Mine to Save Page 4

  What if I don’t measure up to this kind of life anymore?

  Sure, the atmosphere at NES is more relaxed than the army, but I could still fail at this. And now that I’m here, it’s becoming pretty clear that this isn’t something I want to fuck up.

  Jacob Owen is giving me a chance, despite my record, just like Mickey had. And as much as I hate to admit it, that means something to me. Proving myself to him and the other guys is gonna be work, but I’m willing to put in the time.

  Now that Mickey’s gone, The Oakes belongs to me. And the first thing I did was promote Kandie to manage it. She’ll hire someone else to help her behind the bar, and I’ll check in often. But she’s running the place, which leaves me free to put in full-time effort here at Night Eagle.

  “So,” I glance at Rayne, who’s still typing away. She’s so used to the men around her invading her space that she can completely tune us out and still do her work, which I think is impressive. Her long, dark hair forms a curtain around her while she works.

  “You guys are called the Rescue Ops team?” I continue, looking at Ronin.

  He nods. “Yeah. It just made sense to give us a name, because the same guys work together on almost every mission. There are a lot of other people who work here, other teams of guys who can get a job done, but we’ve been clicking for a couple of years now and Jacob decided that we’d be better off staying together.”

  “And that’s the team he wants me on?” I lift a brow, still doubting it.

  But Ronin claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve earned the chance. We don’t have anybody on the team with your kind of skill with explosives. All you have to do now is prove you deserve to be here.”

  The front door to the building closes behind Dare Conners and Grisham Abbott as they enter.

  Jesus. Are those two joined at the hip or what? I try to think of a time I’ve ever seen them apart, and fail. Grisham moves at a pace that would never make the fact that he’s working with one prosthetic foot obvious. Ronin once told me that he and Conners used to hate each other, but damned if I can tell by the way they have each other’s backs now.

  “Proving yourself to us should be your first order of business.” Dare’s voice grates against my nerves.

  He didn’t like me from day one, and normally I wouldn’t give a fuck. But now I have to work with the guy, and if he wants my respect he needs to know that shit goes both ways.

  “Not really in the habit of jumping through hoops to make people happy.” My words, easy with an undertone of hard, are directed at Conners.

  “Well, you better learn how to make exceptions, then.” His retort is just as smooth, but there’s an edge to his voice that I don’t appreciate.

  Grisham and Ronin exchange looks, and I take that as my cue to leave before my desire to put my fist in Conners’s face grows any more. “Coffee?”

  Rayne looks up, like she’s heard every word we’ve said. “Break room. Go grab some, Bennett, and then head up to the conference room.” Her smile is kind and understanding, and I immediately get why Jeremy Teague put a ring on it.

  Without looking at Conners’s cocky-ass face again, I turn and walk down the hallway toward the break room.

  I rummage around in the cabinets, looking for a mug. When I find one, I put it under the coffee dispenser and adjust the settings. Just as I press START, the door swings open and I turn to see who’s walking in.

  Sayward pauses when she sees me, her eyes locking with mine, before she averts her gaze and changes trajectory. Instead of heading toward the coffeemaker where I’m standing, she instead strides to the round glass table in the corner and drops into a chair.

  She doesn’t say a word.

  She met my gaze for less than a second, but it was enough to send a jolt of awareness through my chest and to my dick, which stirs with interest.

  What the hell? Why can’t I be in the same room with this woman without getting hard?

  Watching her without trying to make it obvious that I’m watching her, I note the change in her almost immediately. Sayward doesn’t usually come off as the kind of woman who cares what people think, but she doesn’t carry herself with the posture of an overconfident woman. She walks like she’s aware of herself more than she’s aware of anything else, because she probably is. Ronin let me in on the fact that she’s struggled with autism her whole life, and even though she’s on the low end of the spectrum, it’s probably more natural for her to turn inward.

  But right now, she’s hunched over the table like she wishes she could literally crawl inside her own little cave and never come back out again. Her hair, usually pulled into a smooth ponytail or a messy bun, is loose around her shoulders. It’s wavier than I thought it would be, thick and cascading for miles down her back. But it’s not styled; it’s just natural. There are dark circles under her eyes, barely noticeable with the bronze tone of her skin.

  But I notice.

  Everything about Sayward says she’s exhausted.

  What the hell happened to her?

  The question shows up in my head without permission. Because, why do I care? It’s not my business. She’s not my business. But for some mysterious reason, I do care. I can’t stand the fact that she looks like she’s been kicked emotionally.

  That tightens my chest…and my fists.

  There’s a connection here, between this woman and me that I can’t explain.

  “Jesus. Are you just going to stand there staring at me, or are you going to grab your coffee and get the hell out of my way?”

  My head jerks back to my mug, which is now full, and Sayward rises from her chair and comes to stand beside me. I don’t miss the space she leaves between us, though. When she reaches up to the upper cabinets to grab a cup for herself, the hem of her light-blue hoodie rides up, exposing smooth, caramel skin. That one, brief flash of flesh is all my cock needs to come to full attention.

  Her waist is tiny, flaring out into hips that my hands are suddenly itching to squeeze.

  It’s like my body is thinking for me right now, instead of my brain.

  When I force my gaze back to Sayward’s face, her deep, dark eyes are narrowed on me.

  Oh, shit.

  “Are you done staring at me like I’m something to eat?” Her tone is full of hostility, but she can’t hide the pretty flush in her cheeks as she speaks.

  Not sure if she caught her own double meaning, I grin. “Well hell, I might not be done. Are you good enough to eat?”

  Her lower lip falls away from the top, parting her luscious mouth in surprise. “What?”

  Chuckling, I sip my coffee and lean a hip against the counter. Letting my eyes do what they want, roving up and down her body in a slow, lazy perusal, I speak again, digging myself in a little deeper. “I mean, you sure look like you are. But I might need to find out the old-fashioned way.”

  She slams her mug down under the coffeemaker and glares at me outright. Somehow, it just makes her sexier. She even taps the toe of her gray Vans on the floor. “Who talks like that? Are you for real?”

  My grin widens. I can’t help it. She’s so damn funny. “I do. And I’m real, sweetheart.”

  Her lip curls and she takes a step closer when I expect her to retreat. She jabs a finger in my chest. “I’m not in the mood for this today, pretty boy. Why don’t you just stay out of my way?”

  Liking how close she’s standing to me way too much, I lift a brow and glance toward the door before looking back at her face. “I was here first, beautiful.”

  Her eyes widen. There’s a pause. I watch as shock swims in her gaze, followed by utter confusion. “Why did you just call me beautiful?”

  Now I’m completely thrown off by the abrupt change in where I thought this conversation was going. So the only thing that comes out of my mouth is the God’s-honest truth. “Because you are.”

  She stands there for almost a full minute, like a statue, just staring at me. Then her lower lip trembles.

  Fuck.

 
Instinctively, I reach for her, but she steps out of my reach. My arms fall back to my sides, and I stare down at her. “Hey, Sayward…you know that, right? That you’re beautiful?”

  Without another word, she snatches her coffee—black, no cream or sugar—off the counter and spins around. She leaves the room without looking back at me.

  What the fuck just happened?

  When I show up in the conference room just a minute later, everyone else is already there. Jacob Owen is standing in front of an enormous touch screen mounted on the wall, and he turns to face the door as I close it behind me.

  “Blacke. Welcome.” He nods at me, and that’s it.

  When it comes to Jacob Owen, I’m learning fast. The dude is not about the bullshit. He’s gruff, but he’s straight to the point. There’s no extra drama with him, which means I actually might like working for him.

  “Thanks.” I settle into the only empty seat around the table, and thank fuck it’s next to Ronin and not Conners.

  I glance at Sayward, who’s sitting on my other side, in a seat behind a laptop. Her fingers are busy on the keys, and she doesn’t look up at me. I wonder what it was about the word beautiful that changed her so completely.

  Has she really never heard that before? The thought’s pure insanity, but I guess it could be possible. She definitely doesn’t ever try to look pretty. Everything about that girl is natural. It’s the kind of beauty that other women are jealous of.

  And the kind that every man dreams of.

  But maybe, because she doesn’t try, she doesn’t even realize that she’s gorgeous.

  That thought unsettles me more than it should. More than I want it to.

  Tearing my eyes away from the woman who’s beginning to fascinate me, I focus on Jacob.

  “I just declined a contract.” He lets the words drop like hammers, and that’s the impact they have on the room. Every person goes still in their seats, staring at their leader like he’s just lost his ever-lovin’ mind. Everyone except Sayward. She stares down at her hands folded in her lap.

  It’s clear to me that Jacob dropping a contract is something that doesn’t happen very often, if ever.

  Finally, his tone cautious, Abbott speaks. “Which one?”

  It might be because he’s about to become his son-in-law, but Abbott seems to be more comfortable questioning the boss than anyone else.

  Jacob’s cool gaze lands on him. “Not the government op for the rescue in Mexico. That still goes down in a month. But as for the private event next week, accompanying the heiress, that’s out.”

  Silence again. Then Conners breathes a sigh of relief. “Not that I’m disappointed we’re not going to be taking over the heiress’s security for her event, but we’ve never declined before. Want to tell us why?”

  For some reason, my gaze is drawn back to Sayward, and I notice that she hasn’t moved. Although she’s not looking directly at anyone in the room, her cheeks are burning red.

  Jacob places his hands on the table, looking around at each person in turn. Conners, Abbott, Sayward, Ronin, Teauge, and me.

  “When I say ‘declined’ I don’t mean NES isn’t going to take the contract. We’ve already agreed, and Abbott already put the plans for her into place. The Rescue Ops team just won’t be the ones carrying them out.”

  Grisham’s expression changes. “Oh…got it. So which team will you put on it?”

  “Delta Squad.”

  Every man at the table nods except for me, because I’m new here and I don’t know what the fuck team Delta Squad is.

  “We’re taking another assignment,” Jacob continues. “And this one involves a member of our team.”

  Another heavy silence descends, and every man at the table glances at one another, trying to figure out what the hell Jacob is talking about.

  Sayward clears her throat. She glances up at Jacob, and then darts a quick glance around the table. “It’s me, guys. And I hate it that Jacob is using NES resources for this.” She glares at Jacob, but there’s also a tenderness in her gaze that shows her love for him despite her frustration.

  My mind wanders for a split second, wondering what it would be like to have Sayward looking at me with tenderness. And fuck, the idea is appealing.

  Immediately alert, Ronin levels his gaze at Jacob. “What’s going on?”

  Whatever tension exists between me and this team of men, it doesn’t matter now. Sayward is someone that I already know I’d protect with everything I have. I don’t know why, but it’s true. When I have time to sit down and analyze that, it’s gonna scare the shit out of me. I never want to be vulnerable to another person again. It’s the very reason I lost my freedom for two fucking years. But right now?

  I’m all in.

  6

  Sayward

  I feel like dropping into the floor. Or blending into the walls. Or crawling under the table.

  Anything so that the focus of this meeting won’t be on me.

  I came into work this morning, after staying awake most of last night emptying buckets of tears onto my pillow, knowing that this was going to happen. That Jacob was going to have to finally share my story with the team at Night Eagle. I thought I was prepared for it.

  I’m so not.

  It’s not that I don’t trust these men. I do. Even though I’ve never had to before, I realize now that I can trust them with my life. I’ve seen them during a rescue mission. They don’t hesitate, they’re smart, and they don’t lose. They’re the strongest men I’ve ever met in my life, and I know that going to Colombia with their protection and support means I’ll be safe.

  But I hate going back to the scariest, most confusing time in my life.

  All the emotions that I’ve learned how to fight against over the years, the feeling of wanting to completely retreat into a cave of my own making, rise to the forefront. Even though I’m trying desperately to beat them back I can feel myself slipping.

  There have been times in my life when my autism has protected me. It’s kept me from having to deal with social situations that make me uncomfortable, or from feeling things that might break me.

  But it’s also been a cage.

  Something that holds me hostage when I really wish I could just be like everybody else.

  The urge to get up from the table and flee the room is overpowering.

  Just as I’m about to shove my chair back, there’s a nudge on my foot. I glance up and to the right, straight into Bennett’s stare. His eyes are an unusual color—such a deep blue I’d call them ocean. The combination against the tan tone of his skin is striking. His jaw is square and set, and thick scruff covers it. Even though the structure of his face isn’t perfect: there’s a small scar just above his left eyebrow, his mouth is wide, his eyes set a little too far apart. But the combination of his features work together to make up a perfectly sexy specimen of man. His stare is intense, where I’ve previously observed it to be light and playful. And instead of jerking my gaze away like I normally would when someone’s eyes meet mine, I’m held captive by him instead.

  After a moment, Jacob begins talking, and I realize that I’ve been so preoccupied and transfixed by Bennett’s gaze that I stayed rooted to my spot at the table.

  And I no longer have the urge to run.

  Like an anchor, Bennett kept me here. Grounded to this place. I have no clue why, or how, he has that effect on me.

  “When I was a Ranger, I was on a mission in Colombia. We were extracting a U.S. diplomat who was being held captive by the cartel. At that time, the cartel’s leader was a man named Philip Suarez. Suarez was a nasty fucker, and he terrorized the villages in his territory like a dictator would. We had a contact in one of the villages, a man who gave us information on Suarez when he could. Our contact wasn’t cartel, but he did a lot of work around the village and knew a lot about what went down.”

  Jacob’s tone is somber, but his gaze is steady as he relays the story to the team in front of him. I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but in
stead I just keep them locked on Bennett. His gaze darts back and forth between Jacob and me, so I know he’s listening intently to the story, but he mostly stays focused on me.

  It’s like he knows I need him in this moment. Suddenly, I find myself wishing I could hold his hand in mine.

  It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever wished for someone else’s touch.

  “I was the main point of contact for the informant in the Colombian village, since I was the commander of my Ranger battalion at that time. It was near the end of my military career, and after months of communication, the man became a friend. His name was Ricardo Diaz.”

  The team members’ eyes flicker with recognition, and Jeremy’s glance flits toward me with concern. My gaze immediately returns to my hands in my lap, as does the lump in my throat, the one I thought I’d gotten rid of last night.

  As Jacob continues with the story, that gentle nudge presses against my foot again, and I know that Bennett wants my eyes on him. But right now I’m fighting so hard against the tears I just can’t look up.

  “When we arrived in the village, it was under the cover of night. Diaz met and led us to the location where the diplomat was being held. It was at great risk to himself, but he was willing to do whatever he could to get our man home safely. Diaz was a good man.”

  The best. My words are silent, but it doesn’t mean they have any less meaning.

  “At the time, Diaz had a wife, a fifteen-year-old son, and an eleven-year-old daughter. You’ve all already figured out that the little girl was Sayward.”

  Every eye in the room lands on me. But then, knowing me as well as they do, the guys immediately look back to Jacob. They don’t want to embarrass me, and I’m extremely grateful for their effort.

  Except for Bennett. He doesn’t leave me alone without his gaze. And I’m holding on to it like a tether.

  “It all happened fast that night. Every single one of you knows what a situation like that is like. You have orders, plans, strategies in place. Every contingency has been thought of. But sometimes, nothing works the way it’s supposed to.”