EPILOGUE
Three months later, Early October
Carrera
Carrera sat in Z’s former office in the basement of the FBI building watching a horrific, top-secret video. A terrorist group was executing seven civilians at an undisclosed location somewhere in the United States.
Fury flowed through him while his blood iced in his veins.
He’d seen enough and stopped it. He would have sent BLACK OPS, but there was no one left to rescue.
He had options for going after these monsters. An ALPHA kill mission, or he could offer it to Luciano who would make the problem go away without any government involvement.
His phone alarm started chirping.
He turned it off, eyed the time. His decision could wait. He had something much more pressing to do. After shutting down, he slipped his laptop into his computer bag, locked his office, and took off toward the underground parking garage.
Most days, he worked upstairs. Better visibility, easier access to the Director, and it was always entertaining to watch Peter Hirzog go up in flames whenever they got within ten feet of each other.
While Carrera still didn’t know what had crawled up Hirzog’s ass and died, he was confident it went beyond office location. In fact, Hirzog met with the Director every chance he could, so moving down the hall hadn’t affected his interactions whatsoever.
Z had been right about keeping the basement office. Everything he did required the utmost secrecy. Upstairs, someone was always popping in. His position came with a lot of power… and a lot of responsibility. He could never allow anyone to see what he saw, to witness some of the evil atrocities happening day in and day out.
The nightmarish images of hate and destruction ate away at his soul. Fortunately for him, his home life balanced things out.
Carrera walked into the underground parking garage, slid into his SUV, and drove out. It was four in the afternoon. Time to head to the yacht. Excitement had him refocusing his thoughts on today. After all, it was one of the most important days in his life… in their life as a couple.
He parked in the marina, made his way over to the star of his fleet, the sixty-foot ship used for special events.
Like weddings.
That made him smile.
Once aboard, he was relieved to see that his crew was busy getting ready. The staff was setting the white cloth-covered tables, the bartender and his small staff prepping behind the bar. The chef and her cooks were whirring around the galley. He found his dad relaxing on the helm.
His dad rose, hugged Carrera. “It’s your wedding day, son. It means a lot to me that you and Slash want me to be such a big part of it.”
“Are you ready?”
His dad chuckled. “Areyouready?”
“So ready,” Carrera replied.
He retreated into one of the large cabins below reserved for the groom and his groomsmen. He showered, threw on a T-shirt and shorts. No point getting his suit wrinkled.
The next hour was a total whirlwind. Jericho arrived with Hawk and Prescott. Stryker walked in with Cooper and Rebel.
The attendant delivered a bottle of champagne, opened it, and filled seven flutes. Glasses in hand, the guys toasted him.
“Congratulations,” Rebel said.
“To Carrera and Slash,” Jericho added.
“We’re happy for you, brother,” Hawk said.
The guys clinked glasses, sipped the bubbly. One more sip, and Carrera set down his flute. “Thanks for today. I love you guys like brothers.”
“Is your actual brother here?” Prescott asked.
