Page 19 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

EIGHTEEN

Insanity

GABE

The Pacific crashes against the rocks below—relentless, violent, perfect for how I feel right now.

My hands grip the steering wheel harder than necessary as we wind up the coastal highway toward Insanity.

Each curve reveals more of the sprawling estate perched on the cliff like some kind of fortress.

Seagulls wheel overhead, their cries cutting through the engine noise. Sharp. Demanding. Like the rage burning in my chest that won’t quit, no matter how many deep breaths I take.

Hank sits in the passenger seat, silent as stone. The space between us thrums with everything we didn’t say after that clusterfuck in the gym. His split lip is healing, but I know the words we traded are going to take a hell of a lot longer to mend.

Maybe never.

And it’s my fault.

The ocean breeze carries the scent of salt and seaweed through the open windows, mixing with the aroma of eucalyptus from the trees lining the road.

It should be calming. Should remind me of the mornings Ally would drag us out to the deck to watch the sunrise over the water, her hair whipping around her face as she pointed out dolphins in the distance.

Instead, it makes my chest feel like someone’s taken a blowtorch to it.

“Turn here.” Hank’s voice is flat, professional. As if we’re heading to any other tactical briefing instead of the place where we’re going to figure out how to get our woman back.

The outer gate to Insanity stands twenty feet high, wrought iron twisted into patterns that look like musical notes if you squint. The intercom crackles before I can reach for it.

“About time.” Forest’s voice carries through the speaker, rough with exhaustion. “Drive straight up to the main house. Everyone’s waiting.”

The gate swings open with a mechanical hum, and I gun the engine up the winding drive.

The mansion sprawls across the clifftop like it grew there—all glass and stone and impossible angles that probably cost more than most small countries’ GDP.

Multiple levels cascade down the cliff face, connected by bridges and terraces that make the whole place look like something from a dream.

Or a rock star’s wet fantasy, which is probably more accurate.

I park behind a cluster of tactical vehicles. The whole gang’s here for whatever Ethan has planned.

Gravel crunches under our boots as we walk toward the main house.

The full scope of Insanity spreads out before us as we round the corner.

The clifftop estate stretches for what has to be acres, with multiple buildings connected by covered walkways and gardens.

To our left, the separate house where Forest, Paul, and Sarah live sits like a smaller echo of the main mansion, complete with its own terraced gardens and ocean views.

But it’s the scene at the gondola station that catches my attention.

Charlie team is clustered around the boarding platform—Ethan, Rigel, Walt, Blake, Carter, and the rest of the crew.

Mac from Alpha team stands with his arms crossed, his expression grim.

Brady from Bravo leans against the gondola’s control housing, while Jenny from Delta paces in small circles like a caged predator.

Forest stands near the back of the group, a mountain of packed muscle that makes everyone else look small by comparison.

Paul hovers nearby, his dark eyes scanning everything with automatic vigilance.

Doc Summers is there too, her attention focused on the center of all the activity.

And in the middle of it all, Mitzy crouches beside the gondola mechanism with a toolkit spread around her like she’s performing surgery.

Her psychedelic hair, currently sporting streaks of electric blue and hot pink in a sharp pixie cut, catches the afternoon sunlight as she works, her snarky attitude evident even in the way she handles her tools.

Forest spots us approaching first. “Heard you two had a moment.” His dry tone makes it clear he knows exactly what kind of moment we had. “Are you done tearing each other apart?”

The question hits differently coming from him. Forest knows what it’s like to have the person you love torn away. He, Paul, and Sarah have been through their own version of hell, and the way his eyes search my face tells me he’s looking for the same fractures that almost broke him apart.

“We’re functional.” Hank’s response is controlled and precise. The kind of answer that says everything and nothing.

Paul steps closer, his gaze moving between us. “Functional’s a good start, but you two look like you’ve been beating the shit out of each other.”

Forest’s eyes narrow as he takes in Hank’s healing split lip and the careful way I’m holding my ribs. “Please tell me you didn’t take it that far.”

I shrug, not meeting his eyes. Hank’s silence beside me answers more than words would. We didn’t work through shit— just beat the hell out of each other and agreed to coexist in tense silence for the sake of the mission.

“What did Mitzy find?” I deflect, needing to move past the uncomfortable territory.

“That’s what we’re all trying to figure out.” Paul jerks his head toward where Mitzy continues working. “She’s been crawling all over that thing for the past hour, muttering about quantum interference patterns and electromagnetic signatures.”

“She won’t tell us what she found,” Forest adds, “just keeps saying she needs to ‘verify the baseline parameters’ before she explains anything.”

“Sounds like Mitzy.” Hank’s voice carries the first hint of warmth since we left Guardian HRS. Dealing with the tech division’s resident genius has a way of putting everyone on the same page—specifically, the page labeled ‘ what the fuck is she talking about now? ’

“Finally.” Blake straightens when he spots us approaching. “Thought you two might have killed each other before you made it here.”

Rigel punches him in the arm. “Tactful as always.”

Blake grins, but there’s genuine concern behind it. “We all know about the gym.”

I owe this man an apology—a big one—for the shit I said when I lost control. For questioning his loyalty to the team. For implying he didn’t care about the women as much as the rest of us.

“About what I said.” The words come out rough, but they’re real. “About Sophia being safe. That was way out of line.”

Blake’s expression softens, understanding passing between us. “Don’t worry about it. We’re all stressed. It’s fine.”

Hank tenses beside me. Our fight is still fresh.

“You two good?” Ethan’s question is straightforward. No bullshit, no dancing around the subject.

Hank and I exchange a look. The hurt is still there, the anger still simmering under the surface, but underneath all of that are years of shared missions, shared women, and shared everything that matters.

“We’re good,” Hank confirms, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that ends discussions.

“Good enough to work together?” Walt asks, arms still crossed.

Hank and I exchange another look, both of us shrugging at the same time.

“Yeah, sure. We’re fine. Let’s go.”

Ethan’s expression is unreadable. As Charlie team leader, he’s been holding everything together while Hank and I figure out our shit. The weight of that responsibility shows in the tension around his eyes.

“I’m ready to work.” I roll my shoulders, feeling some of the coiled tension start to release.

Being here, surrounded by the team, with a concrete mission ahead of us—this is what I need.

Action instead of analysis. Movement instead of sitting around thinking about all the ways we failed to protect Ally and the others.

The ocean breeze picks up, carrying the scent of kelp and salt spray.

Above us, seagulls continue their raucous conversations, diving toward the rocks below where the surf crashes in endless rhythm.

The sound should be soothing, but it just reminds me of the morning Ally stood on our deck, wrapped in one of my shirts, watching the waves roll in.

Mitzy suddenly straightens, her tools clattering as she shoves them back into the kit. When she turns to face us, her expression is unreadable behind safety glasses that have definitely seen better days.

“Well?” Ethan’s patience has its limits, and we’ve apparently reached them.

Mitzy pulls off the glasses, revealing eyes that are bright with discovery and something else—something that makes my skin crawl with anticipation.

“You boys ready for a field trip?” She gestures toward the gondola with a grin that’s equal parts excitement and menace. “Because we’re going down to the beach.”

“What did you find?” Brady steps forward, his team leader instincts demanding answers.

Mitzy’s grin widens, and she loads her tools back into their case. “Questions later. Right now, you all need to pair up and get in the gondola. Two by two, like a very tactical Noah’s ark.”

“Mitzy—” I start, but she cuts me off with a wave.

“Nope. No questions, no explanations.” She straightens, hands on her hips, looking like a teacher dealing with particularly slow students. “Just get in, boys. Time’s wasting.”

The gondola sits suspended over the cliff edge, rails disappearing into the mist below. Small, built for a maximum of four people, but with guys our size, two is the practical limit.

“Alright, you heard her.” Ethan steps toward the boarding platform. “Rigel, you’re with me. We’ll go first.”

They climb into the gondola, the small car swaying slightly under their combined weight. Mitzy operates the controls, and the car slides smoothly down the track, disappearing into the fog that clings to the cliff face.

The rest of us spread out along the platform, settling in for what’s obviously going to be a long wait. The thing’s got to go all the way down, unload, then climb back up before the next pair can go.

“So what’s the betting pool on what Mitzy found?” I move toward Hank. We always pair up for shit like this, but Hank steps to the side, putting distance between us as he examines the gondola mechanism. Not looking at me.

He walks away to stand near Forest and Doc Summers.

What the fuck? I thought we were good.

The gondola reappears through the mist, empty now, as it climbs slowly back toward the platform. Ten minutes, maybe twelve. This is going to take forever.

Blake and Forest step toward the gondola as it reaches the top, climbing in without ceremony. The car descends again into the fog.

“Anyone else think this gondola’s moving slower than usual?” I ask the group when the conversation lulls.

“Seems normal to me,” Walt says, watching the cables.

“Could just feel slow because we’re waiting,” Paul adds.

The gondola returns. Doc Summers and CJ climb in next.

Now there’s fewer of us—Hank, Walt, Carter, Mac, Brady, Jenny, Paul, and me. Eight people waiting. Mac and Brady go down next. Then Jenny and Paul.

Four of us are left waiting up top. The space feels bigger now, the silence more pointed.

“Think the waves are getting rougher?” I ask.

“Hard to tell from up here.” Walt glances at the ocean.

Hank examines his fingernails like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

The gondola returns.

“Walt, you’re with me,” Hank announces as the car reaches the top.

Walt glances between us, confusion flickering across his features. “Uh, sure thing.”

They climb into the gondola. Hank still hasn’t looked at me directly.

As they descend, I’m left alone with Carter on the platform.

The ocean breeze picks up, carrying salt spray and the distant cries of seagulls. It should be peaceful. It should be calming.

Instead, it just gives me time to think about how my best friend, my brother, just spent the last hour actively avoiding me. The gondola returns for its last load. Carter and I climb in without ceremony and spend the entire trip in silence.

I stare down at the beach growing larger below us. The ocean roars below us, and the gondola tracks cut down the cliff face like a scar. At the bottom, a small platform sits just above the tide pools where the Pacific pounds the rocks into submission.

Whatever Mitzy found down there better be worth this bullshit.