“Maria and Franco are good. Now we have to ditch the van and get to the plane,” Falcon says. “Where are we going, Phoenix?”
“Roger Matthews is coming straight for you. Remember him?” Phoenix asks.
“Yeah, I do,” Falcon returns.
Phoenix says, “He’s bringing a buddy. Calvin Jester is going to take the van in the opposite direction and dump it. Roger is taking you directly to the plane.”
“Right,” Falcon replies.
I can hear Franco talking in the background. “I want to fly like Superman.” Then I hear Rebel chuckle.
“Let’s take a plane ride first, kid,” Rebel replies.
Phoenix and I stay glued to the screens until we see them boarding the flight and the plane taking off. That’s when we take the earpieces off and sit back in our chairs.
“Fuck me, that was close,” Phoenix says.
“We’ve been through worse,” I remind him.
“True enough, brother. It’s fucking hard waiting for it all to go down. How do you do it?”
“We all have our specialties. I know that sometimes it makes more sense for me to be at the computer, since this is where I’m needed the most. I accept that. But to be honest, when it was Remmi being held hostage, there was no way I wasn’t going to be boots on the ground,” I confess.
“You have a hell of a talent, Wire. This all came because you were searching and didn’t even know what you were looking for. Then, bam! Maria sends you a message, and now they’re on their way to safety.” Phoenix slaps me on the back. “Never take that gift for granted, man. We rely on it.”
“I’m mentally wiped,” I admit. It’s been a long fucking week, and the final race against time was killing me.
“Me too,” Phoenix says. “Let’s go let our women know everyone’s safe.” He stands and waits for me to follow. I have no doubt the women already know the good news. Bull and Rebel would be calling or texting as soon as they were able because they know their women are worried.
Phoenix and I move across the courtyard to Falcon’s apartment. We can hear the laughter; they’ve already started celebrating.
Chapter 15
This is Where I Belong
Remmi
It’s been a couple of weeks since the Storm team extracted Maria and Franco from England and rescued them from whoever is chasing them. Wire hasn’t said much more about the situation, except that Maria and Franco are in a safe house and being guarded by Vic.
Vic has officially started as part of the Storm Enterprises team, which makes me very happy and the men even happier because they need the help. It also means I’ve lost my bodyguard, but Wire has rectified that situation by creating a new workplace with a brand-new wheel and kiln at his house. We have workspaces side by side.
Over the last couple of weeks, we spent some nights at my place, but mostly at his. Tonight, we’re back at Wire’s place. Which leads to our current conversation in which Wire blurts out, “I want you to move in with me.”
My jaw drops, and I’m left staring at him, at a loss for words. I manage to croak out, “Pardon?”
“Move in with me.” I blink. Wire says, “We want to be together. Or at least I do. I like your place. It’s cool, but your place is too small to start a family. My place is bigger, with more property, if we want to add the vegetable garden you talked about or anything else you might like. My house has three bedrooms, and we can always add on if we feel the need. But if you’re set on staying where you are, we can extend the house to add a second floor. What do you think?”
“You want to live together?” I ask, raising my voice to a higher pitch, still stunned.
He’s sitting next to me but moves closer, reaching to caress my cheek, his eyes scanning my face, lingering on my lips, before settling on my eyes. “Baby, I want to make a life with you. I thought you got where this is going.”
“Isn’t this too soon?” I whisper. “We’re very, uh, new.”
“Who says? I’ve been in love with you since I saw your picture in a folder. I knew it then, and when I held you in my arms, carrying you out of that hellhole, I never wanted to let you go. Leaving you at the hospital was torture. I know what I want, Remmi. I want you. I want us to have a family, make memories, and laugh. When I come home at night and see your face splattered with dirt from the clay and your hair up in a messy bun, I say I’m a lucky man.” He bends his head, and our lips brush. “Am I wrong, baby?”
Emotions clog my throat, but I manage to whisper, “No.” I swallow deeply and place my hand on his chest, over his heart. “I want this, but what if I make a mess of it? So much has happened to me, and what if?—”
“Life is full of what-ifs. We’ve been together for weeks, and you haven’t had any setbacks. You’ve gone out for dinner with the girls, gone shopping, spent time alone in your new studio, without an inkling of a freak-out,” he says. “And, just to say, anyone who went through the trauma you suffered would have behaved the exact same way. You’re not broken, baby. You’re healing. There’s no set time for that.”
