by Layla Reyne
Brax kissed him, slow and deep, and drove into him the same way, his strokes sure and steady, his hand likewise keeping pace, only speeding up when Holt urged, “Faster.” He ached for the heavenly pressure now, for the repeated punch against his prostate, and for the release gathering in his balls and dick.
“Make us come, Holt,” Brax panted against his lips.
Past and present collided, and Holt covered Brax’s hand with his, gripping him tight, shuttling up and down his cock as Brax pumped his hips in time. Holt erupted, stars exploding behind his eyes and come covering his hand, and his ass, fuck, his ass clenched around the solid length of Brax there, making them both shout into each other’s mouths and making Brax come too, thrusting and burying himself one last time deep inside Holt.
Coming down from the high together, Holt wrapped himself around the man in his arms, around his world, and Brax buried his face in his neck, breathing hard. When Holt finally caught his own breath, he nuzzled Brax’s temple and whispered in his ear, “How much do you think we owe the swear jar now?”
Thank fuck Brax’s face was buried in his neck because his unchecked laughter was even louder than the shout when he came.
Chapter Nineteen
Banging sounds jolted Holt awake, and the jolt to his well-used body was equally startling. On his belly, he shoved his head under his pillow and groaned. “Fuck, Cap, that third round might’ve been a bad idea.”
He expected a laugh, maybe a slap to his ass or a protest. Round three hadn’t been a bad idea at all. The thought alone—of him and Brax on their sides, chest to chest, Brax’s leg thrown over his hip, their mouths inhaling each other’s pants, their combined grip slowly stroking them to release—was enough to make Holt shift, his morning wood digging uncomfortably into the mattress.
Until the next thought registered.
Silence.
Unexpected.
He threw off the pillow and glanced to his side. Empty. No Brax. He ran a hand over the sheets and into the divot in the other pillow. Both cool.
An undertow of worry collected in the vicinity of his stomach. He reached for his phone. Nine in the morning. Explained the sunlight sneaking in around the curtains, trying to blind him. Fuck, when was the last time he’d slept so late?
More banging. On the front door, by the sound of it.
And then the best sound in the world. “Coming!” Brax called.
Relieved, Holt sagged back into the mattress.
“Na-Na?” Lily asked.
“Don’t know, princess. Let’s go see.”
Brax must have gotten up with her. Holt smiled into his pillow, letting warm contentment—home—wash over him. Fuck, he wanted this. So much. He wouldn’t let anyone take this life from them, not now that he’d had a taste of it and knew how good it could be. On the heels of that thought, the realities of the last week came crashing back, and Holt pushed up in bed. “Check the peephole!” he hollered.
“Cop, rememb—” Brax’s retort died, eaten up by a curse. “You’ve got to be fu—kidding me.”
Not welcome, whomever it was. Holt scurried as much as his big, sore body allowed, tripping over clothes and almost killing the lamp in the process. He saved it from the floor at the last second—a near thing—then a good thing when, with no other weapons in sight, he realized he had a heavy, metal object in hand.
The whoosh of the door opening echoed down the hallway. “Where the fu—heck have you been?”
“Aww, come on now, Major Kane. I had my reasons.”
Holt recognized that voice. Couldn’t believe he was hearing it for the first time in years. He righted the lamp on the table, yanked on his boxers and tank, and hurried down the hall. He had to make sure his ears weren’t deceiving him. From the top of the stairs, he glimpsed the cowboy hat first. Brax, with Lily on his hip, stepped aside and revealed the man wearing it, the owner of that familiar Texas drawl.
“Major?” Holt said. “You’re here?”
Emmitt Marshall’s dark brown eyes bounced between him and Brax, brightening as his smirk deepened. “Oh good, y’all finally sorted your mess. Now the rest of us can move on with our lives.” He swept inside and snagged Brax’s coffee mug from his hand. “Thank you, Kane.”
Lily giggled. “More!”
“Yeah, more,” Brax said as he slammed shut the door. “More of an explanation for a chess game—and friend—you left hanging for over a year.”
The major ignored him, drained the coffee, and took the stairs up to Holt. “Just Marshall or Marsh now.” He set aside the mug, then yanked Holt into a back-slapping bro hug, like the one he’d given him on Holt’s last night at Camp Casey. “How you doin’, big guy?”
Brax stomped up the stairs, his steps heavy for bare feet. “Hello!” he barked. “Answer the question, Marsh.”
Marsh drew back, eyeing both of them. “Y’all got your hands full.”
“I haven’t had an email, call, or postcard from you since your retirement,” Brax said. “And now you just show up?”
Apparently, it hadn’t been only Holt who Marsh had iced out. Holt hadn’t taken it personally. Yes, Marsh had trained him, taken him under his wing, and helped refine his hacking skills, and in working together, they’d become friends, but Marsh had been his CO. Brax had been tight with him, though, ever since the raid gone sideways and even more so after Holt’s discharge. Holt had been glad Brax had had someone to turn to. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to leave Casey otherwise. Given their closeness, it surprised Holt that Marsh’s radio silence had extended to Brax.
“We’ve all got our messes,” Marsh said. “Mine happened to blow up at the same time as y’all’s, but I’m here now.”
Which brought up another question. “How did you find this place?” Holt asked.
Marsh’s look rivaled one of Helena’s are-you-serious glares. “You have tells, Oski, like every other hacker. And half those tells are ones you inherited from me, so I just followed the breadcrumbs.”
“Fu—fudge, we should—”
“I scattered the breadcrumbs,” Marsh said. “You’re safe.”
“More,” Lily said again, her brown eyes wide and staring at Marsh like he was her new favorite toy.
“Me or the voice, sweetheart?”
Lily clapped. “Yes!”
He ruffled her curls. “I like this one.”
Holt was still half-amused and half-bewildered at Marsh’s presence. He understood the how of it now but was still missing the why. “We’re happy to have the help, but we didn’t put out an SOS. How’d you know we needed it?”
“Your searches last night set off one of my tripwires.”
“You’ve been tracking our searches?” Brax said. “The searches on my collars? But you can’t pick up a damn phone or send an email?”
Marsh dipped his chin, dark waves falling across his forehead. Flecks of gray that hadn’t been there last time Holt had seen him caught the light. When he lifted his face again, the teasing glint was gone from his eyes. “I’m sorry I went AWOL, Kane, but you are one of the few people who will put up with me, so yes, you are on the short list of people I keep tabs on. So is Tessa St. James.”
“The arsonist for hire I put away?”
Marsh nodded. “Fires ain’t all she sets. She’s a key witness on one of my collars.”
“Your collars?”
“Don’t ask. Neither of you have the clearance.”
“Clearance?” Brax squawked. “What the… What’s going on, Marsh?”
Marsh again pretended he hadn’t heard Brax. “She’s at FCI Dublin. Been routing things through there for her old cellmate.”
“Let me guess,” Holt said, connecting the dots. “Savannah Ryan.”
“Bingo.” Marsh withdrew several sheets of folded paper from his back pocket. He handed the first to Brax. “She routed this through late last night.”
Holt stood close enough to Brax to read over his shoulder and to offer support if needed. Which was a good thing.
The post was from the same dark web channel as the last one concerning Brax. Same syntax and spacing too. But the words were even more disturbing than the last post.
A new contract with a new timeline, and it wasn’t designed for a one party answer. It was open fucking season. On Brax. A hefty bounty to whichever party delivered him—tonight—half paid at proof of capture, half on delivery.
“There are additional comments of interest.” Marsh handed them the other sheets of paper. “Tips on who Brax is most likely to be seen with.”
Three pictures: Brax and Holt in the stands at a Warriors and Raptors game, Brax and Jax eating lunch on a bench outside the station, Brax on a stroll through Washington Square with Lily in her stroller.
Brax stood frozen one second and shoved Lily into Holt’s arms the next. “You’ve got to get her out of here. Get Jax someplace secure too. Or I’ll go.”
Sensing their distress, Lily’s face crumpled, and she opened her mouth, wail imminent. Until her new favorite toy swooped in. Marsh plucked her from Holt’s arms like a natural. “How about we go get some more coffee?”
Hands free and with Lily distracted, Holt returned his attention to Brax, grabbing him by the shoulders before he could run off and play sacrificial lamb. Again. “Hey, Cap, calm down. No one knows we’re here. We’re safe.”
Brax flung an arm toward where Marsh had disappeared into the kitchen. “He found us.”
“Like the Major—” He cut himself off and corrected. “Like Marsh said, all hackers have tells, and he knows mine better than anyone. That’s the only reason he’s here.”
Brax didn’t look convinced. “If something happens to them, to you, because of me…” His voice cracked, and Holt drew him into his arms, needing the comfort as much as Brax did. From the peak of happiness to the lowest low. “If something happens, Holt, I’ll never forgive myself.”
This needed to be over—today—so they could get back to happiness mountain for good. He held Brax tight and kissed his temple. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
“Who’s the new guy?”
Marsh spun in his chair next to Holt, eyeing Helena who stood over the basement lair’s threshold dressed in cashmere, jeans, and riding leathers. He was out of his seat the next instant, smile bright, hand outstretched. “Emmitt Marshall, and you are even lovelier than your brother described.”
“Helena Madigan,” she said, shaking his hand. “You are certainly a charmer. Too bad I am very much taken.”
Marsh grinned wider. “Good thing you’re not my type.” He tilted his head toward the screen where MCS HQ was on display, Avery, Chris, and Hawes standing in Holt’s office there. “Your other brother, however…”
Chris stepped in front of Hawes. “He’s very much taken too.”
Marsh flopped back into his chair, his arms dangling over the armrests. “Well, that’s just disappointing.”
Brax chuckled as he entered the lair behind Helena. “He’s an old friend.” He set the baby monitor on the desk next to Holt’s keyboard, then set his hands on Holt’s shoulders. “And he was Holt’s CO in Afghanistan.”
“Where’s Jax?” Holt asked, ready to skip over the introductions. It had been too long already, almost an hour since he’d texted Helena with a request to debrief and to secure Jax. He’d used the hour to calm Brax, detach Lily from her new best friend, and get Marsh up to speed. If Helena had chewed up half that hour driving, had there been time to also get Jax safe?
“Right here.” Jax wheeled themself into view in front of the other three at MCS. Holt’s shoulders ticked down a notch, the tension in Brax’s hands with them. “What’s with the fire drill?”
“Marsh came bearing more news. Not the good kind. I’m sending it through the secure server.” Holt uploaded the pictures he’d taken of Marsh’s printouts. “Further proof the bribery charge and cartel connection were part of a larger plan. A failed first attempt, like Mel suggested.”
Their faces fell as they read and fell more as Marsh filled them in on St. James and the connection to his case. Behind Holt, Brax’s breathing shortened and his fingers dug into Holt’s shoulders. Holt covered a hand with his.
Jax finished reading first. “We have to take this to SFPD.”
“Not yet,” Brax said.
Holt whipped around in his chair so fast he nearly toppled both of them. “What?”
“We don’t know who else might be a leak. I doubt Packard was the only one. And the last thing I want to do is draw further attention and manpower away from the work they need to be doing.”
“Like protecting you? You don’t think that counts?”
“You said we’re safe here. We work this for now.”
Apparently, Holt’s calming had worked a little too well. Or else he’d just transferred all Brax’s worry and fear onto himself. He clutched the armrests on his chair and bit back his protest. He didn’t want to turn this over to SFPD either, but fuck if Brax’s sacrificial streak wasn’t getting on his last nerve.
Which Hawes must have sensed, his twin jumping in before he could lash out. “It’s consistent with everything floating around the periphery of this situation, except maybe what was on the outside edge before should be at the center now.”
Brax nodded. “The email, the leak, the subsequent merc hit.”
Holt rotated back around. “The forgeries. Any luck with Sam?”
Chris shook his head. “Gone again. We lost her outside Mussel Shoals. Last sighting of her was at a convenience store the night before last.”
“Scotty?”
“Called back East on a case.”
“You get any other hits on Brax’s list?” Hawes asked. “Besides the one Marsh flagged?”
“Nothing else on the first and second passes.”
“I can dig deeper,” Jax said.
“Do that,” Hawes said. “Holt, you find out everything you can on St. James. Marsh, can you get her to talk?”
“I can try,” he replied. “See what else I can offer her, but I’ll have to clear it with Justice first.”
“We can help grease those wheels,” Helena said.
Not fast enough. Not when Holt had a better idea. A more direct approach to getting St. James to talk. He stood with a mumbled, “Need to check on Lily.”
“I didn’t hear…”
Their voices faded as he took the stairs two at a time, dialing as he climbed. Holt understood now how each of his siblings had felt when their chaos had gone down. He did what he could behind the monitors, went into the field when it was required, but now, with Brax’s life on the line, a relationship they’d danced around for more than a decade newly formed, he understood his sibling’s drastic plays for love, Hawes bending the knee and Helena turning herself over to a rogue Bratva soldier.
The irony of who he was turning to in his chaos, the play he needed to make, was not lost on Holt.
“Federal Corrections Institute Dublin. How may I direct your call?”
“Warden Novak, please. This is Holt Madigan.”
They’d met the warden several times, had her direct line, and they hadn’t abused it. Holt was glad for that now.
“Mr. Madigan,” the warden answered. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to speak with my ex-wife.” Normal procedures required a call to the switchboard, a call time to be set, then a call back from Amelia from one of the prisoner lines. He didn’t have time for that right now, nor did he want this conversation recorded. “It’s a family emergency.”
“One minute, please.”
Holt played with Lily in her pack and play while he waited, trying and failing to stop his daughter from chewing around the brim of Marsh’s hat. Would she forgive him one day for asking her mother to do this? Amelia had seemed happier this week, like she was getting back to her old self, working in the prison infirmary. Now he was dragging her back to the life that had landed her there, first with the hacking, and now—
The line clicked. “Hey, babe,” Amelia answere
d. “I’m still working here.”
Leaving Lily to her destruction, he ambled over to the balcony door and braced his elbow on the jamb, staring out over the canyon. He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and fought the clawing sensation working its way up his tattooed arm. “Could use your help on another angle. But it’s your choice.”
“Tell me.”
He filled her in on the high-level details, enough for her to reason why he was calling. “You need me to find out who she’s passing notes for.”
“Only if—”
“It’s what I’m best at, and it’s what will keep you and Lily safe. That’s all that matters.”
“Amelia, thank you, and don’t get caught.”
“Please, babe.” He could practically hear her eye roll, and he improbably chuckled. She laughed on her end too. “I’ll get back to you.”
Call ended, Holt dropped his arm, some of the guilt floating out on a wave of relief. That broke when he turned to meet a pair of hard hazel eyes.
Brax pitched a candy wrapper into the trash. “What did you just do?”
Holt expected this argument; he’d just hoped to have it after he already had the answers they needed. “She’ll get us the information faster.”
“At what cost?” Brax crossed the room to him. He lowered his voice, but it was no less gritted. “There has to be a line, Holt. One you won’t step over.”
“There is no line when it comes to you.” He skated his fingertips over Brax’s forehead, smoothing the lines there before cradling his cheek. “I will do anything to protect you.”
Brax covered his hand, holding it against his face. “Then let me turn myself over. See who they take me to.”
Holt snatched his hand away. “Hell no.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Helena interjected.
Holt glared around Brax to where his sister was trading Lily a plush banana for Marsh’s cowboy hat. She straightened, and he intensified the death beams.
“Don’t give me that look.” She tossed Marsh’s hat on the couch. “And it’s not a bad idea, especially if we can control whose hands he winds up in.”