Page 19 of When We Collide

“A safe house?” I ask and Dean nods. I can see the look of distress on his face as he’s forced to relive whatever it was that he’s endured the past year. “Why were you placed in a safe house? Isn’t that for people who are under threat?”

Dean nods again and takes a long sip of his beer before answering. “It is. I… had some pretty nasty people after me, I still do.” My heart sinks deep into my gut. “Which is why I was ordered to relocate to a secure location and the military had to fake my death and give me a whole new identity. I’m no longer Dean Reyes. Legally, I’m Damon Ruiz.” My stomach turns in on itself and I feel as though I’m going to throw up while I listen to him explain. “They fabricated an accident that my plane crashed due to an engine failure during an advanced training session. Everything was strategically planned by intelligence agencies and military strategists to make it look like I had died in that crash. The people after me wouldn’t have stopped hunting me down. They were out for blood, so everyone had to believe that I died in order to survive, and more importantly protect all of you.”

“Jesus Christ, who the hell did you piss off for them to want you dead, Dean?” Oscar questions, his brows fusing. Dean sighs, sets his bottle of beer down on the table and runs a hand through his hair.

Dean's voice lowers to a hushed tone as he leans in closer. “For your own protection, I can't disclose specific details, but I was one of only five individuals chosen for a high-stakes covert operation.” He paused, his expression serious and intense. “I spent two gruelling months undergoing specialized training for the mission; language skills, combat tactics, survival techniques, and covert operations.” His gaze shifted to meet mine. “Do you remember when I was deployed before we got married? I was gone for seven long months.” My heart constricted at the memory, the endless days and weeks of waiting just to hear from him. “I was stationed in Belgorod, a city in Russia. Myself and one other member of my team had to go deep undercover to gather critical intelligence about a planned nuclear weaponsdeal and find out the location and safely retrieve the asset. The organisation was a notorious drug cartel run by Viktor Lukin and his younger brother Luca who have been linked to funding nuclear weapons for radical organisations.” The gravity of his words hangs heavy in the air as does my heart in my chest as I process the danger he had to face for his country.

Oscar's voice is heavy as he asks, “The asset?”

Dean's nod is accompanied by a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. “Yes, they abducted someone of great importance, someone with valuable information. My team and I were tasked with infiltrating their organization, posing as members to disrupt their operations and ultimately locate and rescue the asset, which we did. Turns out we had a mole within the team, and he compromised our mission by ratting us out to Viktor.” Dean explains, his jaw ticking in agitation.

“You can imagine the blood bath that ensued after that. My job was to keep the asset alive and get him back safely, which I did, but during the confrontation I had a clear shot. I was aiming to shoot Viktor straight through the back of the head when his brother intercepted and took the bullet for him.” A pained expression crosses his face at the memory and he sighs.

“With the intel we got on Lukin, they should have had enough to incriminate him, but somehow, he got off. The system is so corrupt that powerful men like him have an army of power players in his back pocket, so it’s almost impossible to convict him.” Dean clarifies, his voice growing colder and more ominous.

“Naturally, Viktor was enraged by the setback and the loss of his brother, so he was out for the head of the person who killedhis brother and eventually despite every effort made to ensure my identity remained undisclosed, he discovered it was me, and put a ten-million-dollar bounty on my head.” Dean lifts his eyes and looks at me, his gaze holding a haunted look filled with deep affliction that pierces my heart. “That's why I was urgently called back after our honeymoon,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “The Navy started to receive threats, not just for me, but for all of us involved in the mission and our loved ones. That's when they devised the plan to 'kill me off' in hopes that Viktor would call off the bounty if he believed the person responsible for his brother's death was dead.” The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, like a dark cloud threatening to burst into a storm.

“And did it?” Oscar speaks up, leaning forward in his seat and resting his forearms on the table while he regards his younger brother closely.

“For a while, yeah,” Dean answers with a shrug. “After the supposed crash I spent six months moving from safe house to safe house until things died down. There was a security team watching over all of you—especially Jeyla—just in case Viktor made good on his threats and wanted to avenge his brother by coming after her. I couldn’t risk that. Eventually, I got a new identity, a fake background and a job as a construction worker. They set me up in a quaint little town in Italy called Sorento and that’s where I’ve been till now. It’s where I was supposed to stay.”

My mind is racing trying to make sense and take in all of the information. My leg bounces anxiously under the table while my fingers tremble in apprehension. I can feel a panic attack looming.

“Why do I anticipate a ‘but’ coming?” Oscar says, his tone weary.

Dean releases a slow breath and stands up from his chair before speaking. “A week ago, the Navy received an envelope.” Oscar and I watch him pacing back and forth. “The envelope was full of photos of Jeyla and a note to say that Viktor knows I’m alive and if I don’t crawl out of the hole I’ve been hiding in, he’ll…” Oscar and Dean both turn their gazes to look at me while I sit there staring at Dean numbly. “Take the next best thing.”

A thick, suffocating silence hangs in the air between us as I stare straight ahead, unable to find my voice. My head and heart are both pounding with shock and disbelief at Dean's words. It all feels like a bad dream, a plot from some cheesy action movie. Me, the target of a notorious cartel? This can't be real life. But then again, reality has a way of being more terrifying than fiction. Especially in my case.

“So, you’re telling me Jeyla is now the target of a dangerous leader of some notorious cartel that you have pissed off?” Oscar intones, his tone low and sinister as he addresses his brother. “Tell me I’m mistaken, Dean and that’s not the fucking case?”

“Why do you think I’m back, Oz?!” Dean snaps angrily, his green eyes narrowing. “Do you seriously believe I’ll just sit by and let anyone hurt her? I took every precaution possible to ensure she was safe!”

“Evidently not!” Oscar shouts, pushing himself up to his feet and advancing toward Dean. “If you had, she wouldn’t be in the line of fire of some lunatic mob leader out for your head, now, would she? Whether you like it or not—not only Jeyla, but DJ as well—are collateral now. They are mere pawns caught in the crossfire of your reckless actions.”

“Reckless actions?” Dean hisses, his tone ireful. “I was doing my fucking job! What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing thiswhole time? You think I played dead for my fucking health? No, I did it all for her and for all of you. To ensure you were all safe.”

“Yeah, you did a hell of a fucking job by the looks of it.”

My fingers tremble against my temples as I try to steady my racing thoughts. The sound of the boys' shouting match echoes through the kitchen, drowning out any rationality. Just hours ago, Dean was dead and now he's standing in my kitchen bickering with his brother, all while I'm apparently somehow by association caught in the crosshairs of his adversaries.

A knot forms deep in my stomach as the gravity of the situation starts to sink in. While the two of them continue to argue I push my chair back and walk out of the kitchen. I don’t have the mental capability to deal with this on top of everything else.

Despite the bustling commotion downstairs, DJ remains sound asleep in his nursery. His small chest rises and falls with each steady breath, a peaceful expression on his cherubic face. Like his father, he is a deep sleeper, a trait that I am grateful for in moments like these. As I enter my bedroom and collapse onto the plush comfort of my bed, my anxiety begins to consume me. The weight of fear settles heavily on my chest, threatening to paralyze me at any moment. Oscar’s words of DJ and I being collateral hit me harder than anything else. Not for myself, but the thought of something happening to DJ is harrowing. I can only hope that Dean’s enemies aren’t aware that DJ ishisson. If they’ve been watching me, they might have assumed that I had a kid with Oscar? It’s possible, right?

While my mind runs amuck, invoking the absolute worst-case scenarios I don’t hear the bedroom door behind me creak open and Dean walk in. “JJ?”

“Do they know about DJ?” I ask as he closes the door behind him and walks further into the bedroom.

“I don’t know,” Dean answers with a sigh as he leans against the wardrobe. I look up at him and Dean walks over and perches down in front of me. “I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you, I promise.” Dean avows, lifting his hand to brush away the tears that spill over and roll down my cheeks. “That’s why I came back, JJ. I have arranged for you and DJ to be taken to a secure location until the threat is dealt with.”

My eyes search his and I shake my head. “What does that mean?” I whisper. “What about you? You’ll be coming with us, right?” Dean shakes his head, a woeful look in his eyes.

“No, baby,” Dean's voice is low and urgent. “You'll be taken by a team of highly trained security personnel to a safe house that is completely off the grid. It's heavily guarded with round-the-clock protection, and for your own safety, not even I will be told your location.”

My heart races as I try to process his words. A safe house? Off the grid? Heavily guarded? What the hell is he talking about? I can’t just pack up and leave on a moment’s notice.

Dean’s dark brows furrow in concern as he continues, “We need to leave as soon as possible.” His dark brows furrow in a deep v as he looks back at me intently. “I need you to pack a bag for you and DJ, only the essentials. Everything else you may need will be provided for you.” I shake my head in disbelief, unable to comprehend what is happening. But Dean's expression remains serious and determined.

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