Page 60 of Ashes of Honor

“That tracks,” I said. With a sigh, I took my seat back next to her, wanting to offer a way to relieve her from at least one of her burdens—because damn, did she have many. “I’ll tell her no dice. Covert has sleepers in the back. You bring them here and you’d have a binder full of problems on your hands. I’ll spare you the details since I’ve seen an out.”

She shook her head absentmindedly, brows bunching together. “I already kicked those two out. If they show up, they’ll have to come right to the gates.”

“It stings a bit that you don’t trust I didn’t see that far ahead,” I messed with the chess pieces on the board of her coffee table. “Obviously, I knew. You didn’t realize the whole damn van was crawling with them—not just the two you tossed out the back.”

“Awesome,” she said, sounding as though she couldn’t be any less thrilled. Her tongue rolled across her teeth, pupils dilating. “I’ll send Alexiares out after dinner.”

I sighed and stood, reaching down to pull her up. She didn’t resist. “Time to go break Reina’s heart.” I steadied her. “Up you go. I need you to tell Riley to shut down our gates, anyway.”

She snatched her hand free, shaking her head and clasping her hands behind her back as she paced in front of the stone fireplace. “We can’t, not for a few more days.”

“Any room for me to argue here?”

There was none. I knew that. Once her mind was made up, whatever followed was inevitable. That meant nothing. Not at this moment. Whoever these people were—the threat they posed—was imminent. I’d spent time trying to discern exactly what I was seeing and when, but in the end, all I gathered from context clues was a few days, at best.

“Depends. Was your vision about why I shouldn’t?” Amaia said, reading the fear in my eyes.

“Yes,” I mumbled, holding her stare. “Another Moore inside the gates. History repeats.”

“Hunter’s not with them. He’s not a threat, but I won’t force you to stand his presence if you’re not ready. He … How do I say this with as much respect for the Seth we’d come to love. Hunter is more like Reina than he is Seth. He has a conscience—that much is obvious. Now, we have to see if the weight of it will make a difference.”

“What business does he have here, anyway?” I shot back. My heart sped up.

Seth and Hunter were twins. I’d seen the one picture that Reina managed to save before fleeing the ranch. I knew the brothers didn’t resemble each other. But what if it was in his laugh? His smile. The way he spoke. “We don’t have the means or the privacy to hide an army full of rebels.”

“I already told Reina he could stay while we work all that shit out. He has the resources and intel I need. If he’s here, and we close our gates, that means he’s with us and not his father. Ronan wants him dead, which meanswewant him alive. Got that?”

I tossed my hands up gently, then dropped them in defeat with a sigh. “I can give you twenty-four hours to figure your shit out before we’re screwed.”

“Let’s make it count.” She bent down, pulling the box from under the couch and giving it a playful shake, though the longing in her eyes betrayed her. Amaia forced a laugh, set the box back in place, and took my hand, guiding me toward the door.

“We need Riley,” she thought out loud as we moved toward the door, her eyes sharp with focus. “And a few of his associates.”

“Allow me to catch up on the visions you missed on the way,” I said with a grin, but there was no real humor in it—just urgency.

Amaia

There are people the world seems to chew up and spit out. Perpetual victims of the universe. Like it was testing how much they could take before they broke. People who were stubborn in a way that made it impossible for them to lay down arms no matter how many times they hit the ground.

These are the individuals society loves to call heroes. But they’re not. They’re survivors. And part of me believed everyone left alive in this moment of time had a little bit of that in them. I wasn’t quite sure if the idea of that scared me or brought me great joy.

Our gates had closed permanently days ago. We weren’t hiding our lack of cooperation anymore. He’d bought our story about the cavalry—for now. At first, our performance in front of Bietoletti and the others had been convincing enough for them to report back exactly as I’d hoped. Ronan would never believe I’d offer up people without a fight.

When the sympathizers showed up at his first camp, the gig would be up. Yet his emissaries remained. Waiting, watching. For what, I had no idea. I could’ve tossed them out before we locked down, but as with Hunter, I preferred to keep people where I could see them. Let them think they were keeping an eye on us while I did the same. They only saw what I wanted them to see, and I was certain the feeling was mutual.

But with the gates sealed and under close watch, their only way to communicate with the outside world was through monitored messengers. Which meant they’d have to get creative. And fuck, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t daring them to try.

Knowing we’d saved lives didn’t sit as cleanly when I knew it’d cost any honest people theirs that now camped outside our walls. Hoping. Praying. Pleading to let them in. Keeping Monterey Compound safe didn’t exactly ease the guilt of slipping past weary families to steal a quiet moment by the rocks.

I dove beneath a wave, letting the cold water swallow me as I sank a few feet below. Pulling my knees to my chest, I hung there, suspended in the nothingness of the bay. The weight of the world slipped away for a fleeting moment. Stars danced behind my eyelids, lungs on the verge of collapse, and I surged upward. The sounds of my gasps were swallowed by the quick bark of a greeting from Suckerpunch. I turned back toward the shore. Alexiares stood there, arms crossed as he took me in.

“Come and get me!” I called out over the crashing waves. The current fought me now. It tugged my body further out to sea, making it more of an effort to tread. The strain was welcome—a reminder of where I was. What was real. But even as the water pulled at me, my focus stayed fixed, drawn like a tide to him.

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t hesitate, either. With practiced ease, he stripped off his boots, cargos, and shirt, leaving them in the sand before stepping into the waves. The water calmed the nearer his presence grew. Moving to the call of his power and slowing to his will.

We didn’t speak. For a few minutes, all we heard was the ocean and the quiet rise and fall of our bodies as I wrapped myself around him, resting my head on the cusp of his neck. He treaded water for the both of us. The weight of everything hung there in the silence—unspoken, undeniable. Yet him being here, holding me, us holding each other—it was grounding, in a way the ocean alone could never be.

I raised my head, resting my forehead against his, the world shrinking until it was just us. His eyes sparkled in the falling light of the day. Water traced lazy paths down his face, catching on the ink that curled over his tan, sculpted body. I closed the distance, pressing my lips to his. Alexiares’s hands slid around my waist, drawing me closer until every inch of me was pressed against him. The ocean swirled around us. I tasted the salt on his skin, the sensation stealing my thoughts and sending my pulse racing. My lips tingled, my heart thundered. The chaos inside me stilled.

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