James

Still raw from last night’s conversation with Annelly, I’m barely holding it together as I sit here meeting with the team. This is what we agreed to—she entrusted me to share her secret with the men I trust most in this world—but God, does it feel wrong. Talking about the most painful, intimate details of her past without her being here feels like a betrayal, no matter how necessary it is. I can’t shake the nagging fear that I’ll somehow screw this up, that the fragile trust she’s given me will disappear at any moment. The thought of those green eyes—so full of pain but also trust—turning cold again is something I can’t bear. Not after everything. Not again.

“Fucking hell.” Zeb’s sharp tone pulls me out of my thoughts. He shakes his head, the angry scowl on his face a perfect reflection of how we’re all feeling.

Around the conference table, the tension is palpable. We’ve been through a lot together, the men at this table and I, but this? This feels like trying to piece together a goddamn nightmare.

It’s been three days since Zappalla put his grubby fingers on her. Three days since that bastard did the unthinkable. And somehow, it turns out that hellish encounter may have actually saved her. If it weren’t for that, we might never have uncovered Victor Bastille’s involvement. We might not have known he was stalking her, essentially hunting her.

“Well, it gets worse…” Owen’s voice cuts through the room, his tone grim. He’s leaning forward, fingers tapping absently on the laptop keyboard in front of him. The gravity of whatever he’s about to say is written all over his face. “Aside from the Manhattan D.A., I’ve compiled a list of 362 high-ranking government officials, both at the federal & state level, who are active members of Bastille’s clubs.”

The room goes dead silent.

Owen looks up, glancing at each of us like he’s making sure we’re all tracking. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, our good friend Anthony Zappalla is also on that list. But here’s where it gets really interesting. A significant number of those names also appear in the files we pulled from Zappalla’s network. It looks like they’re all part of some… strategic partnership. What exactly it is and what it entails, I haven’t figured out yet, but I’ll keep digging.”

“Christ.” Lucas scrubs a hand over his face, his exhaustion etched into every line of his features. The guy looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—and honestly, after what he and his wife have been through, he might be. “I swear, the deeper we dig, the worse this shit gets,” 

He turns to Ben, his tone resigned but resolute. “I hate to say it, but I think we should bring Mason and Creed in on this.”

This surprises me. To say there’s bad blood between Lucas and Creed would be a massive understatement. With Lucas now married to Emilia—Creed’s ex-wife—who also happens to be nine months pregnant with Creed’s baby, there’s no love lost between those two. That Lucas is the one suggesting we bring him in shows just how fucked up this situation has become.

Creed might be a disgraced FBI agent officially, but unofficially, he’s still working undercover in South America alongside our colleague, Mason Blackwell, who was secretly contracted by the FBI to serve as an independent consultant in the field. Their target, an organization known as La Salvación, operates under the guise of a refugee charity, but is actually a front for illegal smuggling and sex trafficking. Based out of Colombia, their reach extends into the highest levels of private and public industries, including the federal government. 

Many of the government officials implicated in the FBI investigation are names we’ve now linked to Zappalla and Bastille. Which means Annelly is now in the crosshairs of some of the most powerful—and dangerous—players in a sex trafficking and smuggling operation. It’s fucking terrifying. And infuriating. That she’s been dragged into this mess—has the monster inside me roaring for a fight.

“Owen, call Agent Hunt and get everything we have over to Creed and Mason,” Ben orders, his voice sharp and authoritative. “This goes way beyond our resources. We’ll need their help to figure out the best path forward.” 

I tighten my jaw, barely able to keep my emotions in check. The idea of relying on Creed, of trusting the FBI with Annelly’s safety, makes me want to punch the shit out of something. But Ben’s right. We’re in over our heads.

“Make sure they know that Annelly is the priority,” I add, my voice low and deadly. “Bastille wants her. He’s likely been biding his time since she left New York, and last night he saw his opportunity. He knew she was home and assumed she’d be alone. If I hadn’t been there…” My voice trails off, the thought of what could have happened threatening to push me over the edge.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus. “Taking Bastille out of the picture needs to happen first and foremost,” I demand, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t trust those FBI fuckers as far as I can throw them, so make it crystal clear—Annelly’s safety comes first.”

“We get it, James,” Ben responds, his tone calm but firm. “Trust me, we do. But this is bigger than us. We’re not law enforcement. To bring these guys down, we’ll need the help of our FBI partners. In the meantime, we stick to what we’re doing. We keep digging up information on these assholes, and we do whatever it takes to keep Annelly safe.”

“That’s not good enough, Ben!” I’m on my feet before I even realize it, my fist slamming against the table as the monster inside me claws for release. “Creed is persona non grata in this country because the people in charge at the FBI are the bad guys. He’s on the fucking run—with Mason watching his ass—because the very agency he dedicated his life to is riddled with corruption. When push comes to shove, Hunt will choose his case over Annelly. I know it. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to sit back and let her become collateral damage.”

“Calm the fuck down, Serrano,” Dominick snaps, his voice sharp with exasperation. As a former SWAT team guy, he’s got a bad habit of trying to defuse situations when he thinks someone’s about to lose it. What he doesn’t realize is that if I ever truly lose control, he wouldn’t stand a chance against my rage. “We’re on the same team. Pointing that anger at Ben isn’t going to solve a goddamn thing.”

I know he’s right, but it does nothing to ease the Grand Canyon-sized boulder of fear crushing my chest. What we’re up against feels like a battle we can’t win. The playing field is so big, so stacked, that Annelly’s plight wouldn’t even register as a blip to the powers that be. 

Me, on the other hand? 

I don’t give two shits about anyone but her. Zappalla, Bastille, Creed, the FBI investigation, and the corrupt politicians involved—fuck them all. They can all burn in hell for all I care. 

“Do we have eyes and ears on Bastille?” Dominick asks, redirecting the conversation to Owen.

“Yeah, some,” he replies, scrolling through his tablet. “Now that we know they’re connected, I’ll need to cross-check communications to see if Bastille has contacted Zappalla recently. As far as his movements since he left her place last night, the paper trail shows he flew back to New York this morning. I’m running facial recognition to confirm he boarded the flight.”

“We know he’s been watching her, so chances are he saw Zappalla leaving the diner that day James chased him out,” Lucas says quietly, his gaze fixed on his clasped hands resting on the table. 

“If that’s the case… then we’re screwed,” I bite out, shaking my head as a fresh wave of anger surges through me. The pieces are starting to fall into place, and every one of them makes me feel sicker than the last.

“What are you thinking?” Zeb asks, his tone cautious.

“After our confrontation last night, I’d bet anything he reached out to Zappalla to ask what brought him into town. If Zappalla told him what we’re after—what we were asking about…” I pause, my throat constricting as the reality slams into me. “Then he’ll know. He’ll know it’s only a matter of time before we connect him to our investigation. Fuck!” I bury my face in my hands, dragging my palms roughly over my skin like it might scrub away the frustration and fear. “He’ll think that’s why I was there last night. He’ll assume we’ve already made the connection. Which means Annelly’s in even more danger than we realized.”

“Because now that he knows she’s under our protection, he’ll come at us—and her—with everything he’s got.” Ben’s voice cuts through the room, his grim assessment landing like a punch to the gut. 

Dominick folds his arms, his jaw tight. “That would explain why he’d go back to New York. To the outside world, he’s a reputable businessman. Keeping up appearances gives him the perfect alibi. But if he wants Annelly that badly, we have to assume he’ll hire someone to do his dirty work. Professionals.”

His words hang heavy in the air, my stomach twisting with the unspoken truth we’re all thinking. Victor isn’t just dangerous—he’s cold, calculated. And if we don’t find a way to stay ahead of him, she’ll pay the price. 

“Fuck this shit.” The beast inside of me finally explodes, a roar of anger echoing in my head as the list of terrifying scenarios multiplies. My fists clench, my nails biting into my palms as the monster within demands blood—or in its absence, her. 

Suddenly I can’t be here. The need to see her, to touch her, to surround myself with the warmth of her essence is visceral. Home. Safety. Security. It’s what the beast demands. What it craves and fights for. And for reasons I’ve yet to understand, it’s everything she represents.

I’m halfway to the door when Lucas moves to block my path, his broad frame a solid wall in front of me. His eyes meet mine, steady and unwavering. 

“James,” he says, his voice calm but edged with a warning. “I say this with the utmost respect. If you care at all about her, you need to pull yourself together and sit the fuck back down.”

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