Page 24

The ride to Guardian headquarters is silent.

The scenery blurs past. I still feel the ghost of Gabe’s hunger. My body aches pleasantly, but my mind is still reeling. That glimpse of what lurks beneath his careful control has left me shaken and intrigued—maybe afraid—not of him but of how desperately I wanted him to lose control.

He’s right.

I pushed.

I chose my words carefully, looking for a reaction.

Gabe did not disappoint.

He sits in the passenger seat, seemingly relaxed, but tension bunches in his shoulders. He grips his phone, scrolling through messages without really seeing them. The feral energy hasn’t completely dissipated; it simmers below the surface, a low-burning flame that could ignite again with the right spark.

Occasionally, his eyes meet mine in the side mirror. When they do, that same electricity from the bedroom sparks between us.

Unspoken. Powerful.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with unprocessed feelings .

Hank drives, occasionally glancing at Gabe, then catching my eye in the rearview mirror. After a few minutes of this, he finally breaks the silence.

“Do I want to know?” he asks, his tone light but his eyes serious as they flick between us.

Gabe’s mouth curves into something between a smile and a smirk. “She pushed. I caved.” His voice is still rough around the edges. “She handled it well.”

Hank’s eyebrow rises as he looks at Gabe. “Did she?”

“Yes,” Gabe answers without hesitation, a note of pride in his voice. “She did.”

“Did you, luv? Are you okay? He can be… intense when he lets go.” Hank’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror.

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I meet his gaze steadily. For a moment, I consider deflection, but something in Hank’s expression demands honesty.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

“That’s fair,” Hank says with a soft laugh.

“You could have warned me,” I say, but there’s no accusation in my voice.

“I did,” Hank says. “Repeatedly.”

Gabe’s gaze flicks to mine, searching, assessing. “You were warned multiple times,” he says, his voice lower now, steady. But then, softer, more intent—“But seriously, how are you?”

The predator in him is momentarily leashed but not gone. It lingers in how he watches me, waiting, ready to react if I hint at regret.

I hold his gaze, letting him see the truth. “I’m good,” I say, voice firm. “More than good.”

Something shifts in his expression—relief, maybe even something deeper. He nods once, then turns forward again, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh.

Hank chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Guess that settles that.”

Silence falls again, but it’s different now—like we’ve acknowledged something meaningful without naming it. Hank squeezes Gabe’s shoulder, which seems to communicate volumes between them.

I lean back against the seat, letting my eyes close briefly. For all the chaos of the past weeks, there’s something strangely comforting about being here, now, with these two complicated men. Even as I try to understand what Gabe showed me—what we just did—I feel oddly secure.

Guardian HRS headquarters gradually reveals itself from the winding coastal road—a sprawling compound spanning thousands of acres along the California coastline. It’s nothing like the urban office building I imagined. Instead, it’s a self-contained world deliberately set apart from civilization.

As we approach the main security gate, I take in the scale of the operation—numerous buildings of different architectural styles spread across the landscape, connected by winding roads and pathways. The Pacific Ocean glitters beyond the property’s western edge, providing a stunning backdrop and a natural security barrier.

“We’re here,” Hank announces.

I straighten and push thoughts of the bedroom firmly aside. Time to focus. Time to be Ally Collins again, not a woman caught between two magnetic men.

“Home sweet home,” Gabe murmurs as we pass through the checkpoint, guards nodding respectfully at Hank.

“It’s enormous,” I say, eyes wide as we drive deeper into the compound. “I had no idea it was so… extensive.”

“Several thousand acres,” Hank explains, navigating the main road that branches off toward different sectors. “Forest insisted on having enough space for everything we might need—training facilities, residential areas, medical, administrative, technical development.”

“Complete self-sufficiency,” Gabe adds. “We even grow some of our own food in the agricultural section.”

We pass a gleaming building of metal and glass that seems to hum with energy. “Mitzy’s domain,” Gabe explains. “The tech building. Where all the brainiacs work their magic.”

Beyond that stands a more utilitarian structure—square, efficient, and built for function over form. “That’s the Guardian’s main operations center,” Hank says. “Houses the bullpens for all four teams, mission control, briefing rooms…”

As we continue our drive, I spot what looks like a small town in the distance—buildings of different heights and styles clustered together behind a perimeter fence. “Is that?—”

“Mock urban environment for tactical training,” Hank confirms. “We can simulate pretty much any scenario—hostage situations, extractions, infiltrations.”

Further along, I glimpse shooting ranges, sniper platforms, and what appears to be a full-sized football stadium. “The gym,” Gabe says, following my gaze. “Where we’re headed.”

We pull into a parking area near the main operations building.

“The bullpen is in there,” Hank explains, nodding toward the square, utilitarian structure. “One large building divided into four sections, one for each team—Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta.”

“The center of the building houses shared spaces,” Gabe adds. “Tactical briefing rooms, mission control, comms center—everything we need for coordinated operations.”

“Most Guardians live off-site,” Hank continues, gesturing toward a cluster of buildings in the distance. “But there are several residential areas for short-term contractors and special situations.”

“Special situations?” I ask.

Gabe nods. “People who need to be on base for security reasons. Like Jenna and Sophia—they’re under our protection, as is Mia.”

“Mia?” The name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“Another asset we extracted from Malfor’s clutches,” Hank explains, his voice lowering slightly. “She’s been granted asylum here. Malfor wants her back badly, so she stays on-site where we can protect her. The same goes for Jenna and Sophia.”

“Is that what I am?” I ask, suddenly wondering about my status. “An asset?”

Gabe’s expression softens. “You’re whatever you want to be, sweetheart. But yes, technically, you’re a high-value asset that Malfor would love to recapture.”

“Over there—” Hank points to a cozy-looking building with outdoor seating, “is The Guardian Grind. Best coffee on the west coast.”

“It’s the social hub,” Gabe agrees. “We’ll take you there after training if you want to see Malia again.”

“I’d love that.” A genuine smile spreads across my face at the thought of reuniting with my friend.

During our months in captivity, Malia and I formed an unshakeable bond, weathering the darkest days together. She had been taken to ensure her brother Malikai’s compliance—a world-renowned expert in nuclear fusion who led our research team. While I worked closely with Malikai on the reactor’s technical aspects, Malia kept me sane in those endless, hopeless nights.

I take it all in, amazed at the scope and scale of the operation. This isn’t just a headquarters—it’s a small, highly specialized city completely dedicated to Guardian HRS’s mission.

I slip my laptop into my bag, wincing at how warm it feels through the case. Maybe there’s a hardware issue causing it to overheat. Either way, getting expert eyes on it will be a relief.

“Do a lot of, um, significant others come here?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

Gabe snorts. “Not usually, no.”

“But you’re a special case,” Hank adds, his hand finding the small of my back as we walk toward an elevator. “Security clearance was expedited, given your situation.”

The words are neutral enough, but there’s weight behind them.

My situation.

Kidnapped. Rescued. Under threat.

I suppress a shudder.

The security checkpoint requires both a keycard and a fingerprint scan. The guard nods to Hank and Gabe, then gives me a curious once-over before waving us through.

“Ready to meet the family?” Gabe asks, a hint of mischief in his eyes as we drive toward the main operations building.

The Guardian building is unmistakable—a sprawling, single-story structure with a utilitarian design. Unlike the sleek tech buildings or the residential areas, this place was built purely for function .

“This is the heart of our operations,” Hank explains as we park.

We approach the entrance marked “Charlie Team.” Hank swipes his card and places his thumb on a scanner. The heavy door unlocks with a solid clunk.

Inside, the bullpen is a world unto itself. The large space is divided into workstations, with a tactical planning table in the center.

What catches my eye are the massive chain-link enclosures lining the walls—each large enough to walk into and filled with specialized gear and equipment. Every cage has a name stenciled above it. The few bare walls left are lined with gear, maps, and what looks like mission briefing materials.

“Personal gear lockers,” Gabe explains, following my gaze. “Everything we need for missions. Only team members are allowed inside the bullpen.”

While they gather their workout gear, I notice the photos pinned to some of the workstations—team outings, training exercises, candid moments of camaraderie. These men aren’t just colleagues; they’re a family.

“Am I not supposed to be in here?” I ask.

Gabe laughs. “The bullpen is sacred ground—just Guardians, but we wouldn’t be the first ones to slip a chick in here. What Ethan doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Hank and Gabe exchange a look.

“This way,” Gabe guides me with a gentle hand on my elbow. “We’ll drop you in a conference room while we change. Don’t want anyone walking in and seeing you in here.”

We navigate through a maze of corridors, each requiring different levels of authorization. I’d be completely lost without them as guides. Finally, we reach a door labeled simply, “Charlie Team Briefing Room.”

In half that time, they return.

Gabe emerges first, dressed in a fitted performance shirt that clings to every sculpted plane of his torso, the dark fabric stretching over broad shoulders and tapering down to his lean waist. The track pants do nothing to hide the powerful thighs beneath, the kind built for explosive strength and endurance. The man moves with the effortless grace of someone always in control, every step calculated and deliberate.

Hank follows, similarly dressed, but where Gabe is all restrained power, Hank is brute force wrapped in an easy-going yet confident swagger. His shirt stretches across his chest, biceps flexing as he adjusts the strap of his gym bag. The loose fit of his joggers does nothing to diminish the fact that this man is built like a battering ram—one designed to tear through walls and enemies alike.

It’s almost unfair.

Two men—lethal, unrelenting, and so effortlessly masculine it should be illegal—standing before me like this, ready to protect, to train, and to challenge. Somehow, I am the lucky woman they’ve chosen to be theirs.

I swallow, gripping the edge of my seat.

“Ready?” Gabe’s voice is low and casual, but his eyes flick over me, reading every little reaction I can’t quite hide.

Hank smirks knowingly, slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. “Let’s move before CJ catches us breaking protocol.” He pauses, tilting his head as his gaze sweeps over me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Unless you need another minute to get yourself under control.”

“What?” I blink, heat creeping up my neck.

His grin widens. “That look in your eyes, luv. Like you’re two seconds away from locking the doors and making us late.”

Gabe exhales a sharp breath, his lips curving into something dangerously smug. “She does look hungry.”

My pulse spikes, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of looking away. Instead, I arch an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“You two are imagining things.”

Hank chuckles, low and knowing. “Sure we are.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Come on, lucky girl. Let’s go before we lock these doors and do wicked things to you.”

Outside, a line of golf carts waits in the designated transit area, but my mind is stuck on something else—how in the hell did I get lucky enough to have them ?

“Your chariot awaits,” Gabe says dramatically, gesturing to one of the carts.

“Golf carts?” I can’t help but laugh.

“The complex is massive,” Hank explains, tossing their bags in the back. “Walking everywhere would take forever.”

“Plus,” Gabe adds, sliding into the driver’s seat, “they’re fun.”