“You sure that’s smart?” Jagger asks. “If this guy’s part of something, going back might paint a big fat target on us.”
“I’m counting on it,” Hawk replies. “Maybe they’ll show their hand.”
I glance up at him. There’s a glint in his eyes again, the same one I used to love and hate all at once—focused, dangerous, and calculating. He’s already planning three steps ahead, and part of me, despite the fear clawing at my chest, feels safer for it.
The night drags on, none of us talking much, and the guys readying their equipment to head into the desert tomorrow. The air in the tent is fueled with nerves and exhaustion. When things settle, I lie on my cot, pretending to sleep and staring at the ripping canvas ceiling. At some point, Jagger’s soft snores fill the air. Gunnar mutters in his sleep. Damon’s breathing evens out. But Hawk—he’s awake. I can feel it.
After slipping from my cot, I silently make my way outside and take a seat on a crate right beside the tent. I no more than get comfortable, my knees pulled to my chest and arms wrapped tightly around them, when the tent flap rips open like it’s been punched from the inside. Hawk barrels out, wearing nothing but a pair of worn, unlaced combat boots and boxer briefs. The tight black fabric clings to him like a second damn skin.
As I gulp, my eyes develop a mind of their own. My gaze sweeps over the ridges of his abs, each one cut like stone, down the deep V that vanishes beneath his waistband to the bulge beneath it.Some things don’t change…He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with barely checked fury, every inch of him a study in strength and raw power. His arms are roped with muscle, veins popping, and thosetattoos—God, those tattoos—they snake over every inch of him like wildfire.
I drag my eyes up to his face, finding his jaw ticking with the same ire coursing through the rest of his body. He stops in front of me, arms crossing over his chest, and teeth grinding like he’s holding back the urge to shout. “One rule, Reese,” he growls. “How hard is it for you to follow one simple fucking rule?”
I let out a sigh, already annoyed. “What?”
“You go nowhere without us.”
“I’m maybe ten feet from the damn tent.”
“Ten feet too far.”
I push up from the crate, my heart thudding more than I’d like. “Why?” My voice cuts sharper than I mean it to. “You haven’t cared where I’ve been for a decade.”
His expression darkens, something raw flaring behind his eyes. “I care,” he exhales, quieter now, like he’s forcing the words from his throat. “I’ve known exactly where you were…”
I blink. His confession hits like a blow to the chest. “What?” I barely muster the question.He’s kept dibs on me this whole time.
I’m met with silence. His gaze drops, just for a second, like he’s not proud of whatever it is he has to say.
A strange ache blooms in my chest. I don’t know whether to scream at him or fall apart.Or both.I step forward, stopping far closer than I should. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his bare chest and see the faint scar onhis collarbone, the one I remember tracing once in a time that feels like it belonged to someone else.
His breath catches. Mine does, too. “Tell me there’s a reason.” I look up at him and whisper, “Tell me why I shouldn’t hate you.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he just looks down at me like the answer is too complicated to give and too dangerous to speak out loud. “I…” He opens his mouth—then closes it—inhaling deeply with his eyes burning into mine. His golden pools look flat and sad, like he wants to say more, but can’t. “Back in the tent.”
I should do as he said. I should walk back into the tent and climb into my cot. I should turn away. I should pretend none of this happened. Pretend I don’t see the truth in his eyes or feel that damn spark that still lights up between us, even now. But I can’t move. I just stand there, staring at him, wanting things I swore I buried years ago.
“Reese.” He exhales my name with his voice barely above a whisper. “Back in the tent.”
I swallow hard and nod. Because if I stay out here a second longer, I’m going to do something reckless.Again.I step past him, brushing against his arm as I go. His skin is warm, and for a second, I think he might grab my wrist and pull me back.
But he doesn’t.
Something drags me out of my sleep. It’s not the usual dry crackle of the desert wind scraping against the canvas or the subtle stomping of boots on the dry sand. It’s quieter than that. Subtle. But my instincts don’t give a damn about subtlety. They snap awake before my mind does, adrenaline crawling up my spine before I can even open my eyes.
My hand slides beneath the sheets, my fingers brushing against the handle of the pistol resting beside my thigh as I lie still on the cot, listening. The tent is silent except for the soft rhythm of breathing from the others. Papers shuffle on Reese’s makeshift desk. I turn toward the quiet noise and catch a flicker of light from her corner of the tent. The faint glow pulses against the wall, the pale light of electronic screens turned low.
“Jesus, Reese,” I whisper-shout, releasing my tight hold of the pistol. “It’s the middle of the fucking night. Whatever that is, it can wait a few hours.”
She doesn’t respond. The light wavers slightly, and I catch the movement of a shadow.That’s not Reese. Every nerve in my body fires. The figure is too tall with broad shoulders. The angle of light shields their face, but from sheer size, I’m certain it’s a man. A man standing right beside where Reese is sleeping.
I don’t think. I shift slowly, and my cot creaks. The second it groans under my weight, the figure jerks toward me.Fuck that.I launch myself across the space, hitting him low and hard. The impact sends us both crashing into the rough plywood floor. Reese’s laptop flies off the crate by her bed and clatters against the leg of her cot.
The intruder grunts, swinging an elbow that catches me square in the throat. My vision flashes white as pain explodes through my windpipe, and I choke out a curse, tightening my grip as he twists, trying to break free. I get a knee into his ribs and drive him backward, but he’s fast and trained. Well-trained. He uses the momentum to roll, shoving off the ground and bolting for the flap before I can catch my breath enough to recover.
“Son of a?—”
I lunge after him, catching the edge of Damon’s cot. The others jolt awake at the noise just in time to see the shadow vanish into the dark. Gunnar bursts from his bed, already halfway to the exit. “What the hell?”
