Page 91 of Carter
His hands framed my face, calloused palms cradling me with a tenderness that made my chest ache. His forehead touched mine, and I could feel the steadiness of him in every breath.
“You don’t have to be fine all the time,” he whispered. “Not with me.
The dam cracked. My eyes stung and my breath shuddered, but instead of shame, I felt relief—like I could finally stop holding it all in. I leaned into him, letting his strength be mine, and for the first time since Redwood’s smile had haunted me, I felt something else: safe.
Carter’s mouth brushed mine before I even realized I’d leaned in. It wasn’t desperate—just steady, claiming, the kind of kiss that said we’d earned this moment after hell itself tried to tear us apart.
My hands slid up his chest, finding the strong lines of him beneath the gear, and he groaned softly, deepening the kiss.The cot creaked as we tumbled onto it together, his weight covering me, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
For the first time in so long, I let myself feel without fear. His hands mapped my body like he was reminding himself I was real, alive, his. Every touch was fire and comfort, every kiss a promise.
“Harper,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough with emotion. “You’re everything I never thought I could have.”
Tears burned hot, but he kissed them away with my lips, my breath, my body pressed against his. “Then don’t let go,” I whispered. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
He didn’t.
The night folded in around us, and for a little while the world outside—Redwood, the files, the darkness we’d fought through—disappeared. All that remained was Carter and me, tangled together, hearts beating in sync, finding our way back to something like hope.
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By the time Carter and I stepped back into the main room, the safehouse had shifted again—buzzing now, heavy with voices and papers spread across every surface. The Golden Team wasn’t good at sitting still for long. Even battered and bruised, they thrived on the next fight.
Gideon had claimed the head of the table, his bandaged leg propped on a chair, a laptop open in front of him. River and Cyclone were shoulder-to-shoulder, flipping through files while Faron scrawled notes on a map taped to the wall. The smell of burnt coffee lingered, sharp enough to sting my eyes.
I slipped into a chair beside Carter, who immediately slid a fresh file toward me. “Keep your eyes on the names,” he murmured. “Anything rings a bell, flag it.”
Before I could answer, the door banged open. Federal agents swept in—suits, earpieces, stiff expressions. The energy in the room shifted instantly. One of them, a tall man with a clipped tone, took the lead.
“Redwood is in custody. He’ll be transferred to a securefacility until arraignment. From this moment forward, the case is in federal hands.”
Cyclone leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his tone sharp. “And you’ll keep us updated, right? Because without our boots in that lair, you wouldn’t have him.”
The agent didn’t flinch. “We’ll handle it from here.”
The words twisted in my gut. Handle it. Like Redwood was a paperwork problem, not the monster who had orchestrated so much pain.
Before the frustration could boil over, Carter’s voice cut through, calm but edged with steel. “You’ve got him in cuffs because we did what no one else could. Don’t think for a second this is the end. We’ve seen his files.”
The agent’s jaw ticked. “That evidence is classified.”
I shoved the folder Carter had slid to me across the table. Photos spilled out—faces, names, dates. My voice didn’t shake when I said, “Classified or not, those are people. And we’re not standing down until every single one of them is free.”
The room went quiet. Even the agent hesitated, his gaze flicking from me to Carter. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Do what you want. Just don’t get in our way.”
When the suits left, the silence that followed was heavier than gunfire. Gideon exhaled, rubbing at his temple. “Well, that was about as much cooperation as I expected.”
River smirked without humor. “Good thing we’ve never been great at following orders.”
A ripple of tired laughter rolled around the table, and for the first time since Redwood fell, I felt something almost like hope.
Carter’s hand brushed mine under the table, a quiet reminder of everything we’d fought through. Redwood was in chains. The fight wasn’t over—but at least tonight, we’d won.
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