Page 26

The combat circuit is impressive—a sequence of tactical challenges that the team navigated with seamless coordination. Ethan had them moving through obstacles, engaging targets, and executing complex maneuvers with the precision of a Swiss watch.

“Alright, hit the showers,” Ethan calls out once they’re done.

As the team heads toward the locker rooms, Hank approaches me, towel slung around his neck. “We’ll be quick,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Then we’ll get your laptop sorted.”

I gather my things. My laptop sits uselessly in my bag now.

Gabe appears at my side. “We can’t take you into the team bullpen. Mind waiting in one of the briefing rooms again?”

“I can manage being alone for a few minutes,” I say with a small smile.

Hank’s expression softens slightly. “We’ll be right back.”

This time, they lead me to the central part of the operations building, where several glass-walled rooms branch off from a main corridor. Each is equipped with a large table, chairs, and various displays mounted on the walls. They usher me into one marked “Briefing 3. ”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Gabe says, setting my bag on the table. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone. The silence feels strange after the constant activity of the training floor. I take the opportunity to examine the room more closely.

Maps and satellite images line one wall, showing various terrain types—urban centers, mountain regions, and coastal areas. Each is marked with what appear to be tactical notations. Another wall holds screens displaying news feeds, though they’re currently muted. A third wall is dominated by a large digital display currently showing the Guardian Shield rotating slowly against a black background.

As I approach the digital display, the image stutters, freezing momentarily before resuming its rotation at a slower pace. Strange. I take a step closer, curious, and the screen pixelates briefly, colors fragmenting before snapping back to normal.

My fingers itch to explore and better understand this organization, which saved my life twice now, but I remember Hank’s warning about secured areas. Instead, I settle for examining the materials already visible.

On the table lies a tablet, its screen dark. I don’t touch it, but as I pass by, the screen flashes to life before going dark again.

The chairs are surprisingly comfortable for a tactical setting—ergonomic, adjustable, and clearly designed for people who might spend hours reviewing mission details.

After days of tension and hours of pure terror, a childish impulse hits me without warning. I grab the back of one chair and spin it, watching it rotate smoothly. Something about the simple physics of it—momentum, angular velocity—makes me smile.

For a brief moment, I’m not a kidnapped physicist or a traumatized survivor. I’m just someone who appreciates a well-made chair.

What the hell? No one’s watching.

I plop down into the nearest chair, adjusting my weight as I push off against the conference table. The wheels glide effortlessly across the polished floor, carrying me to the far wall. I grin, feeling a ridiculous flutter of joy at this small freedom. When was the last time I did something this pointless, this fun?

Before Malfor, before Kazakhstan—maybe years.

Emboldened, I push off harder from the wall, propelling myself back toward the table. The chair spins slightly as it slides, and I let out a quiet laugh, surprised by how good it feels to be silly for just a moment. I make one more circuit, pushing off with enough force to spin entirely around as I travel.

As I complete my rotation, my knee bumps the table—right next to the tablet. The dark screen suddenly flickers to life, displaying what looks like security camera feeds before quickly going dark again.

I freeze, mid-spin, my moment of childish abandon caught in the act as the door swings open. Hank and Gabe stand in the doorway, both wearing amused expressions as they watch me—renowned physicist and recent hostage—acting like a kid in an office supply store.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Gabe says, a grin on his face. “That’s some impressive chair technique.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I find myself laughing instead of the embarrassment I expect—a genuine, unguarded sound that surprises even me.

Hank, his hair still damp from the shower, raises an eyebrow. “We usually save the spinning chair drills for advanced tactical training.” His deadpan delivery breaks after a second, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

He’s changed into dark cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt with the Guardian logo on the sleeve—casual but professional.

“I was just…” I gesture vaguely to the chair, now stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Testing our equipment?” Gabe offers helpfully, stepping in and closing the door behind them. “Very thorough. We appreciate the attention to detail.”

“Exactly,” I reply, straightening my shoulders with mock seriousness. “Quality control. These chairs have excellent rotational stability. I’d rate them nine out of ten. ”

“Only nine?” Hank asks, crossing his arms but looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him yet.

“The tenth point requires cup holders,” I say primly, surprising myself with how easily the banter comes after everything that’s happened.

Gabe’s laughter is a warm sound that fills the room. “I’ll be sure to add that to our next requisition order.”

“Ready?” Hank asks, getting us back on track but with softer edges than before. The moment of levity hangs between us, a small but significant reminder that normal still exists somewhere in the world.

Gabe follows, similarly dressed. “Hungry?” he asks, checking his watch. “It’s almost noon.”

My stomach answers before I can, growling audibly. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and watching the team’s physically demanding training has made me hungry, too.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gabe grins. “Let’s hit the cafeteria before heading out to find Mitzy.”

“Is there only one cafeteria for this whole place?” I ask as we exit the briefing room.

“There are three,” Hank explains, leading us back toward the exit. “There is the main cafeteria near the admin, one by the residential areas, and a smaller one near the technical building.”

“Plus The Guardian Grind, if you just want coffee and snacks,” Gabe adds.

Outside, Hank commandeers another golf cart, a bit larger than the first. I climb in the back seat while the men take the front.

“Main cafeteria has the best options,” Hank says as we set off, navigating the winding paths between buildings.

The compound looks different in the midday sun—less intimidating and more like a high-end corporate campus or university. Personnel in various uniforms and casual wear move between buildings, some on foot and others in carts similar to ours. The atmosphere is purposeful but not tense.

We pass the sleek tech building again, then around a curved road that opens onto a large courtyard. At its center stands a modern structure with expansive windows and a covered patio where people sit at tables, eating and conversing.

“Here we are,” Gabe announces, pulling the cart into a designated parking area.

Inside, the cafeteria resembles an upscale food court. Several stations offer different cuisine options—I spot Asian fusion, Mexican, a grill station, and what appears to be farm-to-table organic fare.

“They keep it interesting,” Hank says, noticing my surprise. “Forest believes good food keeps morale up, especially when it comes to feeding his operatives.”

We grab trays and move through the line. I opt for a grilled chicken salad that looks fresh and appetizing, while Hank loads his plate with protein—steak, potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Gabe chooses the Asian station, piling his plate with stir-fried noodles and vegetables.

Several people glance our way as we find a table near the windows. Some nod respectfully to Hank and Gabe, but most seem more interested in me.

“We don’t get many visitors here, especially not a single woman with the two of us.” Gabe’s tone is deliberately neutral, though I detect a hint of something possessive beneath it.

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Do they know… ?”

“That you’re staying with us?” Gabe shrugs, taking a bite of his noodles. “Probably. Guardian HQ is worse than a small town when it comes to gossip.”

“Great,” I mutter, stabbing a piece of chicken with perhaps more force than necessary.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank says. “They’re just curious.”

“Besides, most of them are techies,” Gabe adds with a wink. “They’re probably more interested in your quantum physics work than your living arrangements.”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help a small smile. “Speaking of, will we see Mitzy after this?”

Hank checks his watch. “If she’s not in the tech building, she’ll be at The Guardian Grind. Between noon and two, that’s her unofficial office hours.”

“She likes the energy there,” Gabe explains. “Says it helps her think better than her actual office.”

“I booked an appointment for us first,” Hank says, his tone as casual as if he were mentioning the weather.

“Appointment?” My brows furrow.

“Medical appointment,” he continues, cutting another bite of steak.

My stomach tightens. “What kind of medical appointment?”

Hank finishes chewing, taking his time before answering. “Full screening. All three of us.” His gaze locks onto mine, steady, sure. “I want to ditch the condoms if that’s okay with you.”

A spark of heat shoots straight through me, my breath catching.

Of course, Hank doesn’t ask. He never asks. He decides. He takes control. A control freak to his core, he decides for me, telling me what’s going to happen and what we’re going to do. The most dangerous part of that is how much I like it.

Gabe leans back in his chair, his smirk slow, knowing.

I glance between them, my pulse thrumming. The weight of what they’re saying sinks in.

Not just sex.

Not just pleasure.

But trust.

Permanence.

“After lunch,” Hank adds, watching me carefully. “We’re getting tested. And if you’re not against it, we’ll get you on birth control.”

Gabe stretches, the lazy movement a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes. “Once all of that clears, we’ll take you the way we’re meant to.”

I exhale sharply, shifting in my seat, my skin prickling with awareness. The idea alone is enough to make my blood run hot, but what really gets me is Hank’s certainty—like this is inevitable. A foregone conclusion.

Hank leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, his full attention locked on me. “When Gabe and I take you together, I want no barriers between us.”

My stomach flips. A rush of sharp and heady heat collides with something else—something more exciting.

Together.

I’ve thought about it and wondered, but those were idle musings, fleeting what-ifs.

Now it’s real.

Now it’s them—two powerful men who take control as easily as they breathe—talking about claiming me at the same time.

I shift in my seat, biting my lip before the words slip out before I can second-guess them. “Together, how?” My cheeks heat. “Like…one in each…?” I gesture vaguely, feeling ridiculous. Although, we’ve kind of already done that.

Gabe laughs while Hank smirks, shaking his head. “That too,” Hank admits, eyes gleaming with amusement. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Gabe tilts his head slightly, watching me squirm, clearly enjoying every second of my flustered state. “Technically, there are three holes, sweetheart.”

I blink. My mouth opens, then snaps shut as my brain scrambles to process that.

“Jesus.” Heat floods my cheeks, my stomach flipping violently.

Hank chuckles, shaking his head. “We’re getting off track.”

“Are we?” Gabe asks, not bothering to hide his grin. “Seems like we’re on the right track.”

I glare at him, which only makes his smirk widen.

I swallow. “So … two in … what?”

Hank ignores the teasing, his gaze holding mine, dragging me back into the heat of the moment. “Your pussy. Both of us. At the same time.”

“Is that possible?” The air leaves my lungs in a slow, shuddering breath. My stomach clenches, nerves twisting tight with something dangerously close to excitement.

I picture logistics, positioning, how it would even work. One of them in front, the other behind ?

No, that’s not what Hank meant.

My brain scrambles, searching for some mental blueprint of how two men could fit inside me at the same time, and oh God, would it even be comfortable?

Would it hurt?

Will I like it?

Heat rushes through me, my thighs pressing together instinctively as I realize—I kind of want to know.

Hank watches me, reading every thought flickering across my face. His smirk deepens, dark amusement sparking in his eyes.

“Don’t sweat the details, luv.” His voice is a slow, deliberate stroke of dominance. “Gabe and I will take care of you.”

“All you have to do is trust us.” Gabe leans in, his voice a velvet promise. “We know what we’re doing.” His eyes darken, heat simmering beneath the playfulness. “And you’re going to love it.”

I shift again, pressing my thighs together as heat pools low in my belly. I believe them. That’s what terrifies me.

And what thrills me most of all.

“Want anything else?” Hank asks, noticing my empty plate as if he didn’t just casually rearrange my entire universe.

Of course, he can go from talking about fucking to food, like he didn’t just drop that little bomb and expect me to process it. Like I’m not sitting here, heartbeat hammering, mind looping one singular thought— how are they both going to fit?

I shake my head, forcing my voice to stay steady. “This was perfect. But I wouldn’t say no to coffee.”

Maybe caffeine will help me figure out the logistics. Or at least stop my brain from spiraling into images that make my thighs clench again and again.

“Guardian Grind it is, then,” Gabe says, standing and collecting our trays. “We’ll check the tech building first, but my money’s on finding Mitzy at the Grind.”

We dispose of our trays and head back to the cart. As we drive toward the tech building, I take in more details. The landscaping is meticulously maintained, with native plants that require minimal water—practical but attractive. Security features are integrated so seamlessly that they’re almost invisible unless you know to look for them—cameras disguised as lighting fixtures and strategic placement of barriers that could halt unauthorized vehicles.

The tech building looms ahead, a marvel of modern architecture. Unlike the utilitarian operations building, this structure makes a statement with its sweeping glass curves and gleaming metal. Solar panels cover much of the roof, and what appears to be a satellite array rises from one corner.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Gabe says, following my gaze. “Mitzy designed it herself.”

Inside, the tech building buzzes with activity. The atrium soars three stories up, with walkways crossing at various levels. Workstations with multiple monitors cluster in open areas, while glass-walled labs and offices line the perimeter. People in casual clothes move purposefully between areas, many wearing badges with the tech division’s lightning bolt insignia.

Hank approaches a young woman at a circular desk in the center of the atrium. “We’re looking for Mitzy,” he says. “Is she in today?”

The woman barely glances up from her tablet. “She left about an hour ago. Said something about needing inspiration and coffee.”

“Guardian Grind?” Gabe guesses.

She nods, finally looking up. Her eyes widen slightly when she notices me. “Oh! Are you Dr. Collins?”

“Ally,” I correct automatically, surprised she knows who I am. “Still have to defend my thesis to get my PhD.”

“Mitzy mentioned you might be coming by,” she explains. “She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Thanks,” Hank says, steering me back toward the exit before the woman can ask any more questions. We’re almost out the door when Hank suddenly pauses. “Wait. Do you have a charging cable for a laptop?”

The receptionist blinks, then glances at me. “What kind of laptop?”

I lift mine slightly. “MacBook.”

“Hold on a sec.” She picks up the phone, murmuring something into the receiver before giving me a small smile. “Someone will bring one right down.”

A few minutes later, a young man in a Guardian-branded polo steps off the elevator, holding a charging cable. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” I say, accepting it.

Hank gives a satisfied nod before guiding me outside.

We climb back into the cart.

“Was I on Mitzy’s schedule today?” I ask as we pull away from the tech building.

“Not officially,” Hank says. “But Mitzy has a knack for knowing things before they happen.”

“It’s a bit creepy,” Gabe adds cheerfully.

We wind through another section of the compound, passing what looks like a medical facility and several administrative buildings. Instead of continuing toward the café, Gabe turns the cart toward the clinic’s entrance.

“Quick stop first,” Hank says, giving me a pointed look.

Right. The exams.

I swallow hard, my fingers tightening briefly on my lap before forcing myself to relax. Hank may have given the command, but it’s my choice. And I trust them.