"You're the VP," Beast agrees easily. "But you're still a person, Tank. And everyone deserves to love and be loved. Even grumpy bastards like you."
I snort derisively. "Since when are you such a believer in love? Last I checked, you had a different woman in your bed every weekend."
Beast chuckles, a deep rumbling sound that seems too loud for the quiet cabin. "I'm not a believer. But I'm not blind either. I see the way you look at her. The way you soften around her."
"I don't soften," I snap, the accusation striking a nerve. Softness gets you killed in our world.
"Call it whatever you want," Beast says with a shrug, turning to leave. "Just don't miss out on something real because you're too stubborn to admit you might actually have a heart under all that ice."
He closes the door behind him, leaving me standing in the middle of the room, anger and confusion warring inside me. Who the fuck does he think he is, playing amateur psychologist? He doesn't know shit about what's going on in my head.
I drop back onto the bed, dragging my hands down my face. Sleep. I need to sleep and get my head straight. Tomorrow, I'll focus on the mission—protecting Amelia and Anna from the abusive bastard who's hunting them. Nothing more.
As I stretch out again on the too-small bed, I find myself falling asleep faster than usual. No nightmares creep into my consciousness, no blood-soaked memories from Afghanistan or my days on the force. Just blissful darkness.
Until my phone vibrates on the nightstand, jolting me awake.
Four hours have passed in what feels like minutes. Time for my watch. I sit up, stretching my stiff muscles, then stand and pull on my shirt. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I move quietly toward the living room.
Beast is slumped by the front door, his head resting against the frame, eyes closed. His breathing is deep and regular. He's fallen asleep on watch. If this were a combat zone, I'd tear him a new one. But the perimeter alarms would have sounded if anyone approached, so I cut him some slack.
I'm about to touch his shoulder when his hand shoots out, fist aimed directly at my face. My reflexes kick in, and I dodge backward, the punch whistling past my ear.
Beast's eyes snap open, momentary confusion giving way to recognition. "Shit, sorry," he mutters, lowering his fist. "Fell asleep but still got my reflexes from the underground days."
"It's fine," I tell him, keeping my voice low to avoid waking the others. "Go get some real sleep. I've got it from here."
He nods, pushing himself to his feet. "Thanks, brother. Wake me if anything changes."
I watch him disappear down the hallway, then take up position on the front porch, where I can monitor the approach while getting some fresh air. The night is cold, the kind of deep chill that seeps into your bones, but I welcome it. The cold clears my head, sharpens my senses.
The forest stretches out before me, a sea of shadows beneath a star-strewn sky. It's peaceful in a way that feels almost alien after years of chaos and violence. But my mind is anything but peaceful.
I clench my left fist, digging my fingernails into my palm until pain blooms sharp and clarifying. There's comfort in pain. It's honest, real, something you can count on. My father taught me that, one of the few useful lessons he imparted. Pain doesn't lie. Doesn't disappoint. Doesn't abandon you when you need it most.
I wonder what made my father the way he was. What happened to turn him into the cold, controlling bastard who treated his family like soldiers under his command. Did someone hurt him? Break him? Or was he born with that darkness inside him, the way some people seem to be?
And if he was made, not born that way, what does that say about me? About the darkness I carry?
"Penny for your thoughts?"
The soft voice behind me nearly makes me jump. Some security expert I am, so lost in my own head I didn't even hear the door open.
Amelia stands in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself against the cold, wearing what looks like an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. Her hair is slightly mussed from sleep, her eyes tired but alert.
"Just thinking about the past," I answer, shifting over to make room for her on the porch step. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"Couldn't." She moves to sit beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body, but not so close that we touch. "Anna was having nightmares again. Once she settled, I was too wound up to go back to sleep."
I nod, understanding. Sleep doesn't come easy when you're being hunted.
"What about the past?" she asks after a moment of comfortable silence. "If you don't mind me asking."
I stare out at the darkness, wondering why I feel compelled to answer her. "My father. Wondering what made him the way he was. If he had reasons for being such a controlling, authoritarian asshole."
Amelia tilts her head back, gazing up at the stars scattered like diamond dust across the black canvas of the sky.
"I used to wonder the same thing about Derek," she admits. "Was his father the same way? Is he just repeating a cycle he was taught? I spent years trying to understand him, to find the wounded man beneath the monster."
