Page 84 of Desperate Actions

And I need her safe. It’s a fucking biological imperative.

As we near the estate, I don’t look at the driveway, or the sprawling grounds, or the towering trees surrounding us on all sides.

I look at Aella.

For her reaction.

She comes from money, and I know her father is protective as hell.

So really, this isn’t anything she hasn’t seen before.

But still, I can’t fucking lie.

It does something to me when her mouth drops open, when she leans forward in her seat, eyes wide, taking in the full view of her new home.

It’s killing me not to ask her if she likes it.

But I bite my tongue and wait.

I let the moment settle between us, let her absorb it, take it in.

The guard at the front gate recognizes me instantly, and with the press of a button, it opens smoothly, allowing us through.

I drive slowly, taking the longer loop around the circular cobblestone driveway, past the main entrance, and pull into one of four attached garages.

“Wait for me,” I murmur before stepping out.

The air is crisp and cool. The scent of rain-soaked earth still lingering from earlier.

Santos is waiting inside the garage, standing at rigid attention, arms folded behind his back in that disciplined, military stance that never quite left him.

For a split second, my brain flickers back to the last time we stood like this. Only then, it wasn’t in the dim safety of my private garage.

It was in the smoldering ruins of a blown-out village in Eastern Europe, smoke thick in our lungs, the weight of our fallen brothers pressing heavier than the debris we’d crawled through.

We had pulled each other out of hell that day.

And now here we were. Whole. Alive. But never the same.

Santos doesn’t speak. He never does until I acknowledge him first. That’s just how he is—silent, deadly, always watching.

I motion for him to wait, a simple flick of my fingers, and he nods. No words needed. He knows the drill.

Some instincts never fade.

Some men take orders.

Some men give them.

And some men don’t need words at all.

Santos has demons. Every man who’s walked through war and come out the other side does. You don’t survive blood and fire without carrying some of it with you.

But I trust him.

Not just because he’s good at what he does. Not just because he’s a ghost in the field, lethal and unshakable.

I trust him because he pulled me out of the dirt when I should’ve died.

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