Page 114 of Viking

I lean in, murmuring low so only she can hear, “It’s very hard to care about team bonding right now.”

She bites her lip, pretending to be unaffected, but the way her thighs press together tells me otherwise.

Dalton groans. “Goodness, you two.”

Lila laughs, nudging me with her elbow and turning her focus to Wells. “You walked into that one.”

Townsend shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Remind me why we invited them?”

Dalton grins. “Entertainment value?”

Wells points his fork at me. “Man’s been back on the demo team for one day and already has girls fawning all over him.”

“Hardly.” Lila mockingly rolls her eyes trying to play it cool, but she leans closer anyway, her shoulder brushing mine.

Dalton grins. “Ouch. Careful, Lila. Viking’s ego is a fragile thing.”

I shake my head, taking a sip of my beer while they keep running their mouths. The jokes, the jabs, the effortless back-and-forth—it’s normal, it’s familiar, and it feels damn good to be back.

Stuart, Florida

November 9, 2024

8:32 p.m.

Lila

Logan walks out of the bathroom in nothing but joggers hanging low on his hips. His shoulders are broad, impossibly strong, the kind you feel safe under without even thinking about it. His chest is defined, firm and solid, tapering into a set of abs that look like they belong on some fitness magazine cover. His arms are something else entirely, corded with lean muscle, the kind of strength that speaks of control and precision. Years of gripping controls, flying at impossible speeds, and training until exhaustion have etched every detail into them.

He turns to shut off the bathroom light and I see it. There is fresh ink on Logan’s right shoulder. The placement is strategic, it mirrors the angry scar jutting up from his shoulder blade on his left side. It’s still healing from where the shrapnel had to be surgically removed only a few months ago. The lines are sharp and precise, four F-22 Raptors captured mid-flight in a perfect Missing Man Formation. Three jets fly in tight alignment, while the fourth peels away, leaving a gap heavy with meaning—Ryan’s space. The smoke trails behind the planes are delicate, winding lines of gray ink, but the trail of the jet that breaks away is longer, fainter. Like it’s fading into the sky, disappearing, leaving behind just the memory of him.

I swallow hard as I take it in. The detail and positioning make it seem like a part of him, an indelible tribute accentuated by the way his body moves. It’s like Logan has captured the very essence of the loss, of Ryan’s absence, on his skin. It’s so beautiful, yet so heartbreaking. He’s not just carrying the weight of Ryan’s death in his heart. He’s shouldering his loss. Forever.

“It’s new,” he says hoarsely, rotating so his back is toward me. “We all got it. Dalton. Townsend. Me. It’ll always be us four even when it’s not.”

I nod. Gently tracing the ink with my fingers. I graze the raised red lines of his scar.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “But not like it did.”

I don’t know if he means the wound or the memory, and maybe that’s the point.

He turns slowly, eyes catching on mine before dropping lower. His whole body stills as he takes me in.

For a second, he just stares, like he’s not sure I’m real.

Then that smile I’ve been imagining for days begins to spread across his face.

Slow. Deliberate. Devastating.

His jaw pulses, his expression shifting from awe to something darker and hungrier. Logan’s voice is rough when he finally speaks. “Holy shit, Lila.”

Heat blooms across my skin as I step closer. The air between us is charged.

I’m wearing a black lace bodysuit. It’s completely sheer, every inch hugging me like it was made for this moment. The neckline dips into a deep, daring sweetheart, held in place by delicate silk ribbons tied at the nape of my neck. I bought it for tonight. For him. For this.

“I hoped you’d like it.” My voice is soft, teasing. “The back’s even better.”