I did not want to end up pinned against a barn wall with his cock pressed against my ass and his breath hot on my neck.
Liar, a voice in my head whispers.You wanted exactly that. You've wanted it since you were nineteen.
I tell the voice to shut the fuck up.
The barn is quiet around me. Late afternoon light slants through the gaps in the wooden slats, turning the dust motes into tiny galaxies. I can still smell him. Sweat and soap and underneath, musk and heat that makes my blood run hot.
I need to get my head straight. There's a mission coming. Kids to save. I can't afford to be distracted by a six-foot-five disaster with commitment issues and a body built for sin.
But fuck, what a body.
I stand, roll my shoulders, and head for the door. The farmhouse is right ahead, warm light spilling from the windows. I can hear voices inside. The others are back from town.
Time to pretend none of this shit just happened.
The kitchen is chaos when I enter.
Jonah is perched on the counter, waving a baguette like a sword while he argues with Jagger about something involving supply routes. Elliot is at the stove, stirring a pot that smells like actual food, while Jace hovers behind him, one hand resting on the small of his back. The Reaper, domesticated. Never thought I'd see that.
And Jinx is in the corner, arms crossed, jaw tight, very deliberately not looking at me.
I almost chuckle. Let him stew.
"Asher." Jagger sets down a map and turns to face me. He's the oldest of the Harrison brothers, all sharp angles and calculating eyes. The Architect. The one who builds the plans and watches them play out. "Good timing. We're about to go over the final briefing."
"I'm all ears."
"First, job introductions." He gestures around the room. "You've met Jinx."
"Intimately," I say, and watch Jinx's jaw go even tighter.
"Jace is our tactical lead. Elliot handles medical and psychological support. And Jonah is..." Jagger pauses. "Jonah."
"I'm the comic relief," Jonah supplies helpfully. "Also the moral compass. Also the guy who almost got shot two weeks ago, so I'm basically invincible now. That's how it works, right? You survive one bullet, you're immune to the rest?"
"That's not how it works," Elliot says without turning from the stove.
"Let me have this, Elliot. I've earned delusions of grandeur."
I like him already. There's an energy to Jonah that cuts through the tension in the room, makes the whole thing feel less like a war council and more like a fucked-up family dinner.
"The mission," Jagger continues, pulling everyone's attention back to the table. "Geneva. There's a facility disguised as a fertility clinic. Inside are approximately forty children, ages three to fourteen. They're being processed for the Foundry."
My gut clenches. The Foundry. Where they take kids and destroy them. Where they strip away everything human and leave behind nothing but violence.
I know that process. I lived it. So did every person in this room, in one way or another.
"Security?" I ask.
"Twelve guards on rotation. Private contractors, not Foundry-trained. Medical staff on site, mostly civilians who don't know what they're really working for." Jagger pulls up a schematic on his tablet, projects it onto the wall. Blue light washes over his sharp features. "We breach here and here. East and west entrances. Converge on the children's wing. Extract and exfil before anyone can call for backup."
"Extraction vehicles?"
"Two vans at the rally point, three clicks south. Kira and Dom will handle transport." I see Jagger clock the unfamiliar names. "My people. They'll be here by morning."
"And the children?" Elliot turns from the stove, wooden spoon in hand. "They'll be traumatized. Conditioned. Some might be violent."
"That's where you come in." Jagger nods at him. "You stay here, set up triage. When we bring them back, you assess. Figure out what they need."
