Wanderer 2.0, Book 1 Of The Wanderer Series

13• This is Who We Are





(A/n: I'm taking down the other chapter 13 and rewriting it with what would've been chapter 14, and am just combining them. I really hated that last chapter. Like a lot. So yeah. I'm going to use the Russian politician names that are real this time, but when I go to actually publish this as an original I'll be changing them out.

And there's good reason.

When I do research for a book, it's a couple of days, maybe a rabbit hole or two, but Russia has been a strange experience for me. Everything I dig into leads to hours down a rabbit hole. For instance, Putin's favorite Oligarch should've been point blank, but when I got to his family it went downhill. It wasn't his wife or his adopted kid. It was when I got curious why he didn't have children. Then I found out about his nephew, which led to his nephews wife who's literally called the 'Marie Antoinette of Uzbekistan'. Her uncle supported a tyrant (who only died a few years ago mind you!) who boiled his enemies in oil. It got wild quick. So they'll show up in book 3, with the continuation of the Russia plot even though it'll be set in France. You'll see.

The reason I'm choosing to be vague in the original version that'll be published one day, is every time I go down one of these oligarch rabbit holes someone spoke out and got sued or went missing. I know enough now to be wary. Especially since a lot of small time journalists got attacked. We're talking very minor publications that shouldn't have been on their radar whatsoever. On the off chance Putin goes bonkers and attacks us or Europe and wins - I'd rather not be boiled alive or put in a prison where r*** is used as a method of torture. These people in the Russian government are truly terrifying. I follow a lot of Russian news channels that I have to translate and it only adds to the fear I have now with the current political turmoil already going on over there. Especially now that I've learned how to separate the propaganda from the truth.

It may seem silly to you guys, but I've dived very deep into this and I've seen shit I'll never unsee. I've gotten a hair's breath from being in the dark web side of the fuckery and it's scary even that close. If I've learned anything from this, it's that the threat is very real if you happen to get on their radar.

I regret nothing though. After Li Weinliang I was determined to dive as deep as I could to give some realism to the current events I touch on in this story.)

🌐

𝚂𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚑, 𝙶𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚊
𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚊'𝚜 𝙱𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝟽:𝟹𝟶 𝚊.𝚖.

"Go-go-go!" A soldier bellows to his comrades as he stands on the mound of a trench. Fire burns behind his men as they scramble to retreat. It lights his face, a face marred with dirt and sweat like war paint. He holds a rifle in his lax left hand while his right hand swings repeatedly in the same directing motion to fall back. His men pant, a determined look still on their faces even with exhaustion weighing them down. A whistle zings across the sky above, getting louder and louder as it nears land.

The whistle collides with soil only thirty yards away from them. Dirt bursts forth and nearby screams follow the decimating impact. It knocks the soldier to his knees, but he doesn't let that stop him. He just drags his men over the hill by their packs, hurrying them along before another missile gets a chance to hit them.

I groan, falling back against a palm tree, holding my side as I take in the scene before me. Men are screaming, dying, fighting everywhere. It wasn't suppose to go this way. This was suppose to be a peace mission, an attempt to come to a compromise both sides could agree on. That's why Walt and Ben were so important to this endeavor. I merely came as their protection detail this time. They'd assured me it wasn't necessary, but I had my own agenda anyways.

The military doesn't let just anyone waltz in without higher approval. It'd been my chance to snoop around while the other two were playing footsies with powerful men. I wanted to survey the current social climate amongst the barracks, pry a bit into what the actual men and women, who fight for the 'leaders of our country', think about how things should be handled. They usually have better intel for me to utilize. Our hacks can get quite a bit from databases, but they can't get one on one insider info straight from the horse's mouth.

It's funny how we let the trust fund kids make gameplays on a football field when they've never even watched a game, let alone held a ball. These poor people join thinking they're fighting for their country, only to later realize it's usually for something stupid like an oil company's desire for oil rights on foreign land. How lobbyists are still considered legal, but bribery isn't, baffles me.

My infiltration had been going smoothly until some VIP from the states decided to fly in on a helicopter just to stall the peace treaty. 'Illegal' and 'unsanctioned' they'd called it. Next thing I know, that we all know, is chaos. That bastard came after the Syndicate caught wind of our peace attempts. We usually step in when the Syndicate turns a blind eye, and this wasn't any different. We saw a problem, we had a solution, and we came in to execute it. They hate us so much they don't even stop and think about what they're doing before they do it. They just come in, halt everything, and mic drop a business card with their number on it.

Then they stick us with the shitstorm they leave behind.

Case and point, the war zone around us now. Soldiers have died today because someone thinks they know better than us simpleminded criminals. Innocent civilians in this territory have died today. Someone's pride caused all of this. And for what? To prove me wrong? To show the world they know best?

"Arrogant Syndicate pricks," I grumble, blindly reloading my magazines with a box of bullets I'd found lying around nearby. Talk about lucky. I was about to have to bring a knife into a gun fight. When I'd said I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, preferably in style - this isn't exactly what I'd meant.

I peer back over at the man pulling his men over the trench hill still and then glance over our surroundings to make sure I have a valid opening. There's a few rogue variables that could be trouble, but that's as good as it'll probably get at this point. Mind made up, I sprint across the field in a cat-like crouch and slide onto my hip just behind him. The scent of gunpowder billows into my nose in a gust sent out by the remaining force of the missle. The sand eats at my skin, grinding off layers with every tumble and movement.

"Sergeant Harlow," I say blandly despite being a bit breathless.
"Commander Sosa, to what do I owe the pleasure," Harlow yells over his shoulder so I can hear over the ensuing gunfire. I roll onto my stomach and prop the barrel of my sniper rifle onto the hill, " Just here to watch your back for now, Sergeant."
"Very much obliged, pretty lady," he teases with an exagerated Southern accent than is natural for him. I smirk, scoping out targets to shoot, as he finishes with, " My wife may have something to say about this, but you think you can spare an injured man a date one of these days?"

I chuckle, pulling the trigger on an enemy combatant hiding behind an adobe hovel. My heart twinges in a fleeting moment of personal weakness. This didn't have to go down this way. I shouldn't have had to do this - put these men down like dogs. These deaths are unnecessary. All of this is unnecessary. The bullet sings through his forehead, flinging him backwards and off his feet in a heap on the sand, "Injured? What'd you get? A paper cut?"

"As a matter of fact..." he drawls out. I'm already grinning, watching for any more enemy combatants that have sighted us. It doesn't take too long for someone to call 'clear'. His platoon, while a large sum of men and women, are quick on their feet and in no way desiring to stick around this shithole. Sergeant Harlow pats a man on the back a couple times and yells into my ear, "Alright, girlie. They're in the trees now. Time to dip the ever loving fuck out of here."

"You got it-."

There are moments in life that define us.

They don't have to be extraordinary.

In fact, compared to some of the shit I've been in, this moment was mild.

Some stuff just lingers wrong in the mind like a rotting corpse left to the corvids. There's no pretty casket to make it go down easier, no honorable salute of farewell to make it poetic. It fumigates the mind like poison, rolling in silent deadly billows with a kiss of death in the air.

This moment was a kiss that left a bad taste in my mouth I can't get rid of.

This moment marred my soul.

I grunt, rolling a couple a times from the blast. The air is ripped from my lungs, the beats hammered from my heart. Everything stalls momentarily, becoming one dizzying confusing blur. I'm quick to realize I need to move, but when my eyes open the world sways and tilts like it does at sea. A ringing in my ears drowns out all sound. Only the vibrations of ground impact and rumbles of explosions tell me what's going on. The sand grates underneath my body, rubbing raw places I've already reddened from all my Rambo crawling and slide-ins behind various covers.

My lips part, panting shallowly as I force my body to one side with a swing of an arm. The air rips apart overhead, taking my burdened breath with it as I clench every muscle I possess in preparation. Impact happens not seconds later and not far away enough for me to not feel the heat coming off the combustion billowing close by. It's scalding, but not enough to burn. Not me at least.

That damn ringing is still consuming my hearing, but I'm okay. I got knocked around a bit, but I'll live. Determined to not die like this, I slap my hand on the ground in front of me and drag myself back to where Harlow had been just before the blast. He'd been as close as I had, but from my estimates of where it landed, he'd been closer. A single foot can make all the difference in life or death when facing against explosives. He'd been two feet closer.

My other hand slaps down, misty blood droplets coating my forearms. I can taste it on my lips when I lick them to soothe the chapping - metal and sand and gunpowder residue. My brain knows what that means, but my heart is a stubborn fool who refuses to accept anything until she sees it with her own eyes.

I'm able to push up to my hands and knees after a couple of hellish sand burns later. The world tilts a bit, but is gone as quick as it came. The cries of pain, the sound of a bullet hitting sand, a faint explosion probably closer than I am perceiving it - all slowly tune in over the ringing. I cough into the back of my hand before slowly crawling towards Harlow's last known position.

The ringing grows fainter just as I reach where we'd been. Walter is screaming in my ear, " Calla! Calla, can you hear me?"
That's right.
I have an earpiece.
I'm on a battlefield.

Oh...I'm in shock.

I chuckle humorlessly to myself at that revelation. The mighty Commander is in shock amidst a dire battle. I'm losing my touch. Hennessy would shit a brick of he found out I'd lost my cool like this - the unshakable Commander Sosa in shock.

The hole where the missile had landed taunts me, stained red with the same mist that coats my entire body. It's unnatural, pitted and deep like a fracking hole. Even so, the red misty droplets sit on top of the sand like liquid mercury.

Red Rain. That's what they call it.

Get too close to an explosion and that's all that's left of you - Red Rain.

There's no body to find. Maybe a fingertip or an ear if I'm unlucky.

In a split second, Sergeant Harlow's entire body was erased forever off the face of the earth. He's not a husband anymore. Not a father. Not a dog owner. I didn't know him, not really. Only that he talks a lot and has something back home to fight for.
But he's not a man anymore.

Now he's just Red Rain.

I fucking hate war.

My eyes open to my dimly lit bedroom, birdsong seeping through the window glass. The window is open  letting in a gentle humid breeze. I can feel it dampening my skin with a chilled kiss. I tilt my head away from the ceiling towards the window. I'm ensnared by the white sheer curtains dancing lazily inwards. My best guess is that it can't be later than nine in the morning.

Figures. I must sleep really deep after binge drinking or something, because I always wake up early as hell.

Rapid fire and the feeling of wet droplets on my arm comes back from the grave to taunt me. I squeeze my eyes closed and hold in a deep breath. As my heart begins to pound louder in desperation and thrums of blood echo into my flesh, the sounds of battle trickle back to the dark recesses of my mind.

My eyes crack in a mellow sort of way. I always feel low and perhaps even a touch depressed after a dream like that. I've seen a thousand faces as they've died. How many more will come to haunt me before my time is up?

I think to the fourteen new comrades I've acquired and can't help but to wonder if they'll be among them. In a few years time will I wake up just like this, having dreamt of the lifeless eyes and bloodied lips belonging to maybe Victor, or Axel? Will Owen get the last laugh in death, haunting me from the other side after I witness the life fading from his hateful accusing gaze in his final moments?

I drag a hand down my face with a muted groan, a headache starting to form behind my eyes. Letting my head fall towards the window fully, I'm met with Sean's peaceful face as he dozes nearby. He looks childlike in a way like this - golden lashes gleaming in the low sunlight and parted lips that exhale in measured puffs.

I glower at him. I'm not entirely sure if I'm irritated or not that he's climbed into my bed. When did he even get here? Better yet, what the fuck happened last night? Last thing I remember, Alec and I had just bought our chosen poisons and were sitting on the concrete barriers that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean twenty miles from Savannah. I remember us laughing over old times and poking fun at the Syndicate men back at the manor. I remember waves crashing into the barrier and soaking my feet. I remember dancing in the sand under a full moon, a bottle of tequila in one hand while the other held Alec's, and we spun like silly little fools to music playing from his phone.

Then nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just a dark nothingness of concerning portions that led to me lying with the enemy.
Please tell me we didn't fuck...

Sean snorts like a pig and rolls onto his back. I swallow a laugh, shaking my head at him. He's a bit ridiculous honestly. Not at all what I expected a Syndicate agent to be like. Then again, there's Phil and Paw, and they're ridiculous too. Christmas is a prime example of that.

Someone shifts behind me, rustling the sheets as they turn over. My eyes widen and my head whips to look over my shoulder. Marc moans, a wrinkle forming between his brow as he blinks open his eyes. Those stunning colors turn to me immediately and his lips curl into a gentle smile, "Morning, gorgeous."

I bland my expression, "Marc?"
"Hm?" He husks from his throat, looking around the room sleepily while his head tries to catch him up with the present.
"What the fuck are you doing in my bed?"

He chuckles in this husky, lazy sort of way, still half asleep and completely relaxed. His eyes are even closed as he lays on his back with his hands on his bare chest. My eyes trickle down it curiously, finding the sight pleasing. He's fit, which is expected considering his occupation, with a dusting of dark hair low on his abdomen but nowhere else.
"We stayed up to keep an eye on you for a bit, but got sleepy and there you were looking absolutely delectable."

My eyes snake back up his body and linger on his peaceful face. His eyes are still closed which I'm grateful for. I'm fairly certain all the color in my face has drained away. I'm scared to even ask. So I won't. Denial by choice is not a choice to be ashamed of in my opinion.

"And?" I prod further, feigning nonchalance.
"Well, I cuddled up of course."

I roll my eyes towards Sean, getting a crick in my neck, and get a stabbing pain in my head for my trouble. Sitting up fully, I clutch my head in my hands and curse under my breath, "Fuck. Ow."

That gets Marc up in an instant. Popping up like a weasel, he leans over my lap and pushes Sean hard enough to rock him. I might be in pain, but my breath still hitches at the burning heat coming off his skin. I don't think he even realizes it, his serious expression completely focused on Sean, but his left side is pressing along my torso and every muscle used to hold him in that odd angle presses into me. Those arms of his are deceiving. Under clothing they appear pretty average, but bare and flexing with ease? I wouldn't be surprised if he could manage to hold me over a ledge for a good minute without complaint.

"Get up, Doc. She needs those pills, stat," Marc orders like we're out in the field instead of managing a hangover. Sean groans, continuing the trend this morning. I peak at him from my current position only to see he's already smiling at me sleepily. "Twenty bucks says you don't remember getting home last night," he teases with a deeper voice than normal. I glower at him, refusing to admit he's right.

He chuckles at me while clumsily turning to one side to reach for the glass of water and two blue liquid gel pills on the nightstand. With ease that speaks legions of the abdominal strength he possesses, Sean simply sits up as he twist back around and hands both to me. No hands to hold him up, no jerking, no clenching - it's one smooth transition.

I throw the pills in my mouth without hesitating and toss back the entire glass of water with just as much enthusiasm. My eyes shift to the side while I'm drinking when Sean tucks my hair behind my ear with an odd dazed look. It's a tender expression, one I haven't been graced with yet. In the morning glow of the room reflecting off his tanned skin and bringing out every strand of gold on his body, Sean looks truly angelic. His image is a bit blurred in my peripheral only adding to the imagery, and I find I am hyper aware of his roughened fingertips tracing along my ear. They scrape lightly along the delicate flesh making the skin just under my ear tingle with the want to be touched as well.

When I'm done, I lower the glass to my lap and look at him in question. His eyes shift towards me from where they'd been staring. Slowly, his lips curl in a peaceful smile, "Nothing to worry your pretty head over."
I watch as Marc and Sean share a secret look over me.

Not in the mood to dissect them, I look towards the clock and get confirmation that it's a little past nine in the morning. It takes me an embarrassingly long moment to put together in my head why this morning is beyond off. There's a saying that 'You don't know what you have until it's gone', and I feel that on a deep personal level today.

"Where's Alec? He's always up before me," I ask them. It's true. He's up with the birds and is my alarm clock more often than not, giving me the day's itinerary while I stumble around to get ready.

Both chuckle, getting out of bed, cracking and stretching their joints. Marc smirks at Sean knowingly, "Poor, poor Alec."
Sean snorts, "I'd be surprised if he's not more miserable than you are."

I lament all I have to get done now with both of us barely in functioning order. This is going to be a long day. We have to get a battle plan laid out today without fail. We need to leave tomorrow so that isn't optional.

Not to mention I have to check in with my agents and get them back to HQ in time for the infiltration of the Russian borders. We've got to pack, say our goodbyes, figure out what to do with the Syndicate Faction coming along for the mission. I've got other teams to check in on and divvy back out to other sectors across the globe. I've got emails to go through and civilian pleas for aid to look into.

Ugh, just listing it makes me want to roll back over and go to bed. With Alec likely out of commission at the moment, that means we're already behind for the day and I'll have to figure out what to do with the slack that needs to be picked up.

Completely floundering for a solution with this damn hangover dulling my mind, I look around the room as if it'll throw me a lifeline and point me in the right direction to start off with. I groan when nothing comes to mind, "Fuck, I rely on him too much."

My eyes catch on Marc, who like Sean, is facing me while I still sit in bed. His hands are on his hips while Sean's arms are crossed. He gives me a knowing look, "No more than Axel depends on me, or Owen depends on Sean."
"Or how we depend on Kota," Sean finished for him. He then winks at me, "It almost seems like a job requirement for Commanders to be frenzied do-it-alls that like to run around like headless chickens when they're overwhelmed."

My lips twitch, "You even sound like him."

They chuckle, eyes twinkling. Sean comes over and holds his hands out for me to take, helping me out of bed when I do. I sway on my feet a couple times, barely registering Sean's hand swatting me on the ass, "Go shower. We'll get you sorted ourselves this morning."

🌐

After getting out of the shower, I immediately throw on one of my comfier outfits that I like to wear for planning days like this one. I won't be leaving the premise and War Rooms can be an interesting experience for our bunch. We're all a bit....exuberant.

It's a modern twist on a traditional Moroccan dance garb, made of soft linen instead of sheer fabric or satin. The wrap skirt ties high on one hip, the rest of the length flowing down to mid thigh in faded ivory. The top is simply a brazier without straps that exposes my entire abdomen and twists between my breasts once. The brazier has a row of thin cotton ropes with a little soft ball at the end, but the skirt also has a hip chain of tinkling gold circles on strands that make an exotic melody with every minuscule movement. My feet are left bare. Again, War Rooms are exuberant. I'll need my footing to survive and make headway.

I exit the bathroom while brushing my hair, gentle waves of tinkling following every step. I need to use the vanity mirror to get ready seeing as I kinda sorta possibly decimated the mirror in my bathroom....it was a piece of shit mirror anyways.

Both of them are already showered and dressed for the day. An impressive feat. Sean sits in the chair by the open window, a notepad in hand. He smiles up at me when I look his way, pen twirling in his fingers like he's waiting on me to fill him in on what I need help with. I'd honestly put little stock into their offer. Which is likely why I freeze and blink at him dumbly after only a few steps into the room. His smile grows into a grin, eyes twinkling with humor.

Marc's the one to snap me out of it, snatching my attention away from Sean and towards the bedroom door where he stands, when he says, "You look pretty today."

He's dressed casually as well, in a pair of black sweatpants and only black sweatpants. Apparently he has a vendetta against shirts. It's an impressive sight honestly. He stands with his feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed, and chin high. Unlike Sean, he doesn't come across as playful this morning, instead choosing to be the leader he was trained to be. His gaze is determined and his muscles are clenched as if ready to act.

It's really starting to irritate me though, how these men keep making my skin tingle when they say shit I hear all the time. Any other person calling me pretty just becomes part of the background noise, barely worth dignifying a response. But if Marc says it, apparently my senses hone in on him and shoot up my veins with awareness.

I grimace at the knot at the ends of my hair, yanking on my brush a little more violently than necessary. I'm still hungover in my defense. Marc eyes the brush and without hesitating, asks, "Need help with your hair?"
My knee jerk reaction is to shoo him off and carry on, but after two more seconds of trying to wrangle with my hair when I have the patience of a pissed off snake this morning, I grunt and hold the brush out to him. "You know what? Yeah, here."

His lips twitch despite his attempt to remain professional, and he stalks towards me the moment I take him up on his offer to do my hair. Plucking the brush from me, he leads me to my vanity table with one arm and gets to it as soon as my ass hits the cushion. I watch him tackle my hair with a battle plan already in mind. Unlike my violent attempts, he sections off the enemy, separating them from one another so he can take each out one by one. It's precise. It's calculated. It's ridiculously efficient.

And he's smiling softly the entire time he's doing it.

Fucking psychopath.

Even so, I love when people play with my hair. It's soothing to the soul. With eyes half mast I let them roam across the gold and glass trinkets artfully placed around the room. The glimmering sunlight twinkles off of them in a dazzling display.

Sean clears his throat to get my attention, snapping me out of my trance. Unable to turn my head, I shift my eyes in the mirror. Our eyes connect briefly before he goes back to watching Marc work. Marc's begun pulling my hair back in a low ponytail, meticulously securing and flattening every part like a pro. It has me curious how he knows how to do hair like this. I'm worthless outside of a ponytail or a bun. Even Alec is better at hair than me.

"You're from Morocco, right," Sean asks. I nod, assuming he'll look over and see it. He must, because he follows it with, "What's it like there?"

That's a loaded question even if he didn't mean it to be. I doubt Paw has filled them in much on that part of my life aside from the bare minimum. Factions almost always refuse to take on an assignment without knowing the basics of those they're going to be working with or for, so he'd have to give them at least that for them to have considered it at all.

I ponder to myself as Marc finished up loosening the hair around my scalp, giving it a lazy exotic style. Marc starts working on securing sections of my ponytail like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin, going with the theme of my outfit for the day I suppose.

For a brief moment when I gaze into the mirror, I see my mother smiling from just behind me. We favor so much it's uncanny - same body type, an almost identical face, same narrow feet. Even the texture of our hair is the same. It's our coloring that always made us stand apart from the other. Our skin tone is almost the same, mine being only a touch lighter, but it's our hair and eyes that really differ.

Mama's eyes were like the starry night - twinkling with love over a blanket of inky serenity. Her hair had been black and long, longer than even mine is right now. It'd been quite the contrast up next to me.

The illusion smiles at me happily, as if she'd been the one to finish my hair for me. Her hands lay on my shoulders and she leans down to kiss my temple from behind. Her mouth doesn't move or pull away, and yet I hear her dissonant voice echo in my ears, "My beautiful, Callaia."

My eyes squeeze shut. I wonder sometimes what she'd think of the life I've chosen for myself. Would she be proud of me? There are times I doubt that. We'd been simple and poor back then. I didn't have much hope of a life outside of thievery or prostitution. No one did. The most we dared to dream up for ourselves was no more than a simple farm in a place far to the north - a new beginning of the simplest sort.

Her memory is so distant these days I find it hard to remember her moral stances and political opinions, if she even shared them with me at all. For all I know, mama thought women should never aspire for much and should be grateful for the roof their husbands put over their heads. She may have gasped at the thought of her daughter galavanting around the world, leading a team of vigilante agents.

When I open my eyes I feel more centered and it appears neither noticed anything amiss just now. Sean is still watching Marc quietly, waiting for me to answer him and Marc is almost finished with my hair. Sean turns to face me through the mirror again, as if sensing my eyes on him.

"Like a faraway dream," I answer. A dream that continues to haunt me.

His lips tug down from their neutral position, likely not satisfied with my response. I look away, refusing to elaborate when I feel so raw and an ache is gripping my heart.

Soon that ache will grow and once again I'll be alone. I'll only be 'The Commander'. There'll be nowhere else for me to simply exist without worries or where I don't have to hold my head high. When Paw is gone, a part of me will die with him.

The part he nurtured into being, will also become a faraway dream.

🌐

𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎
𝟿:𝟹𝟺 𝙰.𝙼.

I plop down beside Alec who looks absolutely miserable. He's still in his pajamas, his eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is sticking straight up. He's nursing a mug of coffee that he's hunching over protectively.

Falling sideways after I'm in my seat, I rest my head on his shoulder and grumble out, "Same."

The dining table has never been this full, not even when the rest of the Sosa family gathers here. Every seat aside from a handful has a Syndicate agent sitting in it. Sean sits down directly in front of me beside Owen, who's got his signature 'eat shit and die' look he reserves just for little ole' me. Aren't I just special?

Next to Owen, in order, sits Kota, Axel, Nathan, Raven, Corey, and Brandon. Marc is on Alec's other side. Beside him in order is Gabriel, Luke, Silas, North, and Victor. Talk about a full house, jeez.

When I'd come in with Sean and Marc, there'd been chaos and rambunctious joking practically vibrating the walls of the manor it'd been so loud. Now it's uncomfortably silent.

It'd been a bit of a shock to the senses after having a pleasant morning getting ready with Sean and Marc. After Marc finished with my hair, we tried to find a middle ground I was comfortable with so they could help me. Things like checking my email were immediate 'no's, but they all to happily took up the task of preparing us all for leaving tomorrow. Then we discussed their agents' strengths and what I might possibly need on the Russian endeavor, trying to work together to find a solution that both sides are happy with. They're having a meeting after breakfast apparently and told me they'd bring up what we discussed then.

Not having to worry about the Faction or packing is a huge weight off my shoulders. Once Alec is functioning, he can review the emails and do the check ins on our other teams, and we'll go over them together to figure out where to send everyone. I'll handle getting our team in one place and the War Room will likely iron out most everything else. That's not the problem. The problem is finding the time to be with Paw as much as possible and the others here that I'm close with. Business always seems to get in the way of personal matters, and finding a balance is hell. I'm incredibly laser-focused.

Alec shifts under my head, glancing at them subtly until his eyes narrow. Alec isn't going to handle it well if they keep acting this way every time I enter a room. He can be a bit overprotective, likely the reason Paw weaseled him into my ranks. It's Nightshade though that I'm truly worried about. When it comes to me, Nightshade doesn't hold back. I can't count how many times I've had to tell him to stand down when someone's being an ass to me. He's going to really hate it when I tell him he won't be joining my squad in Russia.

I need him elsewhere.

"Don't," I murmur to Alec. His eyes drag my way. Blandly I stare back and raise a brow. He huffs, rolling his eyes, and goes back to his coffee without a word more.

The silence permeates a few minutes longer, until the sound of all of us shifting starts to fill it up. Alec's phone ringing on the table in front of us gives us a reprieve from the awkward air in the room, but neither of us are in the mood yet. That's likely why both of us stare at it until it goes to voicemail.

I sigh, already in the process of chastising myself. That was probably important. No. It was definitely important. It's never not important.

Before I can garner the will to lift my head and get Alec to call them back, Paw comes in. All of us turn to look his way which has him stalling. Looking over all the faces in the room, reading the awkward and uncomfortable mood, he looks at me last with a quirked brow. I shrug back. I really don't know what to tell him. They're being pricks for whatever reason. I'm sure Owen would love to tell him all about it.

Paw comes my way to the head of the table where he usually sits. When he gets to me, he leans down and kisses my hair, "Good morning, vandrare." I grunt like a caveman. He chuckles and sets down a mug in front of me. The aroma of coffee beans perks me up just a touch.

Suddenly finding the energy to hold my head upright, I snatch it up like an animal and down half of it in one go. It burns like hell, but it burns so good.

Alec snorts, muttering into his hand, "Same."

His phone rings again just as Paw sits down beside me in his usual seat, and Alec and I can't help the groans. We have to answer it. It could be an emergency. Since everyone typically uses burners in our organization, we won't know who it is until we pick up. With all the agents I have in precarious situations right now, it could very well be Declan or Ben calling to let me know everything's gone to absolute shit.

I hesitate though while Alec reaches for the phone. My eyes take in the leaders sitting close by from the corner of my vision. I know we're supposed to work together - in theory, but until this week they'd still been the enemy. Just how much of an enemy they still might prove to be is yet to be determined.

Owen alone makes me uneasy. He's blatantly threatened my people. Out of some sense of honor, he might report to his higher ups no matter what his team has promised me. If he does that...I don't even want to think about the ramifications that'd mean. It'd completely ruin our way of life as we know it. We'd go from a thorn in their asses to enemy number one overnight.

"As good a time as any," Paw says nonchalantly. I look over at him full on, letting him get a good read on my feelings on the matter. He gives me a soothing smile, "They've all signed NDAs. If they squeal like little piggies they'll face a lawsuit and jail time if I have anything to say about it."

His warning is clear to everyone present - fuck with my granddaughter and I'll fuck up your life.

Some of the tension eases from my shoulders, but I still give them one last suspicious side eye that Axel catches instantly. He's out of his seat and standing behind me in seconds. His touch steadies me further. When I tilt my head back to look up at him, I'm placated. He stares back, eyes practically telling me to 'remember his promise'.

The phone is still ringing when I nod my head, only looking away from Axel when I hear Alec answer it with, "Alec speaking."

One of the maids whose name I can't recall, hurries over to refill my mug and leaves just as quickly. As soon as the room is clear of any other staff, Alec sets the phone on the table and puts it on speaker.
"Walt, you're on speaker with the Faction Commanders present."

I hone in on Owen, watching how he perks up at Walt's name. He's definitely been looking into my people. I suspected as much given his comment about doing just that last night, but I wasn't clear on the extent of it. Walt technically isn't on my team. He's part of the administration. That Owen knows about him, and knows enough to be interested when his name's brought up, means he's had his tech guys dig fairly deep. That could be a problem.

Owen's already shown his distaste for anything not within the realms of the law. My team's backgrounds look filthy without context. Without knowing the full picture, it's not too farfetched to assume Owen will only see the bad and not question it further.

Feeling my eyes on him, he turns to me and glowers as much as his stoicism will allow. He's mostly unreadable in general except where his distaste for me is concerned. That he doesn't bother hiding in the slightest. Axel must catch the exchange because he gives my shoulders a reassuring squeeze. It reminds me of his promise again and that's the reason I sit back in my seat instead of taking this phone call outside.

I've got to quit hyper focusing on Owen anyways. There's thirteen other members in their Faction that could be lions in waiting, and I haven't given them more than a passing thought.

Sighing, I sip on my coffee and say, "It's fine, Walt." I know the reason he's remained silent is because he needs me to clarify if he can speak freely or not. For all he knows, Alec and I are being held at gun point. Considering our history with the Syndicate, it's not that far out of the realm of possibility.

Walt clears his throat, the only inclination that he's uncomfortable. He opens with, "Nightshade and Hennessy have wrapped things up on their end. Do you want them to meet you in the states?"

Lovely, I can go ahead and mark this off my list over coffee.

"No. I want everyone to stay away from here as much as possible going forward. Have them sit tight at HQ with you for now." I keep my gaze lowered and relaxed on the table, listening for the subtle nuances Walt might slip into the conversation now that he's aware we have unwanted guests.

"Very well, I'll let them know. I take it we're having issues with -."
I cut him off, "To say in the least. Dec and Gabriella?"
"There was a bit of a change in plans."
I raise a brow at that and look up to eye the phone, "Care to elaborate?"

Permission to explain in front of our company granted, he divulges, "The target ended up being en route to D.C. and they made the adjustments. It was a bit tricky, but they worked it all out and have wrapped up early. I just got the call not an hour ago. I tried getting ahold of Alec earlier."

I chuckle quietly when I catch Alec's put out expression to the accusatory tone Walter spoke in. Sipping my coffee with curled lips, I tell Walt, "My fault I'm afraid. So they got it?"

"Indeed."
I perk up at this, my mood improving tenfold in seconds. Alec shares a gleeful look with me, just as relieved as I am that something has finally gone right with this damned mission.

Ben was sent in to handle the French Embassy where a certain ambassador of interest is staying for a few weeks. Philippe Etienne, usually in the USA as the French ambassador, returned home for work related dealings. Not only is he suspected of cohorting with some of our targets, he also has invaluable intel on his person regarding security measures for the Russian border. Which we'll need to get inside the country under the radar.

Over seventy percent of Russia is a suicide mission to attempt entering at. Once over the European border into the Asian border, it's the Wild West. Siberia is a frozen hell scape and there's frigid wilderness that makes beasts out of the most civilized men. What little I've gotten from that side of the country alludes to an almost self governed territory with little oversight from the leaders.

That in mind, we have a very small margin of border to work with and we have to split up and enter at different entry points to boot.

Declan and Gabriella, went in for another matter with another ambassador who was supposed to be at the Ukrainian Embassy. It'd been my hopes that Declan would be able to gain access to the information we needed on the ambassador's computer from afar, but that didn't pan out. Unsurprising given the history of the country we're trying to infiltrate.

It seems they ran into another road block though. That they took the initiative to reroute and carry on without giving pause, makes me very proud. I expect nothing less from my team.

Okasana Markarova is the current Ukrainian ambassador that works in the United States. Apparently him and Etienne decided to share plans, because both were meant to return home this month from the US. Okasana just so happens to have video meetings with a handful of the Oligarchs high on our list. While this doesn't mean he's involved in any way with the kleptomancy currently running Russia's political system, he's got intel on key players that very much are playing on the board.

We need access to his computer files, else we risk going in fully blind. Those recorded conversations are near priceless to me right now. Not to mention, according to the sole update I'd gotten from Declan since I sent them out on the field, our dear Okasana has dinner plans with the favorite oligarch of the Russian president.

Not only did they get what we needed from Okasana, they did it with time to spare from the deadline I gave them.

"Bra-vo," I enunciate with a smile. Now if only Ben can wrap things up, we can actually say we're getting somewhere.

Walt sounds as much a smug parent as I do, "Despite their bickering, they truly do make an amazing team. I've already ordered them to evacuate and head to zone X3, but I'll reroute them to HQ with everyone else."

"Perfect. Has Dec had a chance to -," I'm cut off by the sound of my own phone ringing. There's a noticeable pause in the air, as if everyone can just sense how serious it is. It could very well just be one of the others giving me an update, but usually Alec or Walt does that. Hennessy, Nightshade, Gabriella, and Declan are all en route to HQ, or will be at least.

That only leaves one unless it's another ominous phone call.

Ben.

Looking at the screen, I feel a chill go down my spine. Ben's burner phone number flashes on the screen like an alarm, the picture of us goofing off in front of the Eiffel Tower together taunting me. We'd been a bit tipsy that day...and it hadn't even been nine in the morning yet. Our dumbasses decided to do a mock photo shoot for fun and in one of my poses, I'd accidentally popped him across the head with my bag.

Alec leans in over my shoulder, seeing the same thing I am, "Shit."
"What is it? Is everything alright," Walt asks, obviously unable to see what's going on.
Swallowing the rock in my throat, I tell him in a mellow tone, "It's Ben."

Walt splutters something, but my brain finally catches up to me, realizing this could be an emergency and we're all being idiots by waiting. In less than a second, I've answered the call and have the phone to my ear.

"Ben?"
"Shit, this went to hell," he exclaims, sounding like he's been running and is out of breath.

I'm on my feet in an instant, hand splayed on the table, "What happened?"

I vaguely hear Alec scrambling about, the faction men shifting, and Walt asking Alec, "What's going on? What's happened to Ben?"

It's all in the background, Ben's voice taking front and center in my focus, "That Ambassador I've been trying to hunt down, found me out. I'm being pursued as we speak. Fucker definitely is in cahoots with those bastards."

Of fucking course he is...I whip my head to Alec like a blade and bark out, "A-10X9."
Alec had been leaning back in his seat, tension winding his entire body, but he nods without hesitation at my command. He pulls a laptop from the shoulder bag he'd brought down here by his feet, flopping it on the table roughly and waking it up with frantic energy.

We've sectored off certain locations by code, a randomized sequence of letters and numbers assigned to key locations to help with security and secrecy over communications that can be easily compromised. Every time we pursue something new, Declan takes the time to assign the codes to the new areas. It would have been too time consuming and tedious to have one man code the entire planet, not to mention a waste of talent, so Walt and I made the decision together to only code locations as we tackle them. In theory, over the years it should accumulate and come together.

Walt, only able to get half the conversation, asks, "He's compromised?"
I lean over Alec's shoulder, watching Ben's beacon on the map. I mumble in Alec's ear, hyper focused on getting my agent out of danger, "Run Dec's program and pull the street cams up for me."

Alec gets to work doing just that. Vaguely, I can feel Axel's presence looming from behind, watching us utilize secret programs that could be fatal to us all if they fall into the wrong hands.

I should have him step back. I should tell him to mind his own business. I don't do either. Instead, I allow it and I'm not sure if that'll prove to be something I regret later or appreciate. Only time will tell.

I want to have faith in Paw and his judgement, but the Syndicate doesn't hold the same standard of morals Paw has. Not as a whole they don't. Perhaps there are others in their organization like him, perhaps the Blackbourne-Toma Faction is one of those. Again, time will tell.

"Very compromised," I tell Walt, eyes studying the layout of Paris on the right side of the screen, Ben's beacon blinking along a cluttering of compact streets. Alec's fingers work as fast as they can to boot up the other program. He's not as quick as Declan is, but he's better than I am. I practically type like a grandma.

A warped sound comes from the speakers as the program finally pulls up on the left side of the screen. Alec curses instantly, "Shit, there's about fifteen of them on bikes."
"Alley system?"
Alec scans the map on the right, clicking away at various options with the Bluetooth mouse, "Yeah. Here." He points at the screen for my benefit, showing me an intricate system of alleyways that could give him an upper hand in escaping.

I look over to Dec's program that will hack into public cameras briefly while following a pinpointed target. It's a complex program that is near impossible to trace. More often than not we use it to follow our own people in situations exactly like this one, or to follow a target. The program only infects a camera briefly before bouncing onto the next, leaving no trace behind. We're there and gone before they can get an alert out, if they even notice at all.

Ben is running down a cobblestone street, looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds. His blonde hair is mussed and sticking up on one side. They'd probably cornered him while he'd been asleep.

"Alright, Ben. Listen up. There's a very narrow alleyway coming up in about twenty feet. Take it, and don't lose momentum." I keep my voice steady and reassuring even though my heart is racing as fast as his likely is. As a friend, I'm freaking out, but as his Commander I've got to keep my shit together for them. Ben needs me to be the voice of reason because he's scared and in a tight spot. Ben needs someone to walk him out of this alive and I can't do that if I'm wigging out too.

"Got it," Ben says, sounding calmer now that he knows he has backup. That's right Ben. You aren't alone. Not while I'm still breathing.

"I've got backup coming in to evacuate him. Can you get him to the park?" Walt asks through Alec's cellphone. Alec hurries over the map, clicking and zooming in on a large green area nearby Ben's location, "Yeah, there's one ten blocks out."

My eyes briefly skim where Alec has paused the map, flickering back to Ben's grainy image running down the narrow alleyway I'd told him to. "Left," I order him under my breath, placing my phone on the table to the right of the laptop. Calmly, I press the speaker button.

The room fills with Ben's heavy breathing, a sharp intake of air as he looks over his shoulder and sees no one there. My eyes glance at the phone before returning back to bouncing between the map and the cameras. "You're going to be okay, Ben. We're right there with you," I soothe.

"Next time-," He cuts off to take a few gulps of air, "Next time, Hen's doing this shit."
I chuckle low, not letting on how worried I am about the way his pursuers are veering off like they have a plan, "You and I both know he doesn't have the finesse for a job like this."

A notification pops up on the screen - a message from Walter:
E V A C    E N    R O U T E
LOC:    9   B L O C K S     F R O M   B E N
2   C O P T E R S
1    D O C T O R
5   G U N S

Likely he sent that to give me control over the information released to the room at large. We weren't expecting to have to deal with this when I'd agreed to talk out things with the faction.
That being said, I have eyes on all of them, including their tech guys, Victor and Corey. They shouldn't be able to interfere with the evacuation. I'm more concerned that Axel is looking at the laptop over my shoulder seeing the intricate programming Declan concocted specifically for our use. I'll have to put Dec on high alert for an intrusion. One order and those two will try to steal or undermine our resources.

"We've got an incoming evac heading to a park nine blocks out from your location. ETA, Walt?"
"Three minutes," he replies, rustling in the speaker his call is coming in through letting me know there are others there with him, helping him execute things as quietly as possible.

Walt and I started The Foundation together, and I, myself, meticulously handpicked our team, but they aren't the only team in our organization. Some are more privy to the full picture, most are not. Some are part of a whole chain of action that only deals with the philanthropic side of things, some are on the ground like my team is. While Walt is at HQ by himself until the others arrive, he isn't without the means to pull something like this off.

It's the perfect lie we've sold to the United Nations - that we are few, when in fact, we are many.

"Hear that, Ben?"
"Yep," he pants out, voice a pitch higher than normal.

With things in order, I cover the mic on my phone so Ben can't overhear and look to Paw. Quietly, I ask him, "Can you get Declan on the phone? I can't drop either of these calls."
Paw doesn't hesitate. He's got the phone ringing, on speaker, and on the table in front of him in seconds.

"Aye, old man! That shite drivin' ye up the wall yet?"
I go to retort while Paw's busy chuckling but am distracted by Sean choking on his drink directly in front of me.

I raise a brow at him. It's unwilling how for a brief moment as I scan his body, that I find myself entranced. He's scruffy today, more than the day we first met. His hair is wild and curly, unbrushed likely, and framing his jaw. His tan from lands far away has roughened his skin a touch. It'll age him if he isn't more careful. He's wearing a beige woven cloth button-up, with stylish khaki pants, the sleeves rolled up his bulging forearms.

For a second, my finger is edging the waist of his sleep pants away from his abdomen again. A dusting of golden hair tickles the back of my knuckles, and for a moment when I am tugging them down to his ankles, I feel the hardened flesh pushing back with force. It'd practically been begging for me to make the ache go away.

Those pretty green eyes of his look into mine when he gets his cough under control. Clearing his throat, he elaborates, "Sorry, wasn't expecting that."

People rarely do when it comes to Declan. My lips curl in one corner, our eyes locked together. But of course, Declan ruins it.
"Ey, who tha' feck was that?"

I look away from Sean and get back to business, "Focus, Dec. Location A-10X9. Now. Ben's in a bind."
My Irishman grumbles through the speaker, "Canna even catch me breath before ye're bossin' me 'round again.'

Alec sighs in exasperation. His expression says everything his dignity won't allow with Paw and company present. I smirk, still actively scanning the screen in case things take a turn for the worse. "I seem to recall you liked that about me," I tease.

Dec's not having it. Raising his voice in belligerence, he calls back, "Listen e're ye feckin -!"

"Callaia? Is that you," Gabriella cuts off Declan. It sounds like she shoved him out the way honestly. "Ey! I was talkin' ye Spanish flouzy!"
I can practically see her waving him away with her hand while she poshly snubs him, "Shut up, Declan. The women are talking."

Taking over the phone call when I truly do need Declan working on this, Gabriella hijacks the conversation, "What's going on?"

"Never a dull moment around here," Walt grumbles blandly to no one in particular. I'm too focused on steering Ben now though, so Alec fills her in.
"Keep heading straight for now, Ben. We're analyzing the situation for you as fast as we can."
"Alright, Commander," Ben confirms, keeping a steady pace from the looks of the beacon.

Gabriella curses when Alec finishes up explaining it to them, " Damn it. We got him an out, right?"
"But of course we do, Gabby," Walt croons gently. Paw beams at the phone once they've reached a pause in the exchange, "Hello, Gabby dear. I missed you at the last luncheon."

Preening, her accent thickens with delight, "Ivan, darling! Oh, how I've missed you! You know how it is though. Busy, busy, busy, is my middle name. I'm so sorry to hear -."
A squawk and a thud cuts her off, followed by an 'oomph'.

Further away from the phone than she had been, she yells, "Hey! I was catching up with -!"
Declan cuts her off again, rapid key tapping nearly drowning them both out in the speaker, "Yeah, yeah, it's a right reunion. Babe, watch his right. They're up to something."

Thank you, Declan.

My eyes trace what he pointed out. As soon as I see it, I'm cursing. They're trying to herd him to a single point, where more are waiting for him. If he doesn't hurry, they just might succeed. Damn it. It's times like these when I wish I was there with them. I could easily get their focus solely on me and give Ben the chance to get away. "Ben, haul ass," I bark at him.
His little blinking beacon picks up speed a bit and the cameras show him tucking his ass as his legs hightail it, "I'm haulin'! I'm haulin'!"

Alec grimaces, mumbling for my ears only, "The hell did he get into?"
I shake my head and whisper back, "A hot mess, that's what."

"Feckin' hell! Get off me, woman!" Declan bellows.
Chaos resumes on their side of things. Grunts and jabs exchanged equally from the sounds of it. Dec's never given two fucks if his adversaries have vaginas. He'll 'crotch-shot' them as well, in his own words.
"Give me the phone!" Gabriella crows.
"I'll give ye a fat lip, 'is what I'll do!"

Owen decides this is the perfect time to add himself into the shit show I'm trying to manage in the middle of a crisis. "Could you muzzle your Irishman? He's making my ears bleed."
I sigh heavily.

He tends to have that affect on people.

"Ey! Listen e're ye -!"
"Not the time," I cut him off before he goes off on a tangent and loses focus on what I really need him to stay focused on. "We all hate him."

Catching himself, Declan gets back to work - shoving Gabriella aside one last time from the sounds of it - and grumbles out, "I hate all ye feckers."

Gabriella goes in for a counterattack, "Aw, but we luv you!"
A computer chair rolls and there's the sounds of a scuffle, "Get off me! Ye're tits are blockin' me screen!"

Marc snickers into his hand, eyes dancing merrily between every phone as they sound off. I imagine this is amusing to anyone on the outside. For those of us left to reign in the little mongrels, it's not quite as hilarious.

Alec and I share an exasperated look, then face the laptop again.
"Ben's going to die," Alec inputs blandly.
"I don't want to die!"
I pop him on the arm, "Shut up."
"You're not going to die, Ben," I say with the intent to comfort him, but it comes out rather dry instead.

Alec isn't done however, "We really need to disown the lot of them."
"We'll revisit that later," I say perfectly serious despite the curl of my lips.

"HEY!" Declan, Gabriella, and Ben all cry out at once. Walt chuckles to himself.

Sean spins around in his chair to hide his laugh, attempting to smother it into the velvet backing. He's really the only one I can see without turning my head. I'm honestly scared to even look. I imagine they think we're either complete morons or psychopaths after hearing the usual shenanigans that transpires on my team.

I'm their commander, not their drill sergeant. While I'm sure the faction commanding officers will probably disagree with my methodology, I refuse to stifle my agents by ruling with an iron fist. They're total morons at times, sure, but they each have the right to speak up and speak out, as well as having a unique skill set only they can provide The Foundation. The way I see it, if an organization thinks they have the right to utilize someone's skill set for their benefit, then those we're utilizing have the right to speak up without fear of retaliation.

Though right now, I do kind of want to throttle them...
God, they're exhausting.

A hand rests on my upper spine. I look over my shoulder and see Axel leaning in close, using my back to keep his balance. He's got an amused smirk on his face. Given how quiet he's been throughout this entire fiasco, I honestly assumed his opinion of me lost a few points. He glances at me for a second. In that second, I see exasperated understanding and good humor. Apparently, I'm not the only one in charge of a group of talented idiots. They give a whole new meaning to the term 'oxymorons'.

Axel nods at the laptop making me turn my attention back to the Ben debacle. "Tell him to take the angled strip a block ahead. It should cut him through to the park a half a block away from where they're circling him to. It may just buy him enough time."

I don't waste much time running his plan through my head before I'm nodding to myself and order Ben to follow Axel's plan.

As we watch him scurry along the angled alleyway, as we watch the handful on motorcycles trying to hurry around the sector to cut him off, all I can focus on is the growing heat low on my back. Axel's hand presses into my flesh, his breath leaves a humid touch on the back of my ear.

The way he's curled himself along my back leaves me with the phantom experience of having his body pressing into me from behind. My mind conjures up scenes of us in the dark, the sheets twisting around our limbs. My gasps are punctuated by his devilish coos, urging me to give into him. Every damned touch he snakes along my flesh burns with euphoric hellfire. This daydream becomes so vivid, my body coils in reaction to his hips rolling violently into me from behind. I can even feel the sting of his hips slapping against my ass with every thrust.

Axel slides his hand up higher, jerking me out of my fantasy and leaving tingles in the wake of his touch. I can practically feel my pupils dilate.
Fuck me, this man is dangerous.

The air in my lungs leaves me in a whoosh once I see with my own eyes that Ben is taking the hand of a man holding an automatic weapon in the back of the helicopter. Gunshots ring out on the phone. Ben curses, letting the agent in black military gear yank him up in one pull. He falls into the helicopter just in time for it to start lifting off the ground.

All of us hold our breath, watching the agent shoot back at Ben's pursuers. Alec's hand clenches the wireless mouse until the plastic creaks in protest. I place my hand on the back of his, tightening my fingers in solidarity.

We may look like a mismatched band of vigilante criminals to the rest of the world, but we've become so much more than that over the years. We're a family. An odd family, but a family nonetheless. We bicker about someone borrowing our shit without asking, we throw insults back and forth in the middle of important life or death situations, and we get shit faced after we survive another stint in the field. We do all of that and more, and yet if one of us is crossed - all of us are crossed. No one is left behind.

There's not a government, agency, or world leader that'll make a lick of difference when we come in to reclaim one of our own. Hell hath no fury like our team when scorned. No border or law will be able to keep us away.

Even if it's a lost cause. Even if I have to send everyone but myself back to safety. I'll keep fighting to get to them until my last breath.

"Ben!" I call out when the helicopter leaves our line of sight and there's radio silence on his call. the others remain quiet, each waiting with bated breath for Ben to confirm he got out without being shot in the process.

A bang, a slap against metal, then a groan before his heavy breathing fills the silence. I can practically hear the exhales of relief from the others even though I can't see them. There would've been blood to spill had he not made it.
"I'm fine," he wheezes. Then, because no one on my team can act right, he jokes, "Dodged a bullet."

Alec shares my sentiment, "Not funny."

The relief I feel is so potent I would've hit my knees if not for Axel subtly sliding his hand to hold my hip. He does it without bringing attention to it, without ratting me out to the other commanders in very close proximity.

"Did ye get it at least," Declan asks, not even bothered by the joking. We've all done it at some point, but Ben is our resident lighthearted jokester. He's got a response for everything.

"Obviously," Ben tells him, the smile obvious in his voice.
"And?" Walt pries.
"We got our in."

Those four words are music to my ears and the rest share my sentiment. Declan hoots, Gabriella cheering with him. Walt gives him a metaphorical pat on the back, "Good job, son." Alec perks up, a smile growing when he looks over at me to see me already looking at him with a half-smile of my own.

I turn back to my cell that has Ben's call active on it, "Good job, Ben. Now get your ass to HQ and sit tight. We're setting up a War Room once everyone's on land."
"Roger that, Commander."
Blandly, I sigh out, "Don't call me -."
"Oops! Losing signal! Byaiiii!"

I glower at the phone as if he can actually see it, watching as the call ends and the screen goes dark. I'm aware I keep referring to myself as their commander, or at the least they look to me to act like one, but I still kind of resent the title. I never actually deemed myself as their commander. In fact, I'd intended us to all be equals, but somewhere along the line everyone - and I do mean everyone at The Foundation - started referring to me as that. If there's a problem in any sector, even the ones I have no business dealings with directly, I'm the one they run to for advice. Not Walter who handles the paperwork and public relations - me.

Walt chuckles, finding humor in my misery like he's in on the joke, "You heard her kids. Get ready for the War Room. Ben should be here by that time, but you two will have to sit tight until after. Then I want you to head this way immediately. No pit stops. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aye, aye, Capitaine!" Declan exclaims in a poor French accent. He hangs up right after and Paw tucks his phone in his breast pocket. Walt still lingers on the line, waiting for me to give him my last order.
"I'll text you as soon as we're ready here."
"Got it, Commander," he teases, hanging up like the coward he is.

If he keeps it up, I'm snatching his cane the next time I see him.

Alec shuts the laptop and I sink into my chair again, slouching against the back while I pretend to not notice how my rear drug down Axel's front. I pretend I didn't notice his hard on either. Apparently, I wasn't the only one having issues keeping my mind out of the gutter.

Both of us groan now that the excitement is over. "It's never dull anymore," Alec whines.

I know what he means. The more we grow as an organization, the more chaotic things seem to be getting. Case and point, this entire Russia fuckery. I'm sure some would say getting ominous phone calls from nameless people means we're moving up in the world. I'm just irritated with the whole mess personally. While my team seems excited to take this assignment on, eager to rise to the challenge, I'm wary.

The anonymous man on the phone leaves a bad taste in my mouth and has kept me up a couple of nights this week. I don't like it. At all. I very well couldn't look the other way though, no matter what my gut says. Could anyone? Could anyone find out what I found out and not help?

I rub my eyes, pointedly ignoring everyone else blatantly staring at me from all angles of the dining table. Getting to my feet, I grumble out, "I need more coffee before I can deal with anymore shit this morning."

"Hear, hear," Alec says blandly, pumping a lazy fist up into the air.

🌐

𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎 𝚃𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝙼𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝙲𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚂𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎
𝟷𝟷 𝙰.𝙼.

Axel eyes the room somberly, taking in the others from his faction. While Callaia and her moody companion, Alec, wrap up some things for their elusive organization and get everything in order for this 'War Room' of theirs, they decided it'd be as good a time as any to make sure everyone's on the same page. If all goes well and to plan for her, they'll be leaving the states tomorrow.

He can't help how his lips curl when he thinks of that girl. Callaia entices him in a way that leaves him feeling windswept. She's like a panther stalking seductively throughout the manor, her predatory gaze honing in on every soul in her sights. And like the panther, she calculates every move, every decision. She's both mysterious and transparent.

Mysterious in the way that her motives are still unknown. Her quick agreement to let them come along with her as she does whatever it is she does, has caused some concerns amongst his agents. It almost seemed too easy.

She's also transparent to an extent - her irritation and rage coming through those pretty blues with piercing clarity. She holds herself well, with an air of nonchalance and predatory playfulness, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn. And yet, she can't seem to always control her knee-jerk reactions, her tail fluffing out without permission.

It drives him insane the more he thinks about it. They've kept their interactions civil and distant since meeting, but there's this animalistic undercurrent between them. It's something primal and magnetic. It has him losing focus and thinking of nothing else but devouring her sinful mouth and ravishing her until she feels like she can't breathe.

She's still practically a stranger, but he doesn't want her to be. That menacing attraction between them demands he dive deep into the depths of her soul and uncover each fragment of it that she keeps hidden.

The commander who's earned her people's unwavering loyalty and who openly jokes around with them even in dire circumstances. The woman that doesn't belong with the other fine ladies she grew up with. The little girl with a vulnerability hidden in her eyes that tells a tale of being bit by the world one too many times. That sultry seducer that has been playing dangerous games with him since they first met. The young woman dying to revel in her youth and savor the pleasures of life even with the pressures of the path she chose. The person at The Foundation as who she is presently, that went through something so life altering she decided it was up to her to do something about it.

Every facet of her fascinates him. It's why as Kota reviews what they all already know so far, he's trying to figure out the best way to protect her. He promised her after all, in this very room, that he'd keep Owen in line and play fair if she plays fair.

"I'm going to summarize everything briefly to make sure everyone is on the same page before we continue. Understood?"
Kota's eyes scan them all in turn and each nods once when he gets to them.

"We've agreed to take on the mission handed over to us by Phil Roberts and his colleague, Ivan Sosa. This mission is to accompany and watch over his granddaughter at least until his imminent death, with his hopes for a romantic relationship between us and her in the hind of our minds."

Axel barely takes in what Kota's saying, mind still turning over his dilemma. He truly believes that his promise is why she let him in a bit at breakfast today. He'd taken a risk, giving her advice like that, but she didn't snap at him or even look at him suspiciously. She trusts him to an extent. She has to. Otherwise, she wouldn't have listened to him, considered his plan of action to help one of her men, and then utilized it the way she did.

To Axel, that says a lot about her as a person. It told him the sort of leader she is - a fair one who prioritizes her agents above all else. She's never too prideful to not listen to outsider information or to allow others to help her so that she can help them. A good leader leads not with their ego but with their people.

That being said, there's definitely a threat to any alliance, no matter how tentative, they might be able to garner between the two rivaling groups. Axel looks over to where Owen sits with a contemplative gaze.

He sits in the armchair nearest to the fireplace, perching in it like a king with his arms resting on the chair arms. His hands hang over the edge and his expression is stoic. His face gives nothing away despite the fact he'd lost his cool multiple times that morning alone with Callaia. She took it in stride, but that may not be the case once they're in a more stressful environment.

Owen's always been a stickler for the rules, but his hatred for their charge is truly astounding and abnormal. Axel has never seen him lose it like he has been since they agreed to take on this mission. At work, Owen's as fierce and cutting as a blade. He expects order and diligence, but he's not unkind or unfair.

Back at their place, in the comfort of their home, Owen relaxes even. He'll tease the others and even allow them to coerce him into playing video games with them. He tends to his garden with a peaceful smile on his face and lounges around in his pajamas until noon on their days off.

Owen being a machine at work who takes his job seriously is nothing new. Owen lashing out at a girl six years younger than them and losing his temper, is not typical by any means.

Something about Callaia is personal to him, but Axel is at a loss as to what that something is. He doubts he'll find out anytime soon either knowing Owen as he does. He holds his cards close.

It's imperative that Axel keeps Owen on a leash. Despite what he told her, there's a real danger of Owen acting on his own. He's not behaving like he normally does which means he's unpredictable. Usually, Axel could guarantee how Owen would behave in a situation, but like this? It's very likely Owen will break protocol and sabotage everything these people have been working towards just to win. He likely won't even think about the repercussions. He'll just act on his own volition and possibly endanger their faction in the process.

Axel tunes back in, turning his head towards Kota who is still reiterating what they've already uncovered about the situation - including the impromptu affair at the airport. Now that was a pretty sight.

What better introduction to the woman herself than seeing her stalk off a plane, surrounded by her guards, like a celebrity criminal on the prowl. She'd missed nothing, pinpointing every single one of them without fail, even those who weren't intentionally trying to rile her as Nathan and Brandon had been. Luke had been tickled pink.

With cool indifference, she'd taken a call and had whoever was on the other side getting eyes on us according to Corey.

That'd been a huge cause for concern to a portion of the team. It was also the first clue that Callaia was more than was believed by the Syndicate. She had people - damn good people - and they adored her.

Which could be a dangerous combination.

He isn't sure she's even aware of it, but the incident from this morning illuminated a lot. Even over the phone he could make out how at ease they felt with her, how friendly they'd been. A few even spoke with admiration, as if they looked up to her more than saw her as an equal. He'd hanker a bet that that's why she detests being referred to as 'Commander'. She sees them as equals even if some of the others may not. Being deferred to an elevated status like they tend to do, must make her uncomfortable.

Which is unusually adorable for such a lethal sort of woman.

Her vast connections became clearer as days passed - secret covert operations in the shadows of bars, anonymous phone calls and espionage being undertaken under the ruse of glamour the manor portrays, faceless voices that make her orders happen without hesitation. Our research showed something grander, larger on scale. A charity of all things masks the real worker bees at play in the shadows. Those shadow workers are the real issue we have. Corey and Victor are some of the best hackers in the Syndicate and someone on par with them has made it a Herculean task to even get basic intel on Callaia's agents.

It's honestly terrifying to think how many of them there could be. While Callaia's precious Foundation is an obvious thorn in the UN's side, I don't think even they know the full scale of mayhem she's wrought on the world - right underneath their noses too.

When Kota speaks, he easily gathers the attention of their faction. He has this way about him that they all respect. He's often the one they go to with personal dilemmas, and the one to resolve conflicts between their teammates. This direct contact with the regular agents has given him an upper hand when concerning the others that the other four commanders haven't managed to replicate.

"Upon further inspection and research done by Corey and Victor, we uncovered a far grander network than what we expected to find. Instead of a handful of vigilante agents acting without structure, it appears there's a larger operation underfoot though we've been unable to truly get a full picture of the scale and intricacy of said operation. The obscurity of their organization has been used as an effective cloak and we can't seem to glean further information at this time. Ivan's granddaughter, Callaia, seems to be one of the main leaders, if not the leader, of this organization. We are unsure at this time if they're a threat to the public, but so far it seems their intentions are non-hostile.

Going forward we intend to aid them in their current endeavor over in Russia to the best of our abilities and without jeopardizing our morality. We all go into this knowing and understanding that we will be under Callaia's protocols instead of our own, and that we won't be operating 'business as usual'," Kota wraps up his summarization, keen eyes watching all of them.

Kota then asks, as is customary at their meetings, "Are there any questions? Is anyone unsure of what I've gone over thus far?"
When everyone remains silent, Axel pushes off the wall, "Moving on then."

The attention turns to him. Axel uncrosses his arms and tucks one hand in his slack's pocket, "I'd like to review this morning a bit, as well as divulge the agreement I made with Callaia last night during the meeting between us commanding officers."

His eyes briefly flicker to Owen as he brings up last night, noting the flash of anger in his expression before he smooths it over. Axel knows it was his blind trust in her and his promise that salvaged any hopes they might have of pursuing her past a professional relationship. She's cautious by nature and is constantly studying them even if they don't realize it. Their faction may have been studying her, but she's been studying them just as severely if not more so.

Axel can't find it in himself to be upset with her about it. In her shoes, with the obvious love she has for her people, he'd be wary of their intentions too.

That being said, she knew Axel had been looking over her shoulder the entire time and permitted him, trusted him, to see secret computer programs that could sabotage her and all dear to her if it got in the wrong hands. That trust in him, in his promise, took down mountains between them. She may still view them as the enemy, but Axel sees her as a comrade to fight alongside that he can trust going forwards.

Honoring her trust in him this morning, he doesn't divulge what he's learned in full. It's of no consequence if they don't know and he'd rather not risk the safety of what's likely hundreds of individuals just trying to do something good in the world. Not when this relationship is still new and fresh. Not when so many of his own agents and fellow commanders are viewing things through a lens of suspicion and distrust. It'd only hinder any further progress they could make with her if Owen or North use the knowledge against Callaia and her people.

"This morning we witnessed Callaia and her agents at work. It was deeply insightful for us and definitely put me at ease. I'm not sure what the rest of you took away from it, but I saw a great leader who takes the lives of those under her command very seriously. Despite any of your personal feelings about her at the moment, you can't pretend she's some evil villain out to burn the world to the ground," Axel states evenly, studying them in hopes of seeing how they each feel. They may not all be on board, but it's a good start.

Continuing, Axel proclaims, "What I saw today was a leader that has earned her people's trust, devotion, and loyalty. Anyone can hire someone to have to obey them, but not just anyone can have those under them blindly trust them as we witnessed today. Her agent that was in a dire circumstance, knew and never doubted she'd resolve it for him. An older gentleman deferred to a girl much younger than himself, which many would find insulting. The other three, with ease, executed her orders without question and felt safe enough and comfortable enough to joke around her even in a serious situation that I myself have witnessed many leaders lose their cool during.

All of these speak loudly of her character and it's my hope these observations may put some of your minds at ease. We're going into a hostile situation under the command of someone who, up until recently, we viewed as a lawless wildcard. We've grown accustomed to seeing these characteristics amongst our own, but it's important to take note of them in those outside of our own community. She's shown her agents that's she's reliable and will get them out safely. That's not something earned overnight."

North cuts in here before Axel can continue. He barely heard half of what he'd said, too caught up in his own irritation with the circumstances they've found themselves in. A little girl running a play pretend espionage organization literally has their lives in her hands. There's a certain level of trust they'll have to give her just to cross into Russia. For all they know, they could get over there and she'll throw them to the wolves and carry on. "Look, that's all well and good, but it's bothering me how organized they are. I was under the impression when we first agreed to this that they were a bunch of meddling criminals, not a vigilante organization with the build of an elaborate crime ring. I don't know about this. Maybe we should step back before we get in too deep and end up at the wrong side of a gun."

Marc grunts in mild annoyance, side eying Owen's dark expression of bitter agreement. He always knew North would be a tough sell, which is going to be problematic in the future if that doesn't change. Luke and Silas won't go too far with her if he's being bullheaded. It won't matter how much they care for her.  Same with Sean if Owen keeps it up. Maybe they won't pursue her romantically in the end, but North and Owen's adamance to paint her as a bad guy is just bad juju all around. They need to work together when in the hot zone or people's lives, their people's lives, will be on the line.

Looking North right in the eye, Marc coolly tells him directly, "Assuming they weren't organized was foolish on our part to begin with. You don't become a thorn in the UN's side by being a group of loose canons."

North leans forward, his mouth opening in a telltale sign that he's about to start bellowing like a beluga whale. Marc turns away from him to address the rest, "I'm with Axe on this one guys."

Axel and Marc share a brief look where they both come to an understanding. Imperceptibly, Axel gives him a subtle nod. Looking away before any of the others catch on, Marc carries on with his analysis, "You'd all be fools to underestimate them. I'm not saying that to make you distrust her or them, but to knock some sense into you. A lot of you are looking at them like they're beneath us, but obviously that isn't the case. Look, I'm not sure how she went about putting her team together, or even this organization of hers, but what I do know is she's a smart woman. Do you really think someone of her caliber and breeding would pick people who are incompetent or dangerous to the general public? Give her some credit. We'll be okay if we can just learn to work together."

Sean adds in his two cents with a pleasant smile as if he's unbothered by the entire mess, "Agreed. There's a couple of moral areas we'll butt heads on in the future, but all around they're an okay bunch. She had Ivan teach her about this life and it shows. I have no doubts that we'll all find a way to work together."

Axel nods, "That's why I promised her what I did. Our agreement that was so long as we work together, I won't allow any of you to jeopardize the safety or honor of her and her people without reason. We'll play as fair as she does."

Owen finally had enough. Glowering at his fellow Commander-in-Chief, he barely manages to keep his composure, "That was bold of you to promise, Mr. Toma."
He'd been irate with him then, and he's still irate with him now.

Axel shrugs, not at all bothered by Owen's temper, "I decided to put my trust in her. In return, she's done the same with me. I think that sets a good example for all of us to follow. When I gave her advice this morning, she didn't brush it off or ignore me simply because I'm the enemy in her eyes. We came to an agreement last night and in turn, she took what I said seriously. We worked together without issue."

Owen purses his lips, not at all happy but not willing to lose his temper in front of the others. They depend on him to be the cool-headed leader. He can't show his ass like he does when he's with the other commanders in private. If he starts acting nervous or anxious, they'll become nervous and anxious. He can't have that. That's how mistakes are made. That's how someone ends up hurt or dead.

Reeling himself in, he steeples his fingers and lowers his gaze, "Very well. I'll concede that your method worked in your favor, but I urge everyone here to proceed with caution. Observe them, gather intelligence, and above all else - watch each other's backs. Despite what conclusions some of you have drawn about her, she's still unknown territory."

Owen glances at them as they all mumble agreements of some kind. Taking the reins, Owen lowers his steepled hands to his crossed knee, looking more in control of himself than he has all week. That girl has proven to be adept at pushing his buttons without even trying. The daring glares she gives him, the arrogant haughty tilt of her chin as she stares him down like she's an equal, the confident way she stalks about as if she is sure of every decision she makes - all of it infuriates him on a subconscious level.

Callaia Sosa is dangerous and lethal if half of what is in her file is true. She's a criminal and undermines all the hard work of civil governments in the modern era every time she goes out to play god. That she has the audacity to stand toe to toe with him as if they stand on equal moral grounds, as if she truly believes she's helping instead of being a hindrance, puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

He'd love nothing more than to see her lowered down to where she belongs, to see her face justice by his own hands. Let her try to hold her chin up when she's looking at him through prison bars.

Nothing would bring him greater pleasure.

A bit timidly, Gabriel raises his hand. He knows he doesn't technically have to raise his hand, but the way their commanding officers are acting is making it tense in the room. They're really the only ones speaking with the exception of North. That's fine and all, but they're looking at this through the eyes of leaders. Sometimes a more casual perspective is needed. Owen looks at him, eyes softening before he nods.

He's always had a good relationship with Owen. He noticed him and not because he wore the brightest colors or cussed loudly like most of the others. He noticed him when he was pretending to be okay or when he was dealing with some mental health shit. Owen always made sure to take him aside and cater to his needs.

Once, Gabriel's antidepressants weren't working as well and he hadn't even noticed yet. But Owen did. Owen noticed before even Sean and made sure Gabriel was getting the care he needed, as well as setting aside time for them to have one-on-one talks.

Gabriel loves those talks. Owen doesn't just check in on his mental health, he asks about his latest artwork and what other projects he has in mind. Owen asks his advice for things like that blue tie that went rogue during a soirée. Those talks always remind him that he's seen and important to the faction.

While he doesn't share Owen's paranoia for Callaia, he does empathize with it and understand it. Nothing's more important to Owen than his faction and right now he sees the girl as a threat to everything he loves. He may not even realize that's why he's acting the way he is, but Gabriel knows him well enough to see that.

He thinks that if Owen and Callaia can just get over their differences, they'd be unstoppable. Not to mention those two are a hell of a picture when standing together - total Bond couple vibes.

"I'm not really going to say shit about my opinion of her, but I do want to add that at The Quartet, she had a few opportunities to really fuck shit up for us and those shady assholes there. She didn't though. At that point she didn't even know who we were or that her grandfather hired us. For all she knew we were there to hurt her, but she still didn't overreact. Same with those buffoons that actually were up to no good."

Gabriel looks away, uncomfortable with all the eye contact on him. Nervously spinning his earrings, he continues with an obvious nervous mumble, "I mean, yeah she dealt some hella damage. No one died though. That has to count for something, right?"

Raven nods solemnly, "Da. I agree. She's more like me - a little grey in the moral arena."
Corey sighs in exasperation. No matter how hard they tried to get Raven to understand that some things weren't up for self-interpretation, the big oaf stubbornly disagreed. Sounds like Callaia might be of similar mind.

While Corey likes her alright, it worries him what sort of influence she might have on Raven. If Raven is already connecting with her, then he may see her decision making as reasonable when in all actuality it's dangerous. He doesn't say anything though. Not yet anyways. He'll keep an eye on it himself.

Nathan leans back on the couch and makes an uncertain sound, "Ehh, I don't know about that Ray. She's a bit wild. All I saw that night was a tipsy girl with a gun and it gave me a nervous sweat."

Raven shrugs, "Sometimes you're too good and need to challenge yourself. I do it all the time."
Corey groans out loud this time and lets his head hang forward.

Nathan gives Raven a side-eye and drawls out, "Right."

Sean chuckles, "To each their own. I certainly won't judge."
Victor gives him a dry look, "That's because you have no room to judge. Or did you forget that your target pantsed you when you were sent in for recon?"

Sean shoots him a glare, sticking his tongue out. Owen makes a disgruntled noise of agreement in the back of his throat, so Sean turns his tongue on him.

Kota rolls his eyes and chastises Victor, "Let it go, Vic. It's not like she's an everyday civilian. She's on par with us to an extent. It could've happened to any of us."
Victor huffs, turning his head away arrogantly.

Gabriel drolly adds in, eyeing Victor as he does, "The way Vic was looking at her at the airport, I'd say he came real fucking close to finding out."
Victor jolts, cheeks turning bright as he splutters out an indecipherable indigent explanation.

He had been enamored by her. She's beautiful and stylish, all the while being confident and equally dangerous. That danger permeates her even when she's in heels and designer dresses. It's part of her soul. Her selfreliance drew him in almost more than her cool demeanor in combination with her angelic facade did. However...

Victor glances over at Owen, alluding to the reason his personality did a one-eighty with her. Their animosity with one another made him second guess his first opinion of her. Owen's observant and perceptive. If he doesn't like her then Victor feels like he missed something important about her and needs to treat her as if she's the enemy.

Sean, bouncing back quickly as he usually does and giving Victor an escape from the impending teasing that'd surely ensue, winks at Kota, "Besides, it wasn't exactly the worst way to be taken out by a woman. Once I got over the shock of it, even I had a laugh."
Marc chuckles along with Sean and Raven smirks over at him.

Owen, however, doesn't find it near as amusing as he does which Sean notices with a touch of malicious glee. "Oh, come now, Owen. You have to admit it's pretty funny. From the way the boys carried on about her at that bar I could've gotten a lot worse. That was practically flirting coming from her."

Dryly, Owen retorts, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sean. Though I hope soon you'll realize you were closer to flirting with death than you were with her."

Axel slyly smirks, "I believe he found that out last night with Marc."
Marc barks out at laugh. Sean shoots him a teasing wink, confirming his suspicions when all three came down together this morning. As to the extent of what went on in that bedroom, Axel can only guess, but his imagination is deliciously vivid when it comes to that girl.

Kota smiles at the room, "Alright, that's enough guys. I think we can all agree to be cautious but respectful at the very least."

Brandon scoffs, "Yeah, no."
Kota scowls at him.
Brandon scowls right back, "I don't trust the bitch and nothing you say is going to change that. All of you can ignore the obvious all you want, but her pretty pussy isn't going to distract me as easily."

"Dude," Luke whines and wrinkles his nose. While to an extent he definitely agrees that they need to watch her closely, he's not going to treat her like a ruined sex toy that they need to toss. Brandon has a tendency to 'dehumanize the enemy' so to speak though.

Luke turns his attention to North who feels vindicated by Brandon's outburst. What North says has him furrowing his brows in concern.
"Exactly. I say we set up a trap and let her walk her pretty ass right into a pair of handcuffs."

Raven looks North right in the eyes, shoulders tensing like he's about to jump in and fight despite his posture remaining lax, "Scared you're wrong, North? Is that why you're so eager to lock her up? Or is it that she's just too much woman for you?"

"Shut the fuck up, Raven!" North snarls.
Raven ignores him, nonchalantly popping a toothpick in his mouth and staring off at the art on the wall as if he said nothing. "A bunch a ninnies like you couldn't handle a woman like her anyways. Just reflects poorly on you. Not her. It's fine. I'll muss her good. She won't even know what she's missing."

The underhanded comment didn't go unnoticed, which with Raven can always be assumed to be intentional. 'She won't even know what she's missing' would usually be an insult on Raven in most circumstances, but in their group it's a slap in the face. They're a package deal. To say that is to say they won't be needed to keep her happy or satisfied.

The claim isn't lost on the group either. What Raven isn't saying rings louder than what he did say.

Gabriel's jaw drops and he can only gape at the damn Russian. Corey slaps his arm and chastises him under his breath where the others can't hear. North loses his shit though, "Are you fucking serious? You can't be that dumb!"

Raven finally looks back at him and snarls back, "I'm dead serious. I knew as soon as I saw her what my decision would be."

North steps forwards with his fists clenched at his sides as if he's about to punch Raven right in the mouth. Silas finally steps in, moving across the room to North's side with an agility that seems contrary of his large stature.

Silas gently grabs ahold of North's arm and murmurs to him, "You can disagree, but there's no reason to get this angry because of it. You can't control how he feels, North."

North shrugs Silas' grip off with a jerk. Silas doesn't fight him on it, but narrows his eyes in warning, promising him with a single look that he'll step in and stop him if he has to.
"So, you're okay with her? With a fucking criminal as a girlfriend?"

The room goes dead quiet at North's yelled question, almost like they're holding their breath to see what Silas will say. Silas isn't known to just say something he doesn't mean or believe in whole heartedly.

Silas' voice comes out calm and level even though he's glaring at North, "I don't know how I feel about her yet. Both sides make good points. What I do know is that I don't think she's the corrupt villain we've been told she is by our superiors back at the UN. I think we owe it to her to observe her and her team first before making any rash decisions or judgements."

"It's pretty black and white, Silas! She's breaking the law and is a danger to everyone because she interferes with official business that people like us are actually trained to handle!" North shouts right in Silas' face.

"Not to mention she's building a fucking criminal empire around herself, likely to hide behind when shit hits the fan. Don't slap virtues on her that she hasn't earned just because she's pretty and a chick. Mark my words, she's not a good guy and I bet when we go after her hard, she'll toss the ones you all keep claiming 'trust her' to the wolves to save her own ass," Brandon adds in. While not as angry as North, he's still adamantly against her.

Raven scoffs, "And if I say I don't give a shit one way or the other how you feel?"

North and Brandon turn cold stares on him. Raven smirks slow and purposeful, "What about 'I'm in'?"

Everyone knows exactly what he means as soon as he says it. Axel and Marc carefully study the others as Raven gives them the opportunity to observe each individual's genuine reactions to his claim.

Corey inhales sharply, looking over at Raven as if he can't believe those words just left his mouth. He slides a hand up Raven's arm and urgently tries to soothe his temper and simultaneously convince him he spoke out of anger, "Honey, you don't mean that. You can't mean that. They're on our team. They're our family."

Raven isn't swayed in the slightest. Keeping his eyes on the two hot heads, Raven leans to the side to place a gentle kiss on Corey's lips before answering him, "Da. They always will be, but I'm not letting her pass us by just because they can't pull their heads out of their asses. I'm. Fucking. In." He says the last three words with emphasis, looking right in North's eyes.

Marc steps between the two, even though Raven is still seated on the couch, and puts his hands up, "Hang on you guys. Calm down. No one is forcing anyone else to do anything - including dating Bombshell Barbie. Cool it."

Axel exhales a long slow breath, steadying himself for what he's about to ask of them. North's outburst has only cemented that this is going to be an uphill battle to get everyone on the same page.
"Since we're on the subject, I'd like each of you to tell me your stance on that aspect of our assignment."

Brandon opens his mouth like he's about to argue. Axel raises a hand to silence him and continues, "It has to be discussed. We agreed to consider it when we took on this mission and a few of us have already decided we're willing to pursue her romantically."

Nathan's head jerks back like he's shocked to hear that any of them are actually crazy enough to want to date her, "Wait? Who else besides the crazy Russian wants to date the Barbie?"

Axel and Marc share a look. Sighing heavily, he takes one for the team and raises his hand half heartedly, "Me."

The room stills as every eye turns to him. Raven smirks smugly as if he predicted this would be inevitable all along. Axel can't exactly disagree with him. A few will definitely be hard to convince and sell the idea to, but she's exactly the sort of temptation they're drawn to, exactly the sort of danger that they can't resist.

They've spent their adult years, and even some of their youthful ones, focusing on their careers. While not the top team by any means, they've accrued a reputation that demands respect from their peers and superiors. Relationships were mostly kept casual, though they'd played house with a few women. It'd helped them figure out as a whole what they wanted in a life partner.

What they found out was that most women weren't their cup of tea. Especially civilians. They constantly were in the air to distant lands, in the heat of conflict and battle. Most women weren't suited for that lifestyle on top of not being suited for polyamory. The few who'd been interested in what their faction had to offer, were too docile and honestly boring. They'd just begun to get into the administrative side of things, but that'd been a slow death for many of them. Especially the specialists of the group like Luke and Raven.

That's why Callaia is such a perfect fit - a once in a lifetime catch for them. She faces the same dangers and seems to thrive in it. She's a leader by her own right, making her equal to the five leaders in their group and more than capable of telling them where to shove it. She's self-reliant and as such, won't ever be forced to stay with them to keep a roof over her head or just to have someone help her change a lightbulb out.

Seeing the room is still struck silent at Marc's claim, Axel decides to go ahead and admit his stance as well, so Marc isn't left stranded.
"Me, as well."

Everyone slowly turns to look at him. Gabriels' jaw somehow falls open further, a lock of hair falling into his mouth. He splutters, spitting it out.

Deciding it best to bulldoze on, Axel glances at Kota then Sean swiftly - Kota solemnly nods while Sean looks like he's had an epiphany about him - before continuing, "Aside from Marc, Raven, Brandon, North, and myself who've all made their stances known, I'd like for the rest of you to also answer. There's no pressure either way. We only expect you to be honest."

No one comes forward for a few tense minutes. Finally, Kota clears his throat into his fist and starts everyone off, "I wouldn't say 'I'm in' exactly, but after meeting her I'm willing to consider it more seriously. I need more time to decide."

Corey looks at the side of Raven's face who's still smugly watching the others in the room. He sighs, looking up at Axel with resignation, "I'm more wary and hesitant than Kota, but I suppose I can't say I'm actually against it."

Marc nods, giving him an encouraging smile, "That's completely okay, Corey." He looks to the others, still smiling, "Who's next?'

Gabriel groans, running his hands through his hair, "I guess I'm cool with trying too. I don't have anything against her or whatever, but we still know fuck all about her. "

Luke chuckles and raises his hand jokingly, "I'm going to have to say no at this time. I'm not sold one way or the other on her innocence just yet."

Silas goes next, "I'm not saying no, but I'm not saying yes. I'm not inclined either way for now."

Nathan nods in agreement with Silas, "Same. That's a good middle ground I can get behind."

Marc decides to eyeball Victor next since he's the last one to go that isn't a commanding officer. Victor rolls his eyes irritably. He's been fairly quiet since Gabriel's jab at him about having a crush of Callaia.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Victor bites out, "Hell no."

Sean saves Owen from being coerced and happily proclaims, "Well I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested. The attraction is there, and she's piqued my curiosity."

Axel purses his lips at Sean's comment. He'd worried this would happen. Sean didn't claim to be one way or the other despite how obvious it is that he likes her. That's likely because of Owen. The same thing seemed to happen with Luke and Silas, but he's less sure of them. He hasn't witnessed them mooning over her like he has with Sean, and they both seem rather uninterested at the moment.

Corey is a bit tricky. With Raven being vehemently for it and Brandon being just as determinedly against it, his decision could go either way. Raven will likely be able to convince him though so not all hope is lost.

Owen sighs miserably when everyone in the room looks at him. He's the last one. "Absolutely not," he states firmly without explaining further.

Marc expected as much from him considering the exchanges those two have shared. Putting his fists on his hips he looks around the room as he says, " Okay, so that means - five 'no's, three 'yes's, three 'willing to try', and three that aren't one or the other. I can live with that."

Luke snorts at him.

Axel takes them in, one by one, slowly forming a plan of action in his head. Divide and conquer it is then. He'll be sure to sway Callaia towards teaming up with a few of their own that he feels would be the best chance of moving things forward. Until then though, he'll keep a friendly distance with her. He needs to be clear headed while maneuvering all the many pieces on the board - including the many pieces he doesn't he know of quite yet.

He hears them continue to discuss limitations for the Russian mission, who is willing to do what and so on. He pays it little mind.

All he can think of in this moment is what Ivan had said a few days back when they were still trying to get her to meet with them. Owen had obviously been the most vocal antagonist about her 'immaturity'. In response, Ivan had told them, "She's the most respected person at The Foundation despite her thinking Walt runs things and she's just one of the masses. Her people look up to her, they believe in her, and trust her. Try to keep that in mind when feathers get ruffled. One doesn't gain that kind of devotion from people without good reason."

Of course, Owen was quick to point out the same could be said for cult leaders, but Ivan's words have merit. He's seen it firsthand now.

Axel looks up when Sean speaks up, watching as the doctor looks at his watch, "On that note, we should probably go see if they're ready for us. We could spend hours in here going in circles, getting nowhere. We have a lot to do before takeoff tomorrow and I promised Callaia I'd help her get a few things done."

Before anyone else can respond, someone knocks on the doors to the room. All of them pause and stare at it suspiciously. It bangs open after a few moments with no one making a move to open it, revealing a disgruntled and annoyed Alec.

Axel likes Alec alright. He's competent and obviously close to Callaia. Though he's been sarcastic and rude to their faction. He couldn't help but to notice in the time since he'd first seen the two together, that they work well together - like a well-oiled machine. Snark and wit fill their playful exchanges. Banter traded like an old married couple who's been around one another too long. Alec makes everything run smoother for her and in turn, she relies on him wholly, much like Axel's own relationship is with Marc.

Seeing as he's her pilot and glorified secretarial assistant, it makes sense they'd be overly familiar with each other. Just going off the debacle from the night before as they drank themselves silly, he'd bet they've seen in each other in some intimate and compromising situations as well.

It's an unfortunate byproduct of that sort of dynamic. To Axel's chagrin, and Owen's, both have been found out at the worst possible times by their own 'Alecs'. Worst of all was Marc finding him left tied to a bed after he'd gotten too drunk in Brazil. How he'd ended up the one tied down and not the woman he'd stumbled into the room with still eludes him.

With a bored expression, Alec sighs heavily and drones out monotonously, "We're ready for you if you care to join."

Kota gets to his feet and smiles at him, trying to be friendly, "Thank you, Alec. We were wrapping things up in here anyways."
Falling back against the door, Alec lazily gestures with his arm towards the hall, "After you then."

The others pass him without a word, the commanding officers staying back. Owen and Sean follow just behind the rest, but when Kota goes to leave, a hand lashes out and holds his forearm in a tight grip.

Marc and Axel, who'd been behind him, freeze, eying the pilot warily. While their opinion of Callaia has improved, they still don't know what to think about him just yet.

Kota takes it in stride, barely glancing at his arm before giving Alec a friendly quizzical look, "Yes?"
Alec's face is thunderous. "I'll only warn you once. Hurt her or sabotage everything she's busted her ass for, and I'll fucking ruin you. I don't give a fuck who you are. She's family and I'll be damned if a bunch of pompous Syndicate pricks unravel everything she's fought for all these years."

Alec grimaces, as if he'd having to forcefully swallow back the words he really wants to say. When he gets himself together, the anger is kept at bay, but the ferocity stays. "You all have this idea of her in your heads. You think she's some criminal without honor or purpose, but you're wrong. She may be too good to put a bullet in your heads but I'm not. You remember that Commander Lee."

Kota lays a comforting hand on the one gripping his arm, but Alec snatches it away, "Just so we're clear."

Kota remains calm and keeps his voice gentle - a real talent of his - when he responds, "I can't speak for everyone, but I don't' think that of her. We may not agree on everything, but that doesn't mean we're enemies. I hope I can prove that I mean it one day."

Alec studies him through narrowed eyes. Finally, he scoffs and turns away with a haughty chin that's eerily similar to his Commander's, "Whatever."

Marc mutters to Axel exactly what he'd been thinking, with an amused smirk, "Talk about leading by example. Think they all do that chin thing?"

Axel's lips twitch as he fights off his smile. He doesn't want to antagonize the already trigger-twitchy pilot. The two of them watch as Kota tries to make friends with him on their way to wherever this 'War Room' is, but it isn't going well.

Alec is nearly twice Callaia's age, and it shows. He isn't easily swayed by kind words and his suspicious nature rivals the lady's own. 

When they get to the board room they'd seen only once when they'd first arrived and done a perimeter, they find everyone else waiting for them. Sean steps forward when Alec goes to open the room, "So what exactly is a 'War Rom'?"

Even Axel feels trepidation at the devilish smirk he gives them over his shoulder. "You're probably in for a culture shock."
He turns the handles, still looking positively gleeful, "Brace yourselves."

Marc mutters where only Axel and Kota can hear, "No one's loaded right?'

Kota actually startles and slowly turns to look at Marc. His eyes are wide, "Uh?"

Axel grumbles to himself, and storms forwards just as those doors are pushed open and loud Arabic pop music nearly knocks him back into a wall, it's so loud.

Then, as if by design, they hear Callaia barking out, "Shut up, Hen! You're ruining the chorus!"

Owen sums it up perfectly for once, "God in heaven, spare me..."

Alec struts in like a peacock with his hands in his suit coat pocket, smug as fuck. It is then that Axel realizes there might be more than just a culture shock for his faction when they work with this group.

He chuckles to himself and is the first to make a move to enter the chaos, taking in the view with amusement. It couldn't contrast more to their own meetings, which are usually stuffy and controlled. He doesn't know why he expected anything else from this crew.

It's just who they are.

🌐

(A/n:
Ugh. That was daunting to write. Holy hell.
Honest opinions?
I hated the last scene. Literally rewrote it three times but whatever. I give up lol.

What do you guys think?

Also, I've been considering something I really need all of your input on. So originally I intended to just bulk all the books under this one title, but I've noticed a trend with many readers. It's very confusing and people can't figure out what I mean by 'book one will be complete but book two will still be continued here'. So I've been bouncing back and forth - should I just complete this one and open a separate book for book 2? Would that be easier for everyone?)