Page 18 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Go to sleep, luv,” Hank rumbles, his voice dropping low, his hand steadying my shoulder as though testing the weight of it against me. “We’ll watch over you.”

Exhaustion wins before I can resist. My head tilts, falling sideways into someone—Hank or Gabe, I don’t know, and I don’t care—and for once, the darkness that claims me feels peaceful.

Chapter 7

As the plane descends,a crackling announcement over the intercom welcomes us home. The word resonates deep within me—home—a place that feels both distant and achingly familiar, a concept I can almost touch but never quite hold.

My fingers trace the bruises on my wrist, barely visible now but still tender, as memories of Kazakhstan flash through my mind: the acrid smell of overheating metal, the warning klaxons of the failing fusion reactor, Hank’s strong arms pulling me through the chaos while Gabe covered our retreat.

I look at them now, seated on either side of me. Their warmth is a steady presence that both comforts and unsettles me, equal parts anchor and temptation.

My chest tightens with an emotion I’m not ready to name.

Hours earlier, when my trembling fingers couldn’t manage the buttons of my filthy shirt, they helped me with such gentleness—Hank’s careful hands steadied me while Gabe undressed me. They stripped down to their briefs to help me shower, their movements tender but professional.

There had been something in their eyes, in the careful way they avoided letting their hands linger on my breasts or…otherparts.

Hank’s head is tilted back, eyes closed, but probably not sleeping. There’s a lethal alertness to him. Gabe’s reviewing something on his tablet, the glow illuminating his familiar frown of concentration. The screen flickers occasionally, and he taps it until the display settles.

The memory of steam, bare skin, and unspoken tension hangs between us, electric and unresolved. Unfinished business lies between the three of us—touches that lingered a breath too long, moments when professionalism wavered, and then the times when something deeper flickered in their eyes.

The air feels thick with everything we haven’t dared to acknowledge.

When the plane touches down, reality crashes back. Soon, we’re taxiing toward a private hangar, and the moment is slipping away—this precious bubble where I can dream of something forbidden.

I may be one of the few world-leading experts on nuclear fusion and quantum entanglement, but it’s time to be Ally Collins again—daughter of tech billionaire Robert Collins and two-time kidnapping survivor.

Bitter laughter catches in my throat.

What are the odds?

At least Malfor wanted me for my brain, to force me and the others to build his fusion reactor, unlike the monsters from several years ago who saw me as nothing but a billionaire’s daughter to be used as a pawn in a deadly game.

Small comfort.

Passengers stir, gathering sparse belongings. A small crowd waits outside—families, officials, and medical personnel. My pulse quickens, but not from the anticipation of seeing my father.

Ahead of me, Hank and Gabe shift into their professional personas, all business as they prepare to escort me off the plane. But I notice how they position themselves—Hank slightly ahead, Gabe behind, forming a protective wedge around me that feels as natural as breathing.

“Ready?” Gabe asks softly, close enough that I feel his breath on my ear. My skin prickleswith awareness.

“Let’s get you to your father,” Hank adds, his voice gruff with something that might be more than professional concern.

Stepping off the plane, the cool air carries a hint of rain. Hank’s hand rests lightly on the small of my back, steadying me on the steps. Given my still-shaky legs, it’s necessary, but the touch sends electricity shooting through me.

Gabe follows close behind, his presence a shield against the curious stares of the waiting crowd. I scan the faces in those gathered and spot my father standing a bit apart from the others, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His usually composed expression is marred by worry lines and dark circles under his eyes.

He sees me, and we stare at each other across the distance. Then he strides purposefully toward me. I brace myself, unsure of what to expect.

The tension between us has been a constant dance since my undergraduate years when my rebellion against constant surveillance ended in kidnapping and disaster. I ditched my security detail, convinced I could have one normal college night out. Instead, I ended up in the hands of people who sought to use me against my father.

That was years ago, but it still haunts him.

Now, here we are again, though Kazakhstan was different. No amount of security could have prevented Malfor from taking me… us. They wanted Dr. Whittman and me for our minds, not our family connections—specifically, they wanted Dr. Whittman’s expertise in nuclear fusion and my theoretical innovations in quantum entanglement.

Still, the familiar worry lines on my father’s face reveal the tension from trying to protect a daughter who publishes groundbreaking papers in quantum physics but can’t seem to follow basic security protocols.

All I’ve ever wanted was a normal life—to be judged for my research, not my last name. To grab a coffee without a security team scanning the café first.

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