Page 146 of Jax
“I know,” I murmured. “And you’re doing a damn good job.”
Her hand slid from my chest to my neck, then up to my jaw. It wasn’t seductive. It wasn’t romantic. It was grounding. A tether. Like if she let go, I might dematerialize.
“I don’t want you to die,” she said. “But I also don’t want to be the reason you hesitate when it matters.”
“You won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I said, my voice quieter now. My thumb traced a slow arc along her temple—an unconscious pattern, the kind you run when you’re trying to memorize something your body already knows it’ll miss. “Because this isn’t hesitation, Stella. It’s a motive. You’re the reason I’m going in sharper.”
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, steady now, breath uneven but voice clear as she said, “You’d better come back. Because if you don’t, I will burn half of Kansas City to the ground and salt what’s left. I mean it.”
And I believed her. Every word. The fire in her wasn’t grief trying to brace for the worst; it was defiance. An absolute refusal to be powerless again. It should have been funny, over-the-top, theatrical even, but it landed with the kind of weight that didn’t ask permission. I felt a smile start to rise, but it stalled halfway, caught between disbelief and awe.
“That’s strangely comforting,” I said, and her eyes narrowed with a seriousness that made it clear she was already picturing the aftermath.
“I’m serious,” she told me, and I didn’t doubt her for a second.
She stepped closer and closed the gap with the kind of slow, deliberate gravity that didn’t ask, and didn’t falter. Her forehead met mine, and the air between us shifted, hushed like even the storm had paused to listen. No drama. No performance. Just nearness. Just breath held between bodies trying to memorize the moment before everything fractured again.
My hands settled at her hips, light but certain, not to hold her in place, but to remind myself I was still grounded, and she was the anchor. Her head tilted up until our lips met in a slow, tender kiss that lingered for what felt like an eternity.
And for a single, suspended breath, I let myself run the math, not just on the mission, but on what I was walking awayfrom. Breach site in forty-seven minutes. High resistance. Low probability of target survival. Even lower odds of clean extraction. She’d survive without me, probably. Would she forgive herself if I didn’t come back? Less likely. Would I forgive myself for leaving her with this much weight and no closure?
Not a chance.
I let the silence carry what words couldn’t; her breath against mine, the tension she tried to mask, the scent of storm and sweat and something impossibly soft beneath all that steel. I wanted to stay. I wanted to say screw it, and let myself remain inside the stillness she created just by standing there.
But I couldn’t. I was built for the breach. And she, somehow, had become the reason I stepped into it with a steadier hand.
I pulled in a breath, not to steady myself but to mark the moment, then stepped back like I was leaving an altar. I still didn’t feel ready. Readiness was a myth we told ourselves to feel in control. You didn’t leave because the time was right. You left because hesitation got people killed. Because intel aged in seconds. Because someone had to be first through the door. And I was built to be that someone.
I didn’t want to move. But I did. Because this wasn’t about what I wanted. It was about who needed me to get it right. And I would. Even if it hollowed me out to the bone.
Carrick was already in the driver’s seat. Niko’s eyes lifted from his tablet as I climbed in. Sully followed, muttering to himself as he secured the last of his gear. Deacon brought up the rear without a word, his presence solid as ever.
Seth stood beside the SUV at Niko’s open door. “Give’em hell, boys. We’ll hold down the fort till you get back.”
“Thanks again for coming on such short notice, Seth. You guys are lifesavers, literally.” Niko replied, and clasped Seth’s forearm in a solid handshake. Seth gave us a final nod and stepped back.
The doors shut with a finality we didn’t acknowledge out loud.
The engine hummed to life.
Inside, the SUV glowed with the pale light of Niko’s screen and the dim green dashboard display. It wasn’t bright, but it felt overexposed. My fingers twitched against my thigh, searching by reflex for the data pad I’d already packed. The numbers had been checked and rechecked, then again out of muscle memory. Route mapped. Exposure minimized. Contingencies layered like Kevlar through every step. I’d done everything I could to control the outcome.
Except for her.
She was still out there, barefoot on gravel, her image etched into the backs of my eyes like the afterimage from a camera flash. I could still feel her palm on my chest through the vest, still taste the shape of her truth against my lips, folded into the same space as her letter, tucked close to my heart, both a tether and a threat. Something to protect. Something to return to.
Beside me, Niko murmured an update without glancing up. “Vitals steady. Frequency lock is holding. Comms are clean.”
Carrick gave a sharp nod, eyes on the horizon, jaw set like he was already halfway to hell. Behind me, Deacon didn’t shift. Sully, for once, kept his mouth shut. No bravado. Just the low thrum of tension in his body, waiting to be put to use.
The silence wasn’t strange. We always sat like this before go-time—measured, alert, breathing slow. But tonight it felt different. Not tactical. Personal. Like we were each holding something back at the same time, and none of us dared speak, for fear of shattering the quiet we’d carved out of the dark.
I shifted and let my hand settle over the center of my vest, not to adjust it, just to feel what was there. The press of her note. The shape of her breath. The reason I hadn’t said the word she’d asked me not to.
