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My father lifts an eyebrow, concern flickering across his face. “What is it?”

“My USB drive,” I blurt, panic tightening my chest. “It has all my research—everything. I can’t lose it.”

Dad frowns. “We can reach out to their command post, coordinate?—”

“No.” My fingers tighten around the car door handle, my pulse quickening. “I need to talk to Hank or Gabe.” The words slip out too fast, too desperate. I swallow hard, forcing down the anxiety clawing up my throat. “They’ll know where to look. Or at least check where I changed.”

I leave out the part where they were the ones who peeled away my ruined clothes.

My father watches me, sharp and assessing, but I can’t meet his gaze. It’s not just about the USB. I could let my father handle it, trust the system to get it back. But that would mean walking away. Letting go. And I’m not ready. Not yet.

Dad exhales sharply, snapping his phone shut. “All right. We’ll turn back and see if we can catch them.”

Relief crashes over me, a rush so intense I can barely sit still. As the town car circles back toward the tarmac, my pulse kicks up, anticipation thrumming beneath my skin.

Then I see them. In the distance, Hank and Gabe move equipment into a Guardian-branded SUV, their movements efficient, practiced—completely unaware that I’m coming back.

“There.” I point, my voice strained with urgency. “They’re still here.”

A knot of tension unwinds inside me, but a different kind of nervous energy takes its place. This isn’t just about the USB drive. It’s a second chance—one I never thought I’d get.

Dad raps on the partition, telling the driver to stop. The moment the car halts, I throw the door open and hurry out, ignoring the twinges of pain in my battered body.

“Hank! Gabe!” I call, jogging toward them. They turn, concern sharpening their expressions when they see my face.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe asks, stepping forward, hand already lifting as though to steady me.

I take in a shaky breath. “I… my USB drive. It has all my postdoc data—everything I was working on—” My voice quavers. “I left it in the pocket of my clothes. I didn’t realize until just now. I have to get it.”

A flicker of understanding crosses Hank’s features. “We’ll find it,” he says without hesitation.

Gabe glances at Hank, then back at me, his eyes steady and reassuring. “Your old clothes should’ve been set aside with the rest of the gear. We’ll track them down.”

Tension drains from my shoulders. Relief must be written all over my face because Gabe offers the barest hint of a smile. “We promise,” he adds gently, “we’ll do everything we can to get it back to you.”

I nod, my heart still pounding from the scare. “Thank you,” I murmur, voice wavering.

Hank places a firm hand on my forearm, his quiet strength once again calming the swirl of panic in my chest. “We’ll call you as soon as we locate it,” he assures me, and there’s a layer of warmth in his tone that goes deeper than simple professionalism.

My eyes flick between them, taking in the seriousness lining both their faces.

“Thank you,” I say again, cheeks warming at how often I seem to be repeating those words to them. But right now, they’re all I can manage.

Gabe shifts, rolling his shoulders like he’s about to say something, then stops, his gaze flicking to Hank before settling back on me. There’s a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something I can’t quite read—uncertainty, curiosity, maybe both.

I shift, too, suddenly restless, acutely aware of the space between us, of the way my skin still tingles from their touch. The town car idles behind me, my father waiting, but leaving feels… wrong. Like I’m walking away from something unfinished.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I step forward, wrapping my arms around Gabe first. His body tenses for half a second before he relaxes into the hug, his hands resting lightly against my back. His warmth seeps into me, steady and grounding, and when I pull away, his eyes catch mine, holding something more profound—something I hope I’m not just imagining.

Then I turn to Hank. His grip is firmer, more certain, his arms locking around me with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. He smells like leather and danger, like something I should be careful of—but don’t want to be. His fingers press just a fraction harder than necessary before he lets me go, the absence of his touch almost startling.

“We’ll call as soon as we find your USB,” Gabe says, his voice smoother now, more assured. A slow smile tugs at his lips, one that sends heat curling low in my stomach. “Can’t wait to see you again.”

My pulse stutters. The way he says it holds an air of something, something deliberate. Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Perhaps I’ve gotten this all wrong.

But God, I hope I haven’t.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift onto my toes and press a quick kiss to Gabe’s cheek. He stills for just a second; then his lips curve into something knowing, something amused .

Then I turn to Hank, brushing a kiss against the rough edge of his jaw. His fingers flex at his sides, his gaze darkening, and for a breathless moment, I wonder what would happen if I didn’t stop there.

But my father shifts behind me, a pointed reminder of reality.

I step back, fingers tingling, heart pounding, and force a casual smile. “Guess I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“You can count on it.” Hank’s smirk deepens, something slow and knowing. “Can’t wait to see you again, luv.”

Gabe chuckles, low and warm. “And trust me, we won’t keep you waiting long.”

Heat flares in my cheeks, but I hold their gazes, searching for any sign that I’ve been reading this all wrong. Instead, I find confirmation—Hank’s steady, heated stare, Gabe’s barely-there smirk that promises more.

A cough sounds behind me—pointed, impatient. My father.

I glance back to find him watching, one brow lifted in that way that says, enough lingering, it’s time to go. Beside him, the driver shifts, reaching for the open door like he’s seconds away from ushering me inside himself.

Exhaling, I force myself to move, my pulse still unsteady as I slide into the town car beside my father. The door swings shut with a quiet finality, sealing me back into his world.

But outside, I can still feel them—Hank’s smoldering gaze, Gabe’s unreadable smirk—like ghost touches against my skin.

My father turns, nodding once at the men in silent gratitude, before the driver pulls away.

As for my USB, that knot of worry loosens now that I know they’ll help me recover the one thing that ties me to my life’s work.

Despite the panic still buzzing beneath my skin, I manage a small, hopeful smile as Hank and Gabe recede into the distance. Their promise hangs in the air, and I cling to that thought as the car merges with the city’s restless traffic.

The following days blur into a haze of medical evaluations, debriefings by the Guardian HRS team, and well-meaning visits from acquaintances who don’t know what to say but feel obligated to say something. I nod in all the right places, offer practiced smiles, and pretend the world isn’t tilting sideways every time I close my eyes.

At night, it’s worse.

The nightmares come like clockwork, jagged flashes of too-bright rooms and suffocating darkness. Sometimes, I wake up gasping, my heart pounding, drenched in sweat, tangled in sheets that feel too much like restraints. Other times, I don’t bolt upright—I just lie there, trapped under the crushing weight of memories that refuse to fade.

I drift through the days like a ghost in my own life, rattling around this too-big house with nothing but silence for company. Most of my friends from before grad school are gone, scattered across the world, wrapped up in careers and relationships that don’t leave room for me anymore. Dad is trying—God, is he trying—but his idea of helping is hovering, checking on me constantly, sending up meals I barely touch.

The security team is everywhere, their presence suffocating. I know better than to ditch them now, but it doesn’t stop the restlessness from clawing at my insides. I pace rooms that once felt safe but now feel like a gilded cage. I stare at my reflection in windows that only show a stranger’s haunted eyes staring back.

I need air. I need an anchor.

I need them .

My fingers hover over my phone screen, hesitating.

Hank and Gabe.

They are the only ones who get it. Who know what it’s like to wake up gasping. Who understand the way trauma lingers in the spaces between heartbeats.

Without overthinking, I compose a message.

Hi. I just wanted to say thank you again for everything. Hope you’re doing well.

My phone buzzes in my hand before I even have time to second-guess my decision. I jolt, my pulse skipping, and then swipe to answer.

“Sweetheart.” Gabe’s rich, velvety voice slides over me like warm whiskey. “It’s damn good to hear from you. How are you holding up?”

His concern loosens something tight in my chest. Before I can answer, he continues, “Listen, if you ever want to talk or grab coffee, let us know. And… it took some digging, but we found it.”

Relief crashes over me, my breath catching. “You found my USB?”

“Yeah,” Gabe confirms, and then another voice joins in, rougher, deeper—one that makes my stomach tighten.

“Ditto what Gabe said, luv,” Hank drawls, his accent sliding over the words like a slow caress. “Now, how about that coffee? We’re dying to see you again.”

We .

My breath hitches. Not just Gabe. Not just Hank. We… them.

Us.

The room tilts slightly, my grip tightening on the phone. It’s not my imagination. It’s not wishful thinking.

They are into me—together.

Heat curls low in my stomach, and I swallow hard, my heart hammering as I try to sound casual. “Coffee sounds good.”

I’m not sure if they hear the slight shake in my voice, but the satisfied hum in Gabe’s response tells me everything I need to know.

Warmth ignites in my chest, and my heart races at the invitation. Not just a polite courtesy but a genuine eagerness to see me again. Hank’s steady hands in that cramped shower flood my thoughts, Gabe’s lingering touches on the plane, the easy synergy they shared around me. The spark crackling between us wasn’t in my head—this message proves they felt it, too.

A thrill courses through me at the prospect of something more—something unconventional involving both men. Images flash: Hank guiding me with that calm, commanding presence, Gabe channeling pure, physical intensity, and the two of them weaving their energies around me.

The idea of exploring more with them glimmers in my mind; I’ve dipped my toes into surrendering control to a trusted partner, but never with two men who make me feel both safe and, frankly, so turned on. A flush warms me at the thought.

They haven’t shown any direct inclination to kink, but their natural dominance—Hank’s quiet certainty and authority, Gabe’s powerful hands-on approach—practically begs to be explored.

It’s a deliciously taboo fantasy, and I can’t help but want to indulge in it. Who doesn’t crave a little edge now and then?

The only question is how to bring it up.

Maybe a playful tease, a half-joking comment about ropes, or a blindfold, just enough to gauge their reactions. Because if they’re even a fraction as intrigued by the idea as I am, we might discover a whole new world of pleasure waiting for us.

With its lavish comfort and my father’s security detail, this mansion feels suffocating compared to the buzz of anticipation swirling under my skin. Each memory of their touch, each unreadable look, coils around my thoughts, ready to unravel into something electric. And now, there’s a perfect excuse: they’ve recovered my USB—the one holding my entire postdoc research, my whole future in bits and bytes.

My father won’t argue with that reason; he knows how vital my data is. So as soon as I can, I’ll insist on meeting them to retrieve it. I can almost see him nod in reluctant acceptance. And the moment I step out of these guarded halls, I’ll be heading straight into whatever awaits me with Hank and Gabe.

The thought sends sparks skittering along my nerves, a temptation I can’t ignore. For the first time since we landed, I feel truly alive and present in my own skin.

“I’d love to see the both of you as well.” My fingers tremble slightly with anticipation. “Maybe next week, when things settle down a bit?”

“How about now?” Gabe’s response is immediate.

“Now? I can’t get away that soon. Security details need to be coordinated; they’ll have to sweep the meeting place ahead of time.”

“Now, luv. We’ve waited long enough. We know a great café downtown.” Hank’s words are direct and unyielding.

I stare at my phone, my heart thudding. Nothing about this is polite or casual—it’s a command laced with that undercurrent of dominance I sensed from him from the start. My cheeks warm at the memory of how he and Gabe looked at me on the plane, the subtle authority in Hank’s tone lighting every nerve in my body.

“I have to check with my security.” Another flicker of excitement sparks through me.

His reply is immediate. “No need, luv. Gabe and I can secure the spot and ensure your safety. Meet us in an hour. No arguments. And don’t be late.”

A part of me wants to push back, to remind him I’m not a child, and he can’t boss me around, but a bigger part can’t deny how much his commanding presence sends a thrill racing along my spine.

“I’m texting you the location,” Gabe murmurs, the words a soft provocation that tangles my breath. “We’re really looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Me too.” My cheeks blaze. “See you in an hour.”