Shit. Get it together, dude. This is your fucking boss.
Despite me sticking my foot in my mouth so deep I could kick my own ass—or maybe because of it—Ryker shakes off the mix of fear, wonder, and love that has him so bound up and laughs. “Jesus Fuck, Graham. You’re part of this family whether you like it or not. You can drop the ‘Sir’ bullshit.”
He doesn’t hug anyone. Or high-five. Or even smile. I’m not sure he knows how. But he’s lighter now. And when the photo’s safely tucked back in his wallet, he leans against the counter and takes a long drag of his coffee. “Whenever we go on mission, I write Wren a letter. Drop ‘em in the mail when we land. Easier, y’know? Then havingthatconversation?”
We all nod. Despite not having a serious relationship in…well…ever, I know what he means. The conversation about how we might not come home. About how what we do is dangerous as fuck. How no government in the world sanctions our work. How we could fail and every single one of us could just…disappear.
“When we went to get Trev…” He shakes his head again and stares up at the ceiling. “Of all the missions I’ve run—including every one the four of us have been on together—that was the least certain I’ve been that we’d make it back.”
I don’t know that I’ve ever heard Ry talk this much at one time unless he was giving orders.
“I asked her if she wanted…if she’d ever wanted…” A shrug, and he swallows hard. “Only time I’ve ever been this scared in my life was in Russia. Hell doesn’t hold a fucking candle to this.”
Moving almost as a unit, the three of us take positions around our tough-as-nails leader. Even though Ry’s in charge, even though he’s the reason we’re all here, West is the glue that holds us together. Maybe it’s his position—logistics. Infil and exfil. Strategy. Maybe it’s his background as a SEAL team leader. Or maybe he’s just better at talking about his feelings than the rest of us.
Whatever it is, Inara and me? We follow his lead. So when he claps Ry on the shoulder, we do too. You’d think it’d be awkward, but the man’s shoulders are massive.
“You’re not alone, Ry,” West says, and under the reassuring tone, I think there’s a small measure of longing. “No one in this family iseveralone.”
* * *
Three hours later,I’m flat on the concrete floor, covered in sweat, watching Ryker decimate West on the obstacle course. I came damn close to beating Inara, which is a victory of epic proportions for me. I’m younger than the rest of them by at least five years, but West and Ry live for this shit, and Inara? Her past haunts her. The guy I replaced on the team, Coop, was captured on a mission where she hesitated. Just for a second, but that was long enough. Everyone thought he was dead until he kidnapped Inara’s husband, Royce, and almost killed him. So she pushes herself harder than any of us.
“Now who’s late, frogman?” Ry taunts from the other end of the massive building where he just crawled out of a makeshift tunnel so narrow, I was certain he’d get stuck.
“Not me.” West taps his stopwatch as he gets to his feet next to Ryker. “I was almost an hour into the workout when you showed up. This wasn’t a fair fight.”
“Life isn’t fair.” Grabbing a towel from the stack by the lockers, Ryker rubs the sweat from his bald head and drapes the white cloth around his neck. “Get used to it.”
West says something I can’t make out, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t repeat it in polite company.
After draining half a bottle of water, Ryker tells us to hit the showers and take an hour before we start the mental portion of today’s workout—a handful of new tactical challenges planning infil and exfil for locations generated at random by one of Wren’s algorithms.
Late September in Seattle brings changing leaves, but also one last heat wave, and the warehouse is like a fucking sauna. So I turn the water all the way to cold and step under the spray.
This day is unfolding like some twisted form of reality. Every time we took even a five minute break, my thoughts turned to Quinton. I’m fantasizing about the guy, despite seeing him for less than five minutes, and Ryker McCabe, the toughest, meanest son of a bitch ever to come out of this country’s army—or any other country’s army for that matter—is going to have a kid?
All I need now is for Inara to hug me and we’ll be in full-on bizarro world.
Despite the icy water, my dick still twitches to life as Quinton’s face flashes behind my eyes. This is ridiculous. I’m never going to see the guy again. For all I know, he’s not gay. Even if he were, I can’t have a serious relationship. I don’t want one.
I won’t subject anyone to my random panic attacks, the nightmares that haunt me when I get low, my complete inability to let a guy top me—ever.
The occasional Tinder hookup has to be it for me. And if I didn’t work for Hidden Agenda, I wouldn’t even have that. At least with the resources we have access to, I can run a background check on any guy I might swipe right onbeforewe meet up.
The dates are all the same. Drinks, then back to his place or a hotel room for a quick fuck where I top—non-negotiable—and then an apology the next day. Bartending’s a hard job, no flexibility, grueling schedule, some shit like that. Once in a while, I try the truth: I’m not in a “relationship” sort of space right now and probably never will be, that sort of thing.
So why can’t I stop thinking about Quinton?
By the time I’m dressed in black jeans and a t-shirt, I’ve mostly put him out of my mind. Until I check my email. It doesn’t have my real name attached to it. Nor do the paychecks I get from the Unicorn. When I joined Hidden Agenda, I was new to Seattle, and Ryker insisted I let him set me up with a cover story. A whole public identity separate from my government-issued, had-since-birth name and social security number.
“Peck, what we do is both highly specialized and highly illegal. We get made, we’re on every single watch list around the world in under fifteen minutes. Trouble on a mission? No one comes to save us. You want in, there’s a price.”
“What price?” I ask. Ryker McCabe is a legend. He survived Hell because he was too stubborn to die. Too tough to kill. Too determined to make it back home. Working with him? It’s both unbelievably dangerous and the safest place I could ever be. Because based on the stories I’ve heard, he doesn’t let anyone mess with his team.
“In public, from now until the end of fucking time, you give up the name Peck. I know a guy who can set you up with a brand new identity and cover. Something simple. A job that lets you take off at a moment’s notice. Waiter. Substitute teacher. Because when someone needs us, we go. Middle of the night, Thanksgiving, Christmas…doesn’t matter.” He stares me down, his multi-hued eyes as hard as the rest of him. “I already have a SEAL and a former Ranger sniper who have ties to the community. If I could move this whole operation to London or Dubai and take them with me, I would. Start over. Give them new lives. But they won’t leave, and I can’t ask them to. You, however…you follow my rules. All of them. Including no relationships.” He practically sneers the last word, and I clench my hands on my thighs under the table. “That a problem?”
“No, sir. Got no interest in relationships. Do I get to pick the new name and the profession? Or is that all you?”
