No tension. No past. No waiting.
Just this.
Then slowly, it fades.
The sound of the water comes back.
The weight of our bodies.
The feel of each other.
We stay close, none of us moving away, limbs tangled, breathing heavy, holding onto each other as the moment settles around us.
Not separate anymore.
Not the way we were before.
Something shared.
Something real.
CHAPTER 39
Sierra
Adrenaline jerks me awake. The sound of an explosion—then another.
What the fuck’s going on?
A heavy thud rattles through the walls. My body goes rigid as more sounds crash in around me. Doors slamming. Voices shouting—sharp, urgent, commanding.
For a split second, I’m not here. I’m back in that house. In my bed, small and silent, listening to my father stumble in drunk—the crashes, the shouting, my mother’s tight voice trying to contain something that never stayed contained. Waiting it out. Always waiting it out.
The fog clears fast, my pulse already spiking. I shake my head, dragging myself back to the present.
I don’t need anyone to explain what’s happening.
A police raid.
I turn on my bedside lamp and glance at my phone. Three in the morning. Still dark outside. Jesus.
“Police! Open the door now!” The words echo again and again, chased by guests yelling back, confused and angry. Somewhere down the corridor, a woman screams.
Reid and Luke’s voices cut through the chaos, louder than the rest—angry, controlled, demanding answers.
Heavy footsteps pound past my door. I force myself out of bed, dragging on my clothes with unsteady hands, breath coming too fast, too shallow.
Dressed, I open the door and step into pure chaos. Police in SWAT jackets move through the hallway with weapons drawn, knocking and pushing into rooms. Guests stumble out in sleepwear, blinking and disoriented, while staff try to calm them and get shoved aside. Everyone’s talking over each other. No one’s explaining anything.
I keep my head down and move through the noise, threading past people until I reach the entrance, where Reid and Luke are facing off with a man dressed in a SWAT Team jacket over civilian clothes, cowboy boots and a black Stetson. From his stance and general demeanor, he clearly thinks he’s something special.
“What on earth is happening?” one of the guests demands from his doorway. He’s wrapped in a black cotton kimono with a gold dragon curling across it, slippers shoved onto his feet, anger sharpening his voice. “This is a retreat center, not a goddamned drugs factory. Who is in charge of this ridiculous intrusion on our privacy, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I step in beside Reid, close enough to feel the tension in his body, as the officer replies in a bored tone, “My name is Detective Sergeant Park, sir, and I am in charge.” He flashes a badge. “This is standard procedure.”
“Standard procedure for what? Disturbing innocent people in the middle of the night? On what grounds?”
“We’ve received a report of a kidnapping. We’re checking it out. Now if you could just return to your room?—”