Chapter 17

I finishedmy session at the gym, pushing myself hard on the weights. It was a necessary release, despite the epic sex, a way to channel the restless energy that had been building up inside me over how the hell August and I would navigate what came next. I wiped down the equipment, grabbed a towel and my water bottle, and made my way across the room to where August still hadn’t left the massage bed.

The memory of what had happened between us was still fresh in my mind and just thinking about it was enough to get me hard, and given his eyes were at crotch height, and I was in shorts, he was getting an eyeful. He ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, then stared up at me, and it was everything I could do not to take myself out and beg him to suck me.

What am I doing?

“Ethan wants you at the swimming pool,” I blurted, then realized what I’d said when August’s eyes widened. “Not like in porn. I mean, Swim Central is where Shadow Team is.”

He snorted a laugh. “You immediately assume I equate pools with porn?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, yeah. Doesn’t everyone? Now, just get up.”

I held out a hand to help him, but he gave a noncommittal grunt in response, swinging his legs off the bed and standing. He was steady on his feet, and his muscles tensed as he levered himself up and stood in front of me, only inches away. If I leaned in, I could kiss him, right in front of the cameras and god knows who else might walk in.

I stepped back. “Hey,” I greeted him, trying to keep my voice casual, as if what happened hadn’t shifted something fundamental between us.

August had a faint smile on his face. “Hey yourself,” he replied, then very deliberately checked the nearest camera, turned, and adjusted his erection.

“I want you on your knees,” August murmured.

I swallowed. “Fuck.”

“Will you go to your knees for me?”

“Will you for me?”

August chuckled, and I would have done anything for him. The air between us was charged with want, but August backed off, and we knew that now wasn’t the time to explore it further.

“We should get going,” I said, glancing at the clock. “Ethan’s expecting us at eleven. So, I’ll come get you ten before.”

August tipped his chin. “I’ll meet you by the back door off the kitchens.”

“The chair?—”

“I’ll walk,” he said, a hint of determination in his voice as he gave me a long look, something unreadable in his gaze.

I admired his resolve and that stubborn streak, which meant he refused to be seen as weak or dependent, while at the same time wanting to push him to sit and take care of himself. Still, I didn’t argue, because if I were him, I wouldn’t want to be in a wheelchair either.

As we went our separate ways, heading to our respective rooms to prepare, my head was spinning. The attraction was so hot I’d never felt anything like it before, but with the impending team meeting and the responsibilities that came with it, those feelings had to be shelved, at least for the time being. We’d both been hurt; we were mending; we needed to put a stop to Amos. Together.

And then, me on my knees for him.

Because that was inevitable.

* * *

August walkedwith determination to push through, as if he were channeling every ounce of his SEAL training, refusing to let his physical condition dictate his presence. As we grew closer to Swim Central, I noticed a shift in him. The tension eased, and it wasn’t just about the walking; it was deeper than that. He was transforming, right before my eyes, into the hardened man who had taken down cartel crews, from vulnerable human to a lethal, efficient, SEAL.

When we arrived at the unique office space, I watched closely for August’s reaction. The place was still a work in progress, a far cry from what it would eventually become, but as August took it all in, his eyes widened.

“This is it,” I said, gesturing around the space. “Shadow Team HQ aka Swim Central because, you know, it’s built in a pool.”

August’s gaze swept over the area, taking in every detail. “Okay,” he murmured, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. It was clear he was already assessing how the team operated, how he would fit into the dynamic. I could see the wheels turning in August’s head, but he didn’t say anything else, and when Ethan walked toward us, Luca beside him, I felt odd.

I didn’t have any other word for it.

The thought of going back out there, heading into danger, him lying somewhere bleeding out again made my chest tighten and my head hurt.

Somehow, August had gotten under my skin, and it wasn’t just sex—he was determined to take Amos down. He stopped by the wall containing photos and brief bios of the dead men at the compound. The patchwork of photos—some taken when alive, some when they were dead—was a collection of all those people August had killed, plus the ones I’d taken down.

August was quiet at first, his gaze moving along the photos. Then, he pointed to the first one. “I saw him beat a kid,” he said, his voice tight. He mimed a gun with his fingers. “Dead,” he murmured, then gestured at the next photo. “This one,” he continued. “I saw him grab a man and slit his throat for trying to protect his family.” He made a bang sound as he pointed at the man’s head where a perfect circle was front and center.

As he focused on another, his voice cracked. “This fucker raped a young woman. I don’t know how old she was. I couldn’t stop it… I was there too late. She bled out.” Another bang, another finger gun, and each one was loud in the otherwise silent room. Ethan caught my attention, and I gave a subtle shake of my head. The compound had been cleared out, every person dead apart from Amos, and most of it lay on August’s shoulders.

He gestured to others, his bang sounding more and more strained. With each photo, with each snap, the weight of what August had seen and done became more apparent. I exchanged another glance with Ethan, who nodded to Luca before both men left, giving us space. I got the sense that August was either going to come out of this high with justifying each kill, or he’d be broken.

Either way, I’d be there for him.

August’s hand trembled as he pointed at a photo of Eli, and he rested the flat of his left hand on the wall to support himself. “He deliberately cut MDMA with fentanyl, and he fucking laughed. Twenty kids at the Carterville University ended up in the hospital, five of them didn’t make it, and he was pissed he only got twenty-five percent.” His voice was a whisper. “Bang.”

Then, he pointed at a photo of Diaz. “And him… he liked to torture…” August’s voice trailed off, his eyes closing as if to shut out the memories. In that moment, he seemed smaller, the weight of his experiences pressing down on him.

I reached out and put a hand on his arm, a gesture meant to offer some comfort. He jumped at the contact, his eyes snapping open, meeting mine. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that I’d never seen before, pain at the cost of the private war he’d waged and the things he’d seen.

In that moment, words weren’t enough. All I could do was offer my silent support. August was a warrior, a protector, but he was also human, and the horrors he’d witnessed were a heavy thing to carry.

“Fuck,” August snapped, the word was raw. In that charged moment, he turned to me, gripping the back of my neck with an urgent, almost desperate grip, pulling me towards him.

I barely had time to react before his lips crashed into mine. The kiss was fierce with the emotions August had kept bottled up. There was anger, pain, helplessness, all conveyed in the urgency of his touch. For a moment, I was stunned, but then, I surrendered to the kiss. My own hands found their way to his waist, steadying him, grounding him. I could feel the tension in his body, the rigid lines of his muscles giving way to something more pliable, more human, and he leaned against me.

The kiss was a release of frustration and grief, of the horrors he’d seen, and everything bled out of him in the connection.

As we separated, both of us were breathing hard, faces inches apart. August’s eyes were closed, his face taut, all that conflict between soldier and man was written in his expression, and he looked vulnerable. The room around us, the photos on the wall, the mission at hand—all fell away. There was just August and me, and the unspoken thing was that I understood.

After a moment of heavy silence, August opened his eyes and stumbled back, releasing his grip on my neck. His voice was softer, tinged with a hint of remorse. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze flickering away for a moment. “I shouldn’t have… It’s just all this,” he gestured, encompassing the room and everything unspoken between us. “It’s what I did, what I had to do, for James and Annie.” August met my gaze again, and I could see him wrestling with his instinct to be all stoic and not crack in front of me.

“I get it,” I said, stepping a little closer, but respecting the space he seemed to need.

We stood there for a few moments in silence as the emotions settled, and then, he was finally coming back to the room. He glanced around, blinking, as if he’d just realized where he was, and he saw there was no one else there who’d witnessed his break.

“Let’s do this, yeah?” I asked.

When he nodded, I gave him a small smile of encouragement. I headed out to find Ethan who was outside with Luca and indicated they could come back in. Ethan and I exchanged loaded glances—we’d seen this before, we’d see it again, hell, we’d been through it ourselves.

Ethan briefed us on the current situation with Amos. August stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders back as he listened, even though we were both already familiar with most of the information.

“Amos has been hard to pin down. He’s gone to ground,” Ethan summarized. “But we’ve been tracking various aliases he’s been using and following the flow of money through several offshore banks. It’s led us to a location in the middle of Montana, a place that’s pretty much off-the-grid.”

Ethan flicked the biggest of screens, displaying satellite images of the area. It was rugged terrain, sparsely populated, with dense forests and rolling hills—a perfect hideout for someone wanting to stay undetected. There were a few buildings scattered across the landscape, old farmhouses and barns that looked as if they hadn’t been used in years, but other than that, it was river, trees, open grassland, and mountains in a ring around the space.

“We have satellite images of the area, but no concrete proof that Amos is there,” Ethan continued, pointing to one of the structures on the screen. “The only images that make sense given how remote they are is this, a likely spot for him to lay low.”

“Do we know that he’s definitely the one running this?”?” August asked after a pause. There was still doubt in his voice, still regret that he hadn’t seen through the man.

As if he knew what August needed, Ethan shifted the focus away from location and money trails to Amos. “Amos Harrington, you know him as Amos Stratton, thirty-two. To all intents and purposes, he was clean-cut, nothing on paper at least, adopted by the Stratton family. His parents, Evie and Dom Harrington, died about ten years ago, drive-by shooting; the dad was already a big player in a cartel based out of New Mexico, put his son out to another family for various reasons—hiding him I guess. We used the logo on the cap you mentioned to get us the link to the New Mexico Lobos football team and worked our way out.” Ethan glanced at us. “Amos Stratton inherited everything, that’s where the killing started, him killing I mean. He moved the entire operation to the Carolinas, and more specifically, the Cooper River area. Over the last decade, he’s grown it into something substantial.”

I glanced at August, gauging his reaction. His face was an unreadable mask, but I could sense the wheels turning in his head.

“Which is where the DA’s office came into play,” he murmured.

Ethan gave a sharp nod. “Sanctuary is following up on the DA’s office, and it was clear James’s death was to warn him away from pursuing leads he had.”

“I know it was. It’s what the cartel did. It’s what Amos and his lieutenantsdid.”

“We found something else. You might want to look at this alone.” Ethan’s tone was calm, but I caught a flicker of worry in his expression.

Was this something to do with James? I wanted to stay, to be the rock he could lean on, to be the one who tried to understand his pain, but if this was personal, if this was more than he could bear, then maybe he should do it alone.

“I’ve seen photos of James’s body before,” he said, his tone dead.

“This isn’t that. It’s Annie.”

Silence. Luca backed out, and August tensed. I wanted to reach for him, but in the end, I didn’t have to decide if it was a good thing or not because he gripped my hand and held tight.

“What about Annie? What did Amos do?”

“Evidence suggests Clara was related to Amos, third cousin, and he pulled her in as a care giver for Annie, and there are photos.”

“Please, no,” August pleaded. “Did he hurt her? I don’t want to see…” The possibilities of what Amos might have done to Annie was too awful to comprehend. How could any person bear this much pain? How could a child?—

“Shit, no, I didn’t mean… fuck…” Ethan threw up some images, but they were of Amos and Annie. Posed photos, one of a Christmas tree, playing happy family as if Amos deserved to be with Annie.

As if he was Annie’s parent.

August was silent, and then, he swallowed. “Tell me when we’re killing him. I want to be the one to do it.”

That was all he said before he strode out of the office and up the old pool steps to the main door, vanishing outside.

Of course, I followed.