Page 6 of Legacy's Destiny

“He told Charley that no one was usurping her authority, welcomed me to the staff, and then advised me to cut ties now and walk away from the team instead of dragging out the goodbye. I don’t agree. Wolf is still out on medical leave. Honestly, we don’t know if he’ll be cleared to return. That hit to the head was serious. We have an FNG who’s good, but he’s temporary and knows it. I’m not leaving Wraith a man down or with an untested element while needing to fill another spot. We’ll get the new guy up to speed and then start looking for someone to replace me. Wraith is ready now to lead the team, and for the next year, I’ll let him do that while being there if he needs me.”

“He won’t. That man grew up hard and fast. I can’t imagine what he and Ranger went through. Both of them have ghosts from the Siege.” Ranger and Wraith’s moms had been kidnapped during a maniac’s coordinated attempt to destroy Guardian headquarters and the training annex in South Dakota. It was more of a war than a siege, but Guardian had prevailed and pulled themselves out of the ashes.

“We have experience with growing up hard and fast. Charley and Gabby, too.” Ronan’s voice became soft. “Everyone has ghosts of the past floating in their closets.”

“Truth.” Deacon nodded even though his brother couldn’t see him. “Have you ever regretted the training we went through to become team members and leaders?” It had been grueling. Special Forces training, marksmanship, leadership, weapons, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat were all condensed for them. Their father had ensured they received the best training available from the top experts in each field, both privately and through Guardian. As tough as it had been, it had turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He’d found his place in the world.

“No, not at all. If I hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have met Fleur. But I know you love the field more than I do.”

“Congratulations on growing up. Forgive me if I don’t follow in your footsteps anytime soon.”

Ronan chuckled. “We’ve always blazed separate trails, haven’t we? Which is another reason I called. I got a bad feeling in my gut, and I’m not up for a mission. We’re back in the States for a month. That means …”

“Yeah, I know. I feel it, too. Something’s coming.”

“And you start a mission tomorrow,” Ronan said. “Don’t discount it, D. Keep your guard up. When we both get this feeling, shit gets spicy, real fast.”

“Don’t I know it?” There’d been too many times they’d both gotten the feeling, and then all hell had busted loose. They didn’t discount the twinning thing. It was real, at least as far as they were concerned.

“If you need me, one text or a call from Click, and we’re heading your way.”

“Appreciate it. You know I’ll send word if I need it. Dead isn’t a good look on anyone.”

“Too right. Take care of yourself, D.”

“Promise. You take care of yourself, and tell Fleur I said hello.”

“Will do. Love you, man.”

“Love you, too.” Deacon hung up, drained the last of his beer, and headed out into the humid Bangkok night. The chaotic rhythm of Sukhumvit Road buzzed in the distance. Tucked away in a narrow alley, the Golden Orchid Hotel stood as a serene escape from the city’s relentless energy. Its lantern-lit entrance glowed softly, and he could already taste the rich, spicy flavors of Jade Lotus, the hotel’s restaurant. The green curry, som tum, and pad Thai had been calling to him ever since his last visit.

The restaurant was hushed this late, a stark contrast to the clamor of the tourist-filled streets. The dim lighting reflected off deep green walls adorned with black-and-white photographs of old Bangkok—images of bustling canals, wooden markets, and gilded temples. Deacon let his fingers graze the edge of a frame, tracing the evolution of a city he barely recognized. His thoughts drifted to the changes he’d seen in himself over the years. After finishing his meal, he lingered over his beer, enjoying the quiet.

The faint clink of glass drew his attention. He turned, and that was when he saw her.

At first, she was just movement—a figure slipping through the doorway—but then the details clicked into focus. A woman stood at the bar, her posture casual yet striking. Her hair, dark red with hints of copper, shimmered in the lantern light. She wore jeans and a simple white shirt, the fabric clinging in just the right places to highlight a toned, athletic frame. She wasn’t trying to turn heads, but she did—his, for certain.

Deacon found himself leaning forward, caught in the subtle grace of her movements. Her skin glowed naturally, untouched by makeup, and her confident stance told a story he wanted to read. She exchanged quiet words with the bartender, herbrow furrowing slightly when he gestured to the drink menu. A quiet laugh bubbled in Deacon's chest as he realized what was happening: a language barrier.

He stood, his body moving before his mind had fully caught up, and crossed the room. As he approached, he noticed the delicate curve of her neck, the way her fingers drummed lightly on the bar, a small tell of impatience. Her eyes lifted as he neared, and when their gazes met, it hit him like a punch to the chest. Her eyes were a deep, velvety brown, framed by lashes that gleamed auburn under the light. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Do you know what you ordered?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

She turned to him fully, and a smile spread across her face, slow and dazzling. “Actually, no, I don’t,” she admitted, her voice rich with humor and a hint of self-deprecation. The sound of it settled over him like a balm, soothing yet electric.

“Do you like gin?” he asked, nodding toward the cocktail shaker.

“Honestly?” Her lips quirked. “I can’t remember having gin before. I usually stick to wine. Chardonnay is my favorite, but tomorrow will be a hell of a day, so I thought I’d mix things up.”

Deacon chuckled, leaning a little closer, catching a faint trace of her scent—something clean and citrusy. “Would you like me to intervene?”

Her gaze flicked to him, dipping briefly to his chest, then back up, an assessment that left a small, teasing smile on her lips. “Do you speak Thai?”

“I do,” he said, his grin widening.

“Then, by all means,” she said, gesturing grandly to the bartender.

But the drink had already arrived—a violet concoction garnished with a fruit skewer. She sniffed it tentatively beforetaking a sip. Her eyes widened. “Oh.” She blinked, then took another sip. “Oh, this is nice. Fruity but not too sweet.”

---