Page 26

Holden

H er whisper lingers, threading through my mind like a splinter I can’t pull out.

It had been soft, pleading, full of need in a way that made my insides burn like an inferno. I didn’t mean to listen. I didn’t mean to stay. But when she said my name, broken and trembling like a secret she hadn’t meant to confess, something in me froze.

Something in me shifted.

I needed a taste of her like I needed my next breath, but it didn’t matter. Because I couldn’t cross that line. No matter how tempting.

Now, she’s beside me in the car, unaware of how much space she’s already taken up in my head. Her leg bounces slightly, a subtle rhythm that betrays the calm she tries to project.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, breaking the silence. Her light tone is almost teasing. “Brooding more than usual. If that’s even possible.”

“I’m focused.”

“Focused,” she repeats, dragging the word out like it’s foreign. “On what, exactly? The road? Or whatever’s going on in that head of yours?”

I glance at her, narrowing my eyes. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m trying to pass the time,” she shoots back, smirking. “Or wave the white flag.”

That catches me off guard. “White flag?”

“For the mission,” she clarifies, shrugging. “I figured we could call a truce. Temporary, of course. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to like me or anything.”

My grip tightens on the wheel. “What makes you think I don’t?”

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “Grant, please. You glare at me like I ran over your dog in a past life. I’m not an idiot. I know you hate me.”

Hate . The word sits heavy in my chest, sharper than it should be. Have I really been that hard on her? Harris has called me a hard-ass more times than I can count, but hate? That’s not me.

“I don’t hate you,” I say, my voice low but firm.

Her brow furrows, skepticism clear on her face. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You just…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “You remind me of someone.”

She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp, dark eyes that see too much. “Someone you hated?”

“No,” I admit, my grip on the wheel loosening. “Someone I looked up to.”

Her expression softens, the sarcasm fading. “Who?”

The air in the car feels heavier, like the weight of his name presses down on my chest. I could say it, Leo , but that would open doors I’m not ready to walk through. Doors she’s been waiting outside of, desperately wanting to get in.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say finally, my tone cutting off any further questions.

She watches me for a moment longer, her gaze lingering like she’s trying to piece me together. Then she leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “You know, for someone who’s a straight shooter, you’re pretty bad at answering direct questions.”

“And you’re pretty good at asking too many of them.”

She smirks, shaking her head. “Fine, no more questions. I’ll let you brood in peace.”

The silence that follows is heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s strange, this back-and-forth, this push and pull. It’s not like anything I’m used to.

It’s... different.

As we approach the pickup point, she breaks the silence again. “You ever get tired of it?”

“Tired of what?”

“Keeping everyone at arm’s length.”

I glance at her, an uncomfortable feeling in my chest. “Do you?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Grumpy, cryptic, and a part-time therapist. Truly a triple threat. Do you charge by the hour or…?”

Before I can respond, Senator Fallon appears, his posture stiff as he approaches the car. Arden straightens immediately, her demeanor shifting to professional. I step out to greet Fallon with a curt nod.

He doesn’t waste time silently sliding into the back seat with a brief nod in my direction and barely sparing Arden a glance.

I don’t bother with small talk. He doesn’t seem like the type who would appreciate it anyway.

“You two are who they sent for me?” Fallon asks, his tone laced with skepticism. When his eyes finally land on her, they linger a beat too long for my liking.

“Is that a problem?” My voice is low and steady. Dangerous.

He looks at me then, his expression unreadable. “No. Just didn’t expect…” His gaze flicks back to her. Say it, motherfucker, I dare you .

Arden stiffens beside me, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. Smart.

I’d hate to have to kill him too before the mission is completed.

Fallon catches the warning in my expression and wisely shifts his focus. “ETA?”

“You’ll know when we get there,” I say.

He doesn’t ask again.

The ride is silent, the previous tension now stretching thin between the three of us. Fallon sits back, his hands resting lightly on his knees, but there’s a coiled energy to him, like he’s always bracing for something.

It’s all of his own doing. His own fault. Men like him are always looking for a shortcut. A way to get more power, more money, no matter who they fuck over on the way to the top.

Arden, on the other hand, is fidgeting. Her fingers tap against the edge of the door, the rhythm quick and uneven. She’s uncomfortable. Nervous, maybe. Probably even both. I doubt she even realizes she’s doing it, even as she tries her hardest to hide it.

I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t say anything at all.

It isn’t until we’ve been on the road for a while that I notice the car.

It’s subtle at first, headlights in the distance, keeping just far enough back to avoid suspicion. But the distance is too intentional, too precise. My eyes narrow, tracking the vehicle in the rearview mirror.

“We’ve got a tail,” I say quietly.

Arden stops tapping. “How long?”

“Since we left the pickup.”

She turns slightly, glancing over her shoulder, her movements careful. “Who do you think it is?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

A second set of headlights flashes briefly in the side mirror. This one I recognize.

“Tate and Park,” I mutter. “They’re behind the tail.”

Arden’s brow furrows, and I can feel her unspoken questions pressing against me. But she doesn’t ask. Not now.

We approach the unmarked location, a nondescript warehouse on the edge of town. SUVs line the front, their blacked-out windows reflecting the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp. The air feels heavier here, charged with something unspoken.

I pull the car to a stop just short of the entrance, my hand instinctively brushing against the holster at my side.

“Stay in the car,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She tenses beside me, her eyes snapping to mine. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. Keep the car running.”

“But—”

“No.” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “If something happens, you leave. You don’t argue, and you don’t look back. Got it?”

She stares at me, frustration and something else flickering in her eyes. But after a moment, she exhales sharply, leaning back in her seat.

“Fine,” she says tightly, but I don’t believe her. I’ve seen that fierce determination in her eyes too many times before. It tells me that she’s not going anywhere if anything were to pop off. No, she’s going to run in, guns blazing. “But you better not get yourself killed.”

I don’t respond.

Fallon watches the exchange with a raised brow, but he doesn’t comment as I step out of the car. The cold night air bites at my skin, but I welcome the clarity it brings.

The man waiting by the warehouse door looks up as we approach. His gaze lands on me first, assessing, before sliding to Fallon. Then his eyes settle on the car, on Arden.

The windows are tinted, so I know he can’t see a thing, but I still don’t fucking like how his gaze lingers there.

The man’s voice dips low as he leans toward Fallon, but whatever he’s saying isn’t meant for my ears. I keep my distance, eyes sweeping the area, noting every shadow, every possible exit. The SUVs haven’t moved.

The night feels too still. In my experience, this is exactly the type of stillness that swallows sound before all hell breaks loose. For the senator’s sake, I hope I’m wrong. I’m on a mission, but if the choice was between me or him, I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the crooked motherfucker myself.

The air shifts. Fallon steps back, his face a mask of controlled annoyance. “We’re done here,” he says sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

The man doesn’t reply immediately, his lips curving into a faint, unreadable smile. His eyes flick to me again as if testing the waters. I don’t blink, my stance solid, one hand hovering near my sidearm in a clear, unmistakable warning.

Without another word, Fallon pivots and walks back toward the car. I fall into step behind him, every muscle in my body wound tight.

The first shot slices through the silence.

I don’t think before my body moves, pushing Fallon down as the crack of gunfire ricochets off the warehouse walls. He grunts as he hits the ground, his hand shooting to his side. Blood blooms between his fingers, staining the pristine fabric of his suit.

“Stay down,” I growl, pulling my weapon as I scan for the shooter.

Another shot. This one misses, sparking against the gravel near my feet. I return fire, aiming for the muzzle flash in the shadows.

“Smith!” I bark, her undercover name cutting through the chaos.

The car door swings open, and she’s already in motion, crouching low, her weapon drawn. Her eyes lock on Fallon, assessing the situation in a split second.

“Get him up!” I snap, firing another round as I move to cover them.

She doesn’t hesitate, rushing forward to drag Fallon upright. He’s heavier than he looks, but she handles him with grim efficiency, her jaw tight with focus.

“Get him in the car!”

They’re barely in when I slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

“Drive,” I order.

Her hands grip the wheel, knuckles white as she punches the accelerator. The tires scream against the gravel before catching traction, launching us forward.

The tail doesn’t take long to catch up.

“They’re coming,” Williams mutters, her voice tight.

“I see them,” I reply, twisting in my seat to check the rearview mirror. Two vehicles, headlights blazing, gaining on us fast.

She doesn’t wait for me to tell her what to do. The car swerves sharply as she takes a hard left, the sudden motion throwing Fallon against the door. He groans, clutching his side, but I don’t have time to care.

“Hold on,” she warns, her voice clipped and focused.

The next turn is tighter, the wheels skimming dangerously close to the edge of the road. The pursuing cars struggle to keep up, one of them skidding slightly before regaining control.

“Fallback location,” I remind her, my voice low.

“I know,” she snaps. “Just keep them off us, or do we need to switch spots?”

I roll down the window, leaning out just enough to take aim. My first shot cracks through the night, shattering the windshield of the closest car. It swerves but doesn’t stop.

“Fucking bastards,” I mutter, reloading.

She doesn’t respond, her focus locked on the road ahead.

The fallback warehouse looms in the distance, its silhouette a dark blot against the faint glow of the horizon. She floors the accelerator, the engine roaring as the car hurtles toward the lot.

The tires screech as she pulls into the gravel drive, skidding to a stop just short of the warehouse entrance.

“Inside,” I order, already stepping out.

Williams swings around to help Fallon, her movements quick and efficient despite the tension thrumming from us both.

The SUVs behind us slow, their lights cutting out as they come to a stop at the edge of the lot.

“They’re waiting,” she says quietly, her eyes flicking to me.

“Let them.”

I usher Fallon into the warehouse, my hand never leaving my weapon.

The space is cold and dark, with the faint smell of oil and dust hanging in the air. It’s quiet for now. But this was no coincidence. I watched Williams lose them a few times, and Tate cut them off a couple more. There’s no absolute way for them to know where this place was or for them to still be able to tail us.

Unless this is an inside job.

Williams glances at me, her expression unreadable. “What now?”

“Now,” I say, my voice low, “we wait.”

“What about Tate and Park?” she asks after she sets down the groaning senator on the couch, her voice low enough only for us to hear.

“They’re holding their position. They won't move until we do.”

“How do you know that? How do you know the people who followed us didn’t see them? They could be sitting ducks, for all we know. We can’t just leave them.”

I stare at her, seeing genuine concern for them on her face. “Tate is more than capable of getting himself out of tricky situations, trust me. And they won’t go after them. I doubt they even realized they were being tailed. They were too focused on backing us into a corner. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet, Rookie.”

“Figure what out?”

“You heard Shaw earlier. Only a handful of people know the location of this warehouse. Two of them are standing here, so that leaves…”

“Shaw.” Understanding, then a dark calm settles over her body as she glances back at the senator. I would hate to be on the other end of that icy glare. “You think he’s in on it?”

I shake my head. “Something tells me he wouldn’t let himself be shot.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for the man I expect to show. Shaw walks in with Cruz, the man from earlier. His polished shoes click against the concrete floor, a creaking noise following his every step.

Cruz trails close, his hand hovering near his belt as if itching to prove a point. However, there’s an edge to both of their expressions that wasn’t there the last time we met.

“He’s alive, by the way, if you were wondering,” I drawl, watching their every move.

“Well, well,” Shaw drawls, a thin smile playing on his lips. “I take it you knew I was coming?”

I fold my arms, keeping my posture casual, though my senses are anything but relaxed. “I had an idea.”

Shaw’s smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And here I thought I was unpredictable. Clearly, I underestimated you.”

“What’s the point of this, Shaw?” My voice sharpens, and I take a step forward, cutting through the false pleasantry bullshit. “I don’t take kindly to being set up. Especially not when I’m with my wife .”

His eyebrows lift at that, amusement flickering across his face. “Hmm, I understand. That’s punishable by death from where I’m from.” Shaw’s tone is laced with intrigue as if daring me to try.

If it wasn’t for my mission, I would.

Before I can respond, Cruz moves, his hand darting toward his weapon. But Arden is faster. Her Glock is drawn in a fluid motion and aimed directly at his head.

A rush of pride swells in my chest, inexplicable but undeniable. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. And now I see why Harris was adamant about sending her here with me and having her by my side. Not just because she’s capable but because she’s relentless.

Shaw glances at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it back to neutral. “Impressive. But unnecessary.” He raises a hand to still Cruz, who reluctantly lowers his hand, though his glare remains fixed on Arden. I don’t like it one fucking bit.

“What’s your game here?” I press, keeping my focus locked on Shaw. “Trying to test our loyalty by putting your client in danger? Funny way to conduct business.”

“The senator deserved it,” Shaw says with a shrug as if we’re discussing the weather. “He thought he could go behind my back, reach out to the Russians, and cut me out of the deal. A lesson had to be taught.”

My jaw tightens. “And we’re the pawns in your little fucked-up game.” It takes great strength not to put a bullet straight through his skull. Mission be damned.

“Call it a trial run,” Shaw counters, his smile returning. He tosses a bag at my feet. It lands with a heavy thud, the sound of cash unmistakable. “Consider yourselves hired.”

Cruz finally lowers his hand completely, but Arden doesn’t move. Her gun remains trained on him, her stance unwavering.

Shaw eyes her with a smirk. “Tell your wife to stand down, Mr. Smith. Unless you’d prefer this to escalate.”

I don’t say a word. I don’t have to. Arden meets my gaze for the briefest moment, her resolve unyielding. Finally, with deliberate precision, she lowers her weapon, though her posture remains rigid, ready to spring into action if needed.

“Wise decision, Mrs. Smith,” Shaw says, his tone condescending as he gestures to his lackey. The man steps forward, tossing a card onto the bag of cash. “Drop the senator here. They’ll patch him up.”

Shaw turns on his heel, his lackey falling into step behind him. They leave without another word, their footsteps fading as they disappear through the warehouse doors.

Seconds later, the roar of engines echoes outside, and I watch as two black SUVs pull away, their taillights vanishing into the night.

Arden exhales slowly, her hand still on her gun. “What now?”

I glance at the bag of cash and the card. My jaw tightens as I process Shaw’s little game, wondering how deep it goes. “Now,” I say, my voice grim, “we clean up his mess.”