let me even form the words before he turns away and heads towards his car.

Cordelia's head snaps towards the sun visor as if she weren't just being the world's biggest eavesdropper.

“Promise me I won't lose you all,” I whisper, wishing I could have said it to Caspian’s face, but instead, I’m saying it into the void as his car speeds over the gravel and onto the road back to base.

By the time Raylen steps onto the runway, the others have already left. It’s just the two of us, along with the silence we’ve been pretending not to hear for weeks.

Raylen climbs the steps of the jet as if she’s already regretting her decision, gripping the railing with white-knuckled precision. Her hair is wind-tossed, and her jaw is tight, but she’s here. That’s what matters.

“I feel like I’m about to hurl,” she mutters the moment her boots hit the carpeted floor of the cabin.

“Romantic,” I reply with a grin, shutting the door behind her.

“It’s the height thing,” she huffs, eyeing the leather seats as if they might attack her. “And the fact that I’m willingly getting into a tin can you can’t escape from while flying 500 miles per hour in the sky .”

I lean against the closed door, watching her spin in a slow circle as she takes it all in: the floor-length windows, the cushy seats, the mini bar, and the private bedroom tucked behind the divider.

She’s trying to play it cool, but her eyes keep darting up to the ceiling and then back down, as if she can’t quite believe this is real.

“You ever been on a private jet before?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

She shoots me a glare. “Do I look like the kind of girl who jets off to Paris for brunch?”

“You don't look like it,” I smirk, stepping closer. “But after seeing what your childhood was like, I'd say it's a possibility.”

Raylen rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she flops into one of the chairs and fiddles with the control panel on the armrest, accidentally reclining herself until she lets out a sharp yelp.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “This thing has modes .”

“Only the best,” I purr as I take the seat across from her, lounging as if I own the place— which, technically, I do… for now.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she mumbles, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just imagining all the things I’m going to do to you at 30,000 feet,” I reply, loving the way her hips shift in the seat.

She tries not to react, but her legs press together involuntarily. Bingo.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and let the silence linger for a moment before breaking it with a soft, “Just so you know, I’m going to be kind of busy while we’re there.”

Her brows lift in curiosity, but I give her nothing more.

“Busy with what?”

“Stuff,” I reply with a smirk.

“Mysterious,” she hums. “Let me guess: an underground poker tournament? An international jewel heist?”

“Something like that,” I say, standing and heading to the bar.

She watches me pour a drink, suspicion flaring in her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope.”

She accepts the glass I offer her anyway, sipping it slowly as I pull something from the inner pocket of my jacket—a folder. It’s thin and unassuming, but the weight of it feels heavy as hell.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Paperwork.” I flip it open and pull out a single-page NDA, one of Sam’s. I had to dig through files in his room to find a blank template, which was a pain because he's so meticulous about everything being in place. It took me two hours to make sure everything was just as he left it.

It was worth it, though. I don’t know why we’ve never thought about doing this with civilians before.

It’s legally binding enough to keep us safe, and breaking it could carry serious consequences.

I’m hoping that when everyone finds out that nothing will keep me from having her, this will soften the blow at least a little.

“Paperwork for what?” she teases, one brow raised.

“Can’t say.”

She gives me a dry look. “Why not?”

“I could tell you,” I murmur, reaching out to hook a finger under the strap of her top and dragging it down her shoulder, every inch that is exposed only makes my mouth water, but I manage to hold my composure for now, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

She snorts. “Not funny.”

“It's a little funny,” I say, kissing her collarbone.

I set the paper down on the tray table and grab a pen, clicking it once before offering it to her.

Her eyes narrow. “Is this for your OnlyFans?”

“Would that make you sign faster?” I tease, placing my palms on her thighs, loving the contrast between my callouses and the plump flesh as I drag my hands further up.

She rolls her eyes and takes the pen, but doesn’t move to sign yet. “Will I regret this?”

“I hope not.” I murmur, pushing her legs apart and sinking to my knees in front of her.

“Moe—” She sucks in a sharp breath.

“Isn't this our way of saying thank you?” I whisper, I nudge her skirt up and drag my mouth over the curve of her knee, teeth grazing just enough to make her squirm.

“This can be your way of thanking me for the trip, and me thanking you for signing.” My lips brush against the inside of her thigh.

She clutches the armrests when I slowly kiss her through her panties.

It's not nearly enough, just a languid peck that has her face screwing up in frustration.

If she didn't smell so fucking good, I’d keep this pace, teasing and taunting, until I got what I want but I betray myself by dragging my tongue up her core until the fabric of her underwear is dampening against it.

She whimpers and her hand fumbles for the pen.

“Sign,” I growl against her heat. “Right now. Before you forget your own name.”

As she scrawls her signature, I yank her panties aside and bury my mouth between her thighs.

“Moe—fuck—” She gasps, the pen clattering to the floor as I suck her clit into my mouth and don’t let go.

My tongue flicks and rolls with practiced ease, lapping through her lips like she's the best thing I’ve tasted since chocolate chip pancakes. I moan against her, dragging two fingers up to press into her, slow and deep, curving just right. Her body bows off the seat.

The sound she makes could break me in half.

She fists my hair, grinding down on my tongue as her thighs tremble around my head. I don’t stop. I don’t even blink. I live in this moment, worshipping her like a religion. My jaw aches, but I don’t give a fuck. I want her to fall apart in a place she thought she’d never belong.

And when she does—shuddering, gasping, eyes wild—I press a kiss to her core and look up at her through heavy lashes.

“You signed?”

She nods.

“Good girl.”

I climb back into the seat beside her and pull the NDA from the tray. She watches me tuck it back into the folder, her chest still rising and falling fast.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” she pants, laughing breathlessly.

I kiss her temple .

“Nothing important.”

It's a lie, and she doesn’t even realize it, but she will.

Soon. Just not now.