Page 28

Doc Summers sighs dramatically as Hank and Gabe head for the door. “I swear, working with Guardians should come with a hazard pay clause for witnessing way too much sexual energy. We met during your extraction, but you may not remember me. I’m Skye Summers. The guys all call me Doc, or Doc Summers, but you can call me Skye.”

“Nice to meet you. I don’t remember you from the rescue.”

“There was a lot going on. Before we get to the physical part, I noticed you’re not taking advantage of The Facility.”

“I’m sorry. What’s that?”

“It’s like a post rescue reintegration facility. Most of our rescues have a lot of trauma to process, and many lack essential life skill as a result of being taken.”

“Oh…” I remember something about that mentioned on the plane. “My father wanted to take me home. I have my own team of psychologists, whether I want them or not.”

“Do you have any issues, or concerns, after your kidnapping? Any PTSD? That was your second … event?”

“It was, but my father is a control freak, likes to keep things close. I have what I need, if I need it. ”

“Well, if that’s not enough, or you want something not tied to your father, it’s a free resource we offer.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

Skye’s demeanor warms slightly. “They’re quite protective of you.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” I agree.

“Well, let’s get started.” She begins with standard procedures—checking my vitals, drawing blood, and asking about my medical history. Her questions are thorough but not unusual until she starts asking about my time at Malfor’s facility.

“Did you undergo any medical procedures there? Even routine ones?”

I shake my head. “Nothing beyond basic health checks. They needed us functional, not necessarily healthy.”

“Any injections? Vaccinations? Treatments of any kind?”

I think back, trying to remember. “There was one time—early on—when several of us got sick. Probably from the water. They gave us something… an injection, I think. I was pretty out of it at the time.”

Skye makes a note. “Do you remember where they administered it?”

“Upper arm? It was months ago.”

She nods, not pressing further, but her subsequent request surprises me. “I’d like to do a full-body scan. It’s standard for anyone in captivity—we want to ensure there are no lingering health concerns.”

I blink. “For STD screening?”

“Guardian HRS is thorough,” she says smoothly. “Better to check everything at once rather than have you come back for multiple appointments. We’ll have the results from the STD testing today. The full body scan takes a few days to process.”

That makes sense, so I agree, though something about her focused attention makes me slightly uneasy.

The scanner is unlike anything I’ve seen before—more advanced than even Malfor’s technology. It hums softly as it passes over me. Skye watches the readings with intense concentration, lingering particularly around my neck, shoulder, and the base of my skull.

“Finding anything interesting?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

“Just being thorough,” she replies, but her expression is too neutral, too carefully composed. Something’s not right. When she draws several vials of blood—far more than seems necessary—my suspicion grows.

“Is all that needed for STD testing?” I can’t help asking.

“Some is for hormone levels,” she explains. “To determine the best birth control option for you. Do you have a preference? Pill, implant, injection?”

“Not really.”

Her matter-of-fact acceptance loosens something tight in my chest. “Have you thought about whether you want kids?” she asks. “Eventually, I mean.”

The question catches me off guard. “I… haven’t gotten that far in my thinking. But not right now.”

“IUD would be your best option then,” she says, all business again. “It’s better for someone with your lifestyle.”

“My lifestyle?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Busy. Distracted.” She smiles slightly. “I sense you’re not great at remembering to take daily pills.”

I laugh. “You got me there. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached. IUD sounds better.” I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “You don’t think it’s weird, do you? That I’m with both of them?”

Doc Summers looks up from labeling the vials, her expression softening. “Ally, there are very few secrets between Guardians. We’re a tight group.” She sets down her instruments and gives me her full attention. “And those two men? They’re hyper-focused on you, and there’s nothing bad about that at all. It’s nice to see them settling down. Guardian HRS isn’t exactly conventional in any sense,” she replies. “And threesomes aren’t anything new to me. My brother is in a threesome, and his is even weirder than yours.”

My curiosity piques immediately. “Weirder? How? ”

Skye hesitates, then shrugs. “It’s… complicated. Forest is deeply in love with his wife, Sarah, but he also loves his Dom, Paul.”

“Dom?”

“More than a Dom, I think Paul is his Master.” She continues preparing instruments as she speaks, her tone casual. “Only recently have Paul and Sarah started interacting directly in their dynamic. So, no, I’m not surprised by your relationship with Hank and Gabe.”

My eyes widen. “And your brother makes it work?”

“They do.” She nods, looking up at me with a warm expression. “The three of you seem happy. That’s all any of us can ask for.”

Her words wash over me. I’ve been so focused on the unusual nature of our relationship that I hadn’t considered there might be places where it’s accepted without question.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

“For what?” She starts organizing the blood samples.

“For making it feel normal.”

Skye’s expression gentles. “Ally, after everything you’ve been through, finding connection—in whatever form it takes—is something to celebrate, not question.”

The conversation shifts back to birth control options, and I let my earlier concerns fade. Perhaps I’m being paranoid.

After months of captivity, it’s hard not to see threats everywhere, especially when surrounded by such genuine acceptance.

It’s also hard not to believe that the other shoe is about to drop. My anxiety attacks virtually disappeared since moving in with Hank and Gabe, but there’s still an edge. I feel it stronger now after leaving the safety of their condo. It is as if being outside makes me feel edgy and exposed.

When the exam finally concludes, I’m relieved to rejoin Hank and Gabe in the waiting area.

While the two of them head off for Hank’s exam, Gabe pulls me into his arms, his grip firm, grounding. The moment his chest presses to mine, everything else fades—the room, the noise, the world narrowing to just him.

“How’d it go?” Gabe asks, his voice low, eyes searching mine.

“Fine. Thorough,” I emphasize, watching their retreating forms, the corner of my mouth twitching.

But Gabe isn’t smiling. His gaze stays locked on me, intensity simmering beneath the surface.

“Ally.” His fingers lift to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, lingering on my cheek, rough knuckles gentle. “I need to know… if I crossed a line.”

I shake my head, breath catching at the raw edge in his voice—so different from the man who took control so utterly earlier. Now, he’s open, vulnerable, mine.

“No,” I whisper, eyes locked on his. “You didn’t cross anything. It was…” I pause, struggling for the right words, my pulse picking up. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever known. Intense. Overwhelming. But in the best way.”

Relief flashes across his face, but I don’t stop there. I step closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the steady pound of his heart beneath my palm.

“Hank talked to me,” I say softly, fingers brushing Gabe’s chest, feeling the steady beat beneath my hand. “Told me why he didn’t join us…”

Gabe’s eyes flicker, something unreadable in their depths. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

“He said…” I glance away for a beat, collecting my thoughts, then meet his gaze again. “He said we’re free to explore whatever we want. Together—all three of us—or just the two of us, in whatever way feels right.”

Gabe doesn’t speak at first, just watches me, the silence between us heavy with something I can’t quite name.

“What do you want, Ally?” His voice is low, roughened with restraint. “No pressure. Just… truth.”

I swallow hard, heat rising in my throat, my words slow, uncertain—but honest. “I’m still figuring that out. But…” I pause, breath hitching. “I liked what happened. I liked how it made me feel. It opened up… things inside me. Sensations, emotions I’ve never experienced before.” My voice is barely a whisper now. “Fear. Awe. Helplessness… and power. All at once. ”

Gabe’s jaw clenches, something primal flickering in his eyes before he reins it in. His hand lifts, cradling my face, thumb stroking beneath my cheekbone.

“If that’s the case,” he murmurs, voice thick, “I want to explore more, but we need to slow it down. No rushing, no pressure. I need you to know what something like that means to me. What it requires.”

I nod, breath catching at the gravity in his voice, in his touch.

“I’d like that,” I whisper. “I want to understand.”

Gabe’s breath leaves him in a slow, controlled exhale, but his eyes ignite, dark and molten, desire and something deeper coiling behind them.

“You say the word,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and steel. “And I’ll give you everything.”

His hand lifts, fingers threading gently through my hair, and when he leans in, his lips brush mine with exquisite care—soft, reverent, like I’m something precious. Not a possession. Not a fantasy.

Me.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, every movement deliberate. No dominance, no demand—just trust and the silent promise that whatever storm lives inside him, he’ll hold it back for me. He’s offering not just desire but love… honesty… himself .

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm and uneven, the moment thick with everything we don’t say—but feel.

Hank’s exam doesn’t take long. When he returns, he rolls his shoulders and stretches like a man who’s just endured something mildly annoying rather than invasive.

“Everything still in working order?” Gabe asks, smirking.

Hank claps a hand over Gabe’s shoulder as he passes. “Better than ever. Doc Summers even gave me a gold star.”

I snort, shaking my head as Gabe mutters something about medals of honor for endurance.

Rather than grabbing a golf cart, we walk to The Guardian Grind. The sun is warm on my face, the breeze carrying the distant sound of Guardians going through drills and seagulls crying as they soar out to sea.

I’m sandwiched between them again—Hank’s arm draped around my waist, solid and steady, while Gabe threads his fingers through mine, his grip firm and grounding. Their touch chases away the last tendrils of unease, wrapping me in a cocoon of quiet protection.

“You were right about Skye,” I tell them. “She’s thorough.”

“The best,” Hank agrees, but I don’t miss how his gaze sweeps our surroundings, his instincts never quite at rest. “You’ve earned yourself a coffee,” Hank says, steering me toward the entrance of Guardian Grind. “Whatever you want. On me.”

I smirk up at him. “That an apology for making me a medical emergency?”

He winks. “It’s a bribe to keep me in your good graces.”

“You know you don’t have to bribe her, man,” Gabe says. “We’ve already got her hooked.”

And damn if he isn’t right.

The Guardian Grind occupies a central location in the compound—strategically placed, according to Gabe, to ensure maximum caffeine distribution to all departments. From the outside, it looks surprisingly normal, with large windows and a wooden sign sporting a stylized “G” that cleverly forms both the outline of a coffee mug and what could be a tactical shield.

The parking area is busy, with several carts and even a few regular vehicles occupying spaces. This is a popular spot.

“Told you, social hub,” Gabe says.

The moment we step inside, the rich aroma of coffee envelops us. The space is packed—at least thirty people crammed into what should comfortably hold twenty—and the noise level matches the density. Conversations overlap, punctuated by the mechanical hiss and whir of espresso machines, the clatter of cups, and occasional bursts of laughter.

I take it all in, fascinated by this slice of Guardian life. The clientele is diverse, yet patterns emerge: the heavily muscled operatives with their alert eyes and tactical postures occupy several tables, while slimmer, more nervous-energy types cluster around outlets with tablets and devices.

These latter remind me of my physics colleagues—beta energy rather than alpha, but no less intense in their focus.

“Busier than usual,” Hank notes, his body instinctively positioning to shield me from the worst of the human traffic.

A line of customers stretches nearly to the door. At a broken espresso machine, someone in gray coveralls has the front panel open, his arms deep in its mechanical innards. A patch on his coveralls declares his name as Mike.

A lanky man with disheveled hair rushes past us, coffee sloshing dangerously in his mug. “Number two espresso machine is down again,” he explains without stopping.

And then I see Malia behind the counter, expertly pulling espresso shots at a second machine. A streak of flour dusts her cheek, her hair pinned back in a messy bun, and she’s laughing at something a customer said.

She looks… happy. Settled. Like she’s made this place her own.

Malia turns—and freezes—eyes widening before her entire face lights up with a smile so bright it could power the entire block.

“Ally!” She abandons the counter without hesitation, ducking under the pass-through, her apron still on. The next thing I know, she’s barreling toward me, arms flung wide.