Page 30

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

GRACE

I t was mid-afternoon when we arrived back at the new safe house. We’d picked up a larger vehicle, rolled our passenger over into it and then picked up Lunchbox, Alphabet, and Goblin from the outdoor cafe where they’d stopped for lunch.

They both looked showered and fresh, somehow. Considering my own bedraggled and somewhat offensive to myself state, I eyed them with more than a little envy. They brought bags of croissant sandwiches that were to die for.

Arriving at the safe house, Alphabet and I waited with Goblin and our guest in the car while the guys cleared the house. I sat sideways in the front seat, studying the building. What did they see when they looked at it? The house? The safety? The weaknesses?

Maybe all of the above.

“Gracie…”

Twisting around, I met Alphabet’s gaze. His stubble was rough, his eyes sharp despite the bruised shadows beneath them. His hair had dried in a mess of half-curls and cowlicks, giving him that charmingly disheveled look.

God help me, I loved it.

“Yes, AB?”

“You really doing okay? After everything?”

Voodoo stepped out front, waved us in, then veered off toward the back of the SUV.

“I think so,” I said as the rear hatch lifted with a mechanical sigh. “I'm wiped, and yeah, it was a lot. Hopefully, I pulled my weight. Bones pretty much had to drag me through the last half.”

“He said you did good, Firecracker,” Voodoo called from the back. “And he doesn't hand out compliments unless he means 'em.”

“Facts,” Alphabet added, both of us reaching for our doors. I eased out with a groan, legs protesting every inch. Goblin hopped down beside me, stretching like a pissed-off cat. None of us were moving fast. My whole body felt like one big bruise, and I hadn’t even done the bulk of the fighting.

Voodoo hoisted our prisoner out like a sack of grain, slinging him over his shoulder with casual effort. As I stretched, a warm hand pressed gently against my lower back. I glanced toward the house, watching Voodoo disappear inside with his unwilling cargo.

“Problem?” Alphabet asked, nudging me lightly.

“Just thinking…” I gestured toward the door. “When did bringing prisoners back from field ops become normal? He was already lugging that guy when we regrouped in the garden—after we raided a warlord’s compound.”

I paused, brow furrowing.

“Is Reznik even a warlord? Is that the right word?”

Alphabet snorted, grabbing his gear. “He’s a jackass. Criminal. Traitor. Backstabber. Petty motherfucker fits too. Warlord feels like we’re giving him too much credit.”

I took one of the bags and slung it over my shoulder, walking beside him toward the house.

“Petty jackass it is, then.”

The safe house hummed with activity. Lunchbox was scrubbing his hands in the sink as we came in.

“Go shower, Gracie. I’m going to get food started.

” He held up a wet finger when I opened my mouth to say “thank you,” and I snapped it closed again.

“You might not be hungry now. You might not be hungry later, but you still need fuel for recovery. I’ll make sure you have light options. ”

When I drifted closer and pushed up on my toes, he dipped his head. “Thank you,” I whispered, then pressed a light kiss to his lips. “For the food,” I continued, then gave him another kiss. “For remembering that you’re all giants and I am short.”

His eyes softened and lit up with his quick grin. “Anytime, Gracie.”

“I’m gonna start sorting the files,” Alphabet said.

I snapped my fingers. “Wait.” Memory hit like a sudden jolt. “I’ve got something for you.”

I didn’t wait for a response, already hurrying through the living room, heart pounding as I reached the bedroom I’d shared with Bones.

My bag was in the corner, barely holding together after everything.

I unzipped it, rummaging past shirts and scattered gear until my fingers brushed the little toiletries case I never let go of.

There. Nestled inside, safe somehow through all the chaos.

I rushed back out, adrenaline kicking up even though it wasn’t life or death, just something that mattered.

Alphabet and Lunchbox were still in the kitchen when I skidded in, slightly breathless.

“This,” I said, holding out the flash drive. “I found it the day we left. It was in Goblin’s harness. Totally forgot in the middle of everything—sorry. But… here.”

Alphabet’s eyes lit up. His grin broke wide like sunrise after a blackout.

“You found it.”

“I had to clean him up,” I muttered, jaw tightening at the memory. “He was covered in blood.”

“Wasn’t his,” Alphabet said, hand on heart. “Wasn’t mine either.”

“Good to know.”

He dropped his bag and closed the distance between us with a few quick strides, then gently cupped my face like I was something fragile and worth holding.

“Thank you, Gracie.”

“You’re welcome,” I breathed. “Sorry, I forgot I had it.”

His kiss was soft, barely there, more a whisper than a press. But it sent a shiver rippling all the way through me.

“You kept yourself and Goblin alive. That’s all I care about.” Another kiss, just as light but deeper somehow. “Now, go shower.”

I smirked. “Are you saying I stink?”

“Never,” he said, tone wicked. “Though I wish I had time to wash your back.”

The flush hit me hard, sharp and low. “Raincheck?”

He winked. “Definitely.” Then made a lazy shooing motion. “Go. Before I decide to make time anyway.”

Still tingling, I turned back toward the bedroom, already tugging my shirt loose.

I pushed the door closed behind me with a soft click—only to find Bones standing with his back to me, wrapped in a towel, steam curling off his skin.

His hair was slicked back, droplets still clinging to his shoulders.

Already showered. Already hurting.

The bruise on his side stole my breath. Dark and brutal, it bloomed across his ribs like something rotten trying to surface. Pain radiated from the sight alone.

He turned slightly, typing something on his phone, and I saw the bruise stretched further, sprawling across his chest like a shadow trying to consume him.

“You’re bleeding,” I said, moving before I even thought.

“Not the worst I’ve had,” he replied without looking up.

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. ” My voice cracked sharper than I meant it to. “Did anyone even patch you up?”

He looked at me then, and what hit me wasn’t defiance or pride or even irritation. It was… weariness. A kind of soul-deep fatigue that went beyond physical pain. His face, usually locked down, was just tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of pretending not to.

Then I saw them. The bruises. Dozens of them. Fist-sized, angry, purple-black marks stamped across his skin like someone had tried to break him apart piece by piece.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “You got those… covering me.” Back there. When they opened fire. I hadn’t seen anything hit him, but then it had all happened so fast, so loud.

“I got them doing my job,” he said stiffly.

“Your job?” I echoed, voice rising.

“Keeping you alive,” he replied. His eyes shuttered again. “I agreed to you being there. So it was on me to make sure you came out.”

The guilt in his tone made it feel like we didn’t.

“We both came out.”

“This time.” His fingers clenched around his phone. “But I keep thinking… if that guard had fired a second earlier. If Alphabet missed a camera feed. If you had flinched…”

His voice trailed off, and the look in his eyes hollowed out into something raw and terrifying.

“I know what it would’ve done to them,” he said. “And what it would’ve done to me.”

My throat closed. I crossed the space between us in a heartbeat, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, the coiled tension beneath it.

“And what about what it would’ve done to me if you didn’t come back?” My voice was low, but it hit like a slap. “If you died? If any of you had?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I don’t care about me.”

I nearly slapped him right then, not out of anger, but from sheer helplessness. “Well, I do. ”

The fight bled out of his shoulders all at once, and the air around us shifted. The tension softened, but not gone. Just… waiting.

“I’ve led men into hell and pulled them out,” he said quietly. “Lost some. Nearly lost others.” His eyes found mine, stormy and sharp and bleeding. “But I’ve never had to protect someone I… someone I couldn’t afford to lose.”

I placed my palm carefully over one of the bruises on his chest. My hand looked small against the damage.

“You didn’t lose me,” I said softly. “I’m still right here.”

His voice cracked on a whisper. “But it’s coming, isn’t it? The part where I do.”

My breath left in a rush. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his chest, right above the bruises. I didn’t care if I was sweaty or dirty or shaking. He needed me. Here.

“You don’t get to push me away to protect me. That’s not how this works anymore.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re still the mission.”

There was something uncertain in the way he said it now. Less a statement, more a question. As if he didn’t quite believe it.

“Not anymore,” I whispered, insisting. My fingers splayed wider, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath the damage. “Maybe I was in the beginning. But not now.”

“Dollface,” he murmured, pained and exasperated.

“Bones,” I echoed, matching his tone.

He made a sound—frustrated, maybe amused. His hand slid into my hair and he dipped his head to press a kiss to the crown of mine.

“Grace,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need.”

“To be here. For you. ” It wasn’t hard to say. It was the most honest thing I’d ever felt. “You all think you’re still fighting for me. Maybe you are. But you’re the reason I’m still fighting, too. All of you.”

He fisted his hand in my hair and just held on. Like if he let go, something in him would come apart.

Eventually, he lifted his head and looked down at me. His hand slipped from my hair to my jaw, tilting my face up.

“You need a shower.”

I smirked. “Still bossy.”

“Is that so?” That glint in his eyes was back, sharp and dark and full of promise.

“Don’t play coy. You love trying to boss me around.”

“Trying?” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. A growl on the edge.

“You heard me.”

His thumb traced my lower lip, slow and deliberate.

“You know what happens to people who play with fire,” he murmured, voice velvet-wrapped steel. “They get burned.”

“Not me,” I said, catching his thumb between my teeth, biting just hard enough to make his breath catch. “You’re watching my back. No one’s burning me.”

The last bit of tension bled out of him. His smile curled slow and dangerous.

“Oh, I definitely enjoy your attitude,” I said, stepping back and peeling off my shirt deliberately. My muscles ached, but I moved like I didn’t care. Like I wanted him to look.

“Going to shower now,” I added over my shoulder. “Feel free to keep watching my six.”

As I caught his gaze in the mirror, dark, heated, and hungry . I smiled to myself.

Yeah. I liked playing with fire. And this one? What was a little scorch between friends?