Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Ryder

Leading August into Ava's hospital room is a surreal experience. Ever since we found out that he and the men from his unit are alive, trapped in that hellhole for all those years, I couldn't wait to bring them home. To bring August home to Ava. I imagined the look on her face when she saw him for the first time in three years. I pictured the way her eyes would light up with disbelief. The confusion she would have, possibly even thinking that she was seeing a ghost, the same way I had when I first discovered he was still breathing.

This is not the happy day that I had imagined. Not even fucking close. Ava's lying in her hospital bed, unmoving except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. The stark white walls of the ICU room seem to close in around us, along with the intimidating array of medical equipment. The IV drips and monitors casting their eerie blue glow across her pale face. No, this is definitely not the joyful reunion I had envisioned—not the heartwarming scene I'd played out in my mind countless times before.

At first, August just stands there. Looking at his sister. Taking it all in, the anguish playing out on his face, processing the sight before him. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, a nervous habit I remember from our childhood. Then he turns to me, his eyes searching mine for answers I wish I had.

"Can she hear us?" he asks, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

"I don't know. The doctors say she still has good brain activity, so we should talk to her. But no one knows for sure," I answer him, trying to keep my voice steady despite the weight of the unknown pressing down on my chest.

"They're monitoring her closely, but right now it's all just a waiting game."

August nods his head, "Can I have some time with her?"

"Of course, I'll be outside if you need me." I go and squeeze his shoulder gently as I make my way to one of the chairs sitting just outside her room. The gesture feels inadequate given everything that August is experiencing, but it's all I can offer right now. I settle into one of the hard plastic chairs, close enough to hear if August calls but far enough to give him the privacy he needs with his sister.

I hear the distinctive click of heels against linoleum before I see her. Danie rounds the corner, her usual confident strut faltering when she spots me slumped in the chair. Dark circles rim her eyes, matching my own exhaustion.

"How was the mysterious trip?" Her attempt at casual conversation falls flat, her voice tight with worry for her best friend.

I straighten up, running a hand through my disheveled hair. "Danie, there's something you need to know." I pause, searching for the right words. "August is alive. He's in there with Ava right now."

Her green eyes widen in shock. "August? As in Ava's dead brother August? The one who was—" She can't finish the sentence.

"Yes. The one who died." I lean forward, keeping my voice low so no one overhears our conversation. "It's a long story but basically my security team found him and his unit. They were being held captive in Afghanistan back before all this happened." I say as I point to Ava's room. "That's what the business trip was really about—extracting them."

Danie sinks into the chair beside me, her usual sass replaced by stunned silence. "Holy shit," she whispers. "Does Ava know? I mean, did she know before—"

"No." I shake my head. "I was planning to tell her, but then—" My voice trails off as I gesture toward the hospital room. "August just found out about her condition on the plane when we were leaving Russia."

"This is..." Danie presses her fingers to her temples. "This is a lot to process. August is actually alive and in there right now?"

I nod, watching her struggle to piece all this new information together. The irony isn't lost on me—a fter years of believing he is dead, August returns only to find his sister fighting for her life.

I watch the confusion gradually leave her face, her expression shifting as understanding dawns. Hope lights up her green eyes, and she straightens in her chair with renewed energy.

"What if this is what she needs to wake up?" Danie says, her voice growing stronger with each word. "Her hearing that he is alive could wake her up. I mean, that's the kind of miracle you hear about, right? People coming out of comas because they hear their loved ones?"

Fuck, now I have to tell her this isn't some feel-good Lifetime movie. No matter how much I desperately want it to be—reality is rarely that kind. The chances of that happening—I shake my head, trying to dispel the false hope before it takes root. But what if—no, I can't let myself or Danie go down that path. It could destroy us both.

Just then the door opens and August walks out, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes are red and swollen from crying, dark circles underneath showing he’s just as exhausted as the rest of us. By the devastated look across his face, I can tell Danie's miracle didn't materialize. The weight of disappointment hangs heavy on all of us, it’s crushing. I know it was a long shot, but hope is hope.

He looks at Danie and recognition dawns on his face, his eyes lighting up with a flicker of familiarity despite his obvious distress.

"Hey, you're Danie right? Ava's best friend?" His voice is hoarse, the emotional reunion he just had with his sister taking its toll. I can tell he's trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but the strain shows in the way his hands fidget at his sides.

Danie stands and fusses with her appearance, patting down her curly brown hair and smoothing the hem of her skirt with trembling fingers.

"Uh, yeah. I'm surprised you remember me. We've only met what, twice and it was in passing," she says with a nervous giggle. She actually giggled—something I never expected. The sound seems to surprise her as much as it does me, and a slight blush creeps across her cheeks.

I excuse myself from August and Danie's awkward reunion, needing to escape the strange tension between them. Slipping into Ava's room, I take my usual spot in the chair beside her bed. The steady beeping of monitors fills the silence as I gently take her hand in mine, her skin cool against my palm.

"Hey beautiful," I whisper, running my thumb across her knuckles. "I miss you so much. Miss your smile, your sass." My voice catches. "I need you to wake up, Ava. I love you. I never thought I'd say those words to anyone, but here we are. You were the first girl I ever said those three words to, and you might give me a complex if you don't wake up soon. This is kind of an extreme reaction if you decided you didn’t feel the same way."

The monitors continue their monotonous rhythm, her face remaining still and peaceful. I lean closer, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Your brother's alive, baby. August is here. He's outside right now, probably making eyes at your best friend if you can believe it." I let out a quiet chuckle. "But don't worry about him—I'll look after him while you rest.

I have to go away for a little while. I have some business to take care of." I squeeze her hand gently. "That bastard Clint is going to pay for what he did to you. For every bruise, every tear, every moment of fear he caused. I'm going to make sure he suffers for putting you in this bed."

Giving her one final kiss to her cheek, I leave the room. When I step into the hallway, August and Danie's conversation comes to an abrupt halt. Their heads snap toward me, and I notice they're standing closer than necessary for casual conversation.

"August, if you're done here, you can ride back to the office with me," I say, adjusting my jacket sleeve. "We've got some matters to discuss."

He nods, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm ready."

I turn to Danie, whose eyes are still red-rimmed from crying. "Listen, I'm going to be gone on business again. But this time you can call my cell if you need anything, or if there's any change with Ava."

"Okay." Danie shifts her weight, clutching her designer purse closer. "Actually, I'm looking into long-term facilities tomorrow. There's this one place that seems perfect for Ava. From what I've read and the reviews I've found, it's exactly what she needs. If everything checks out, they could move her as early as next week." She bites her lip. "But it's... well, it's not cheap."

"I'll cover it," I say without hesitation. Money means nothing compared to getting Ava the best care possible. "Just email me the payment information and I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure? It's-"

"Danie," I cut her off firmly. "Whatever it costs, whatever she needs. Just send me the details."

Sh e nods, tears welling up in her eyes again. I can see the relief wash over her face. One less thing she will have to worry about.

Pulling up to Club X, I can almost feel August's judgy stare boring into the side of my face. His disapproval of this place—my place. It’s rolling off him in waves.

"Dude, I'm not into this type of shit," he states as he follows me out of the car.

"You don't even know what this place is," I challenge him with a raised eyebrow as we walk toward the entrance.

"Yeah," he mutters, his eyes narrowing. "It's that club you and your military buddies own. Saw an article about it in a titty magazine."

Well, that explains his sudden ‘expertise’. I chuckle, deciding not to respond to his jab and instead focus on why we are here. "You know the Axiom offices are on the top floor here, right? That's where we're headed."

As we step inside, the industrial-chic interior seems to catch his interest, at least momentarily distracting him from his judgment. I can't help but notice his eyes lingering on a couple at the bar—the man seated with his drink and the woman kneeling at his feet, her body covered in a revealing mesh fabric. The ambiance of the club seems to amplify the intensity of their dynamic. August's curiosity is evident, his eyes locked on the couple until he nearly walks into a wall.

We take the stairs up to the second floor, leaving the red and black décor of Club X behind. Suddenly the space feels more corporate, signaling the transition from pleasure to business.

“It's this way," I direct August down the hallway to the suite of offices. "Keith and Ethan should already be here waiting for us."

I detect a slight shift in August's demeanor as he takes in the professional atmosphere. The wariness on his face softens, perhaps acknowledging that there's more to this plac e and our operation than he initially assumed.

Ethan and Keith are already in the conference room, deep in conversation and cradling cups of coffee. They look up when we enter, and August gives them a nod, his expression guarded.

I settle into one of the leather conference chairs, my jaw tight with anticipation. "Where are we with the Clint situation?"

"Clint? The fucker that hurt Ava? He isn't in jail?" August is almost yelling.

"No, that is why we are here now. We are going to take care of him our way since the police dropped the ball the first time," I answer him, turning back to Keith.

Keith straightens his tie, all business as usual. "We've tracked him to Portland. He's holed up in some dingy motel off Interstate 5, thinking he's clever by paying cash and using a fake name."

"Amateur," Ethan scoffs, pulling up satellite imagery on his tablet. "The idiot didn't even bother changing his appearance or ditching his car. We've got eyes on him through our local contacts."

"What's the extraction plan?" I lean forward, studying the motel layout on the screen.

"Two-man operation," Keith explains. "Clean and simple. We take one of our vehicles, make the three-hour drive down. The motel's security is a joke—one camera that hasn't worked since 2010."

Ethan picks up where Keith left off. "We grab him during the night shift when there's minimal staff. Our intel shows he's been ordering takeout, barely leaving the room. Makes it easier."

"Once we have him," Keith continues, "we bring him back here. The basement's been prepared. After that—" He leaves the sentence hanging, his meaning clear.

"When do we move?" I ask, knowing I want to be one of the two going down.

"Tomorrow night," Ethan replies. "Weather forecast shows rain—perfect cover."

Keith nods in agreement. "We've got everything in place. Just need to decide who's taking point on the grab."

"I want in," August says, h is voice cutting through the tactical discussion. "I'll be your second man."

I shake my head immediately. "No. You just got back from being held captive. You need time to recover, decompress—"

"Bullshit." August's fist slams onto the conference table, making the coffee cups rattle. "I spent two years in a hole being tortured by insurgents. You think I can't handle one piece of shit woman-beater? He almost killed her."

"That's not the point—"

"He put my sister in a coma, Ryder." August's eyes lock onto mine. "My baby sister. The same girl who used to braid daisy chains and cry over injured birds. He beat her so badly she might never wake up."

Fuck. He's right. If anyone has earned the right to go after Clint, it's August. I glance at Keith and Ethan, who both give subtle nods of agreement.

"I've done wet work before," August continues, his military training evident in his precise terminology. "You know my capabilities. And this isn't just about revenge - though God knows I want that too. This is about justice for Ava."

I lean back in my chair, studying him. The haunted look in his eyes from earlier has been replaced by determination. This isn't the same carefree kid I knew growing up. War and captivity have hardened him into something else entirely.

"Fine," I concede, knowing I'd want the same thing in his position. "But we do this by the book. No cowboy shit. We get in, grab him, get out. Clean and professional. We are not killing him there."

August nods sharply. "Understood."

I leave the conference room and walk down the empty hallway to my office. Every fiber of my being wants to jump in the car and drive to Portland this instant.

Settling into my leather chair, I pull up the satellite images of the motel Clint is holed up in, on my computer. The layout is simple—two stories, exterior corridors, minimal security. I start mapping out every entry and exit route in my mind and making contingency plans. Old habits die hard.

The photo of Ava on my desk catches my eye. It's from that first night at Blaze, before everything went sideways. Her smile is radiant, full of life and sass. Now she lies in a hospital bed because that piece of shit couldn't handle her leaving him.

I pull up Clint's background file again, though I've practically memorized it by now. Looking for any detail we might have missed, any advantage we can use. We need to do this right—clean, precise, untraceable. Because failure isn't an option. Not with this. Not when it comes to getting justice for Ava.

In less than 24 hours, we'll have him. And then... then he'll learn what true pain feels like.

I wake up to someone rubbing my foot and saying "Oh pretty boy, it's time to rise and shine." Ethan. I will kill him if he doesn't stop calling me pretty boy. I groan and kick at him. His laughter fills the air. I open my eyes to a squint because of the harsh light filtering through the blinds.

"Get your hand off my foot before I break it," I pull my feet back away from his reach. My neck aches from falling asleep on the cramped couch in my office. I meant to just take a quick nap, I was still working. My desk is a mess, papers scattered across the surface. The satellite images of the motel are still up on my computer screen.

"Someone's grumpy this morning." Ethan plops into the chair across from me, his long blond hair pulled back in its usual neat ponytail. "You look like shit, by the way. Did you even go home last night?"

I stretch, my back popping in protest. "What time is it?"

"Six. Keith sent me to make sure you hadn't died behind your desk." He kicks his feet up onto the small coffee table between us, deliberately pushing a few magazines to the floor. He’s such a fucking child sometimes. "Also to remind you we have that meeting at eight."

I shove his feet off the table. "Fuck. The new clients. I forgot about that."

"Yeah, figured you might have. There's coffee and a change of clothes in your private room downstairs." Ethan stands, adjusting his perfectly pressed suit. "And maybe grab a shower while you're at it. You smell like someone left a gym bag in a hot car in the middle of summer."

"Anyone ever tell you you're an annoying little shit?" I ask, getting up from the couch.

"Only you, pretty boy. Only you." He walks out of my office, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

I grab a quick shower in my private room downstairs, the hot water easing some of the stiffness from sleeping on the couch in my office. The change of clothes Ethan mentioned—a crisp navy suit and white dress shirt, hangs on the back of the door. Trust Keith to think ahead like that.

My mind drifts to Ava as I get dressed. I should stop by the hospital before the meeting, even if just for a few minutes.

My phone buzzes—a text from August:

August: At the hospital. Danie's here too. Take your time with your meeting.

It’s nice to know they are there with her. I will go later so I can spend more time with her.

I check my reflection in the mirror, adjusting my tie. My lack of sleep is evident by the dark circles under my eyes. Ethan’s right, I do look like shit, but nothing can be done about that now. The new clients won't care anyway—they're interested in our security services, not my appearance.

"Looking better," Ethan comments when I walk back into the Axiom offices. He holds out a coffee cup. "Thought you might need this to get through the meeting."

I take the coffee gratefully. "Any word from our Portland contacts?"

"All quiet on the western front. Target hasn't moved." Ethan's playful attitude is gone. "Everything's set for tonight."

I nod, taking a sip of the perfectly bitter coffee. In less than twelve hours, we'll have Clint. But first, I have to make it through these meetings.

"Let's get this over with," I say, heading for the door. The sooner we wrap up business, the sooner I can focus on more pressing matters—like killing a man.

The new clients file out of the conference room with satisfied smiles on their faces after signing t he new security contracts. Keith and Ethan handle the farewell pleasantries while I slip away to my office where August is already waiting.

"Everything's packed in the van," he says, checking the magazine in his Glock before holstering it. "Zip ties, duct tape, chloroform—the works. It's amazing what you guys have stored in your gun closet."

I grab my own gear from behind my desk. "Phones?"

"Burners only. Left our regular cells with Keith. The rains already started—should give us good cover for the drive down."

I double-check the contents of my bag—backup weapon, extra ammo, tactical gear all present. "Remember, we do this clean. No traces left behind."

"I know how to run an op," August says, not bothering to hide his irritation with me. "Did plenty of snatch-and-grabs in Afghanistan."

"This isn't Afghanistan." I zip up my bag and meet his eyes. "This is personal, for both of us. Which means we have to be extra careful not to let emotions cloud our judgment."

“Yeah I know,” August nods "Let's just get this done."

We take the service elevator down to the garage where our nondescript black van waits. The vehicle's been prepped—plates switched out, GPS disabled, completely cleared of anything that could identify us inside and out.

I slide into the driver's seat while August takes shotgun. The weight of my tactical vest settles against my chest as I adjust the straps. Three hours to Portland.