Three Days in May
by Toby Johnston
Chapter 8
Safe, finally
We really did shower after that—for actual cleaning purposes this time. Once we finally dragged ourselves out of the steam, we did something we hadn't done in forty-eight hours: we got dressed in real, actual clothes instead of the sandy surfer shorts we'd been living in.
The verdict? Ash is every bit as jaw-droppingly hot clothed as he is naked; it's just a different flavor of torture.
He was just wearing a pair of standard khaki shorts, but the cotton hugged his ass in the most delicious way possible, and the front was just tailored enough to give a very polite, very teasing hint of exactly what he was packing. To finish it off, he'd thrown on a light-blue polo shirt. Honestly, it was a total sensory overload. Take your pick on what part to obsess over: do you get completely squishy over the way the fabric makes his baby blues pop, or the sight of his biceps and triceps completely stretching the armbands?
It was a lot easier to spot him in the dark than me. My dark-olive polo and charcoal shorts were basically a cloaking device, making me blend right into the deep shadows of the remaining walls of the house. But as much as I wanted to keep staring, it was time for us to start moving toward the extraction site.
I fished out the small earpiece dad had supplied, slipped it into my ear, and keyed the mic.
"Eyes-One, this is Gray Seventeen." Real original, right? Dad thought he was a total comedy genius with that one.
The comm line crackled instantly, a crisp voice cutting through the static. "Roger, Gray Seventeen. Heads up: you need to stay well clear of your old campsite. Looks like the local deputies finally stumbled onto it. They've been camped out around the perimeter for the last hour. Looks like they're waiting for you to come back."
"Oh, shit," I muttered, my tactical composure slipping for a second. "Oops...sorry, didn't mean to curse. Um, sorry I didn't check in earlier, Eyes-One. We were..."
"No worries, Gray," the operator interrupted, his tone shifting into something entirely too amused. "I would have keyed into your speaker if there had been an actual threat to your coordinates. But you boys looked...um...pretty busy. Didn't want to interrupt."
My blood turned to ice.
Ash and I whipped our heads around, staring at each other in sudden, horrifying realization— fuck , we'd completely forgotten about the overhead surveillance. Ash paused for a fraction of a second, then just shrugged his broad shoulders, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. " Wouldn't have changed a thing ," he mouthed.
I was frantically trying to string two syllables together to formulate some kind of professional, dignified response.
Before I could choke anything out, the earpiece hummed again. "Didn't mean to throw you off your game, Gray. Promise I wasn't being a voyeur. Just monitoring the thermal signatures. Lucky for you guys, my boyfriend wasn't the one on duty shift today."
We both grinned; another member of the team , so to speak.
"Copy that, Eyes-One," I let out a breathless, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. "Glad we could provide the entertainment. But we have our gear stowed in a gully about fifty yards up the beach from the main trail exit. If the deputies are still back in the brush at the primary campsite, what's our visual window?"
The line hummed with static for a second before the operator came back, the playful tone entirely replaced by tactical precision. "They're still deep in the tree line right now, Gray Seventeen. You've got about a hundred yards of buffer between the camp and the beach exit. But at some point they'll expand the perimeter outward. If they hit that trail and break out onto the sand, your gully is going to be dead in their line of sight. If you're going to move, do it now."
I cut the feed and looked at Ash. The mortification from being caught on thermal was still warming my cheeks, but the rush of adrenaline was taking over.
"Time to move," I whispered.
Ash's smirk vanished, replaced instantly by his game-face. "Lead the way, Aquaboy ."
Nice thought, but yeah...no. We wanted to actually find the gear, not get completely lost wandering blindly into the brush. Ash had to lead. I followed right on his heels, doing my best to stay quiet, keep my footing, and not snap too many dry sticks under my sneakers. Ash moved like he had radar, taking us straight to the exact spot. Honestly, I didn't even recognize it when we were standing right on top of it; coming from the opposite direction in the pitch black made everything look completely different.
All was dead quiet. We quickly scooped up our gear from the gully and headed down onto the beach.
We practically ran straight into the sheriff's car. Literally.
It was one of those ghost cruisers—dark gray with matte-black lettering designed to blend into the shadows until you've already ripped by doing ninety in a thirty-five.
Fuck. We froze instantly, locking into place like statues.
Seconds ticked by in agonizing slow motion. I held my breath, my lungs burning, fully expecting the roof lights to suddenly explode into a blinding red-and-blue glare before we got slammed onto the hood and cuffed.
But the interior stayed dark. The car was completely empty.
"I almost wet my shorts," I breathed, letting out a quiet, shaky laugh as the adrenaline slowly receded. "Come on, let's go before they come back."
"Wait a minute," Ash murmured, a sudden, fiercely wicked grin cutting through the shadows. "Payback time."
He dropped his bags heavily into the sand. Before I could ask what the hell he was doing, he was inside the driver's side. A second later, the distinct, heavy thump of the hood latch releasing echoed in the quiet night air.
"Ash, stop," I whispered frantically, scanning the tree line. "We need to move!"
"Dad parked below the high tide line," Ash whispered back with pure, competitive glee. "Tide's coming in. Two hours, this whole stretch is going to be under three feet of saltwater."
My heart pounding, I watched him lean deep into the engine bay, fiddle around, then ease the hood back down with a muffled thump. Looking entirely too proud of himself, he stepped back over and opened his fist, the light catching the little plastic rectangles in his palm.
"Fuses. He's not going anywhere unless he has a paddle. Now we can go."
"Remind me never to piss you off," I giggled.
Eyes-One guided us smoothly to the designated extraction point, where we hunkered down in a shallow depression carved out by the surf—just two dark shapes staying low against the sand. Now, the hard part began: we had to wait, and pray the deputies didn't start sweeping their flashlights our way.
We sat side by side, leaning back against our duffels. Ash's head was on a swivel, his eyes darting back toward the dark outline of the dunes, then tracking out to the empty black sea. Even in the dark, I could feel the tight coil of energy in his shoulders. He was tense, agitated, his mind running a million miles an hour.
I reached out, gently catching his jaw to pull his face toward me. Leaning in slowly, I pressed my lips to his. "Deep breath, Ash. Relax," I murmured against his mouth. "We're almost out of here. Eyes-One is up there, looking out for us."
He let out a long breath and nodded, finally melting into me. I slipped one arm behind his neck, cradling the back of his head as I kept kissing him with a slow, steady rhythm. My other hand drifted down, gently roaming across his chest and the flat of his stomach. It was sensual, but soft—a deliberate, grounding touch. I wanted to calm his racing pulse, not get him all hot and bothered again. Not yet, anyway.
I had no idea how long we actually stayed like that, kissing in the dark. It was long enough that I was thoroughly losing myself in it, and definitely long enough for my hand to get a little bored with his torso and drift south, gently caressing the solid, heavy lump straining against the cotton of his shorts.
I jolted, breaking the kiss, and startling both of us when Eyes-One suddenly crackled like a lightning strike in my ear.
"Zodiac's inbound, Gray. Should be on your position in a heartbeat."
We barely even had time to scramble to our feet before the inflatable boat shot like a ghost out of the blackness of the surf, the engine a muffled, throaty hum as the hull slid hard up onto the wet sand. There was one guy at the controls and two more who hopped instantly onto the beach—all of them decked out in matte-black tactical gear, helmets, and night-vision goggles. One of them immediately dropped to one knee facing the dunes, his rifle raised and scanning left to right.
The other operator came straight toward us. He didn't say a word at first, just hoisted a ruggedized phone right in front of Ash's face. A bright screen flashed, snapping a quick picture.
"Confirmed," the guy muttered into his headset. "Target One, Asher Coleman."
Then he shoved the phone directly into my face. The camera clicked. "Confirmed," he laughed, "Target Two, Gray Sanders...my boss's boss's boss."
He tossed our duffels into the Zodiac like they were toys, then helped hoist us in. Back out into the surf; the entire extraction took less than sixty seconds. We surged past the breakers, and then they cranked up the engine. The nose of the Zodiac pointed high, the hull slamming hard against the chop as we accelerated, the deep roar of the motor vibrating right through the bench.
We were enveloped in total darkness, getting hit with cold salt spray all the way out, but it felt good. It felt like freedom. Ash and I sat tightly together, arms locked around each other's shoulders to stay steady against the bounce of the boat. I leaned in, tasting salt on my lips, and gave him a hard kiss on the cheek.
I had to put my mouth right to his ear so he could hear over the screaming engine. "You're free, Ash. Beyond his clutches. We're going home. My home."
He turned his head and gave me a look. In the dim reflection of the ocean, his eyes were wide, glittering with a mix of total exhaustion and sudden, breathtaking relief. I think he was just too overwhelmed after three weeks of hiding to find his voice. But the look said everything—the tension finally draining out of his face, his grip tightening on my shoulder until it almost hurt…a good hurt. We didn't need words.
In the distance, we eventually saw the Coast Guard cutter—a cluster of lights at first, then the stark white hull reflecting the dim moonlight, until it finally took on real shape, looming massive out of the darkness. It was huge, rocking gently compared to our little rubber craft and towering high overhead as we slowed and came alongside. I didn't relish the idea of climbing aboard in the dark, but fortunately, we didn't have to. A massive crane arm swung out overhead. The crew hooked up the entire Zodiac, straps tightening, and simply hoisted the whole boat—and us with it—right out of the sea and onto the deck.
The moment our hull touched down, the Coasties ushered us quickly toward the aft of the ship and into a small hangar overlooking a flight pad where a helicopter sat, its rotors already slowly ticking over in the dark. Through the cockpit glass, I could see a crewman in the front seat, flicking switches and prepping the bird for immediate departure.
There, we were met by a waiting reception party: the ship's skipper, a couple of other officers, and two guys in olive-drab flight suits standing ready.
The skipper stepped forward and shook our hands firmly. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen. I just wanted to welcome you personally and make sure you're safe. I'm not going to even ask your names, or why you warranted a no-notice redirection of my cutter. The fact that the 160 th is here speaks volumes. They will take you from here. Have a safe trip."
At that, the two guys in flight suits stepped up, handing us heavy survival vests and helmets to put on. Once we were buckled into the gear, they escorted us straight out onto the windy flight pad toward the idling helo. Our bags had already been loaded ahead of us.
Glancing back, I saw our rescuers from the Zodiac standing in the hangar bay, giving us a crisp salute as we boarded.
I had thought the Zodiac vibrated a ton, but it was nothing compared to the helicopter. The deck beneath us shook violently as the turboshaft engines shrieked to life, the massive rotors blurring into a deafening roar as they spun up for takeoff.
The helo banked hard as we cleared the deck, the ocean dropping away into total blackness as we flew off into the night. Ash and I were plastered against each other on the bench—this was the first helo ride for me, and I knew it had to be the same for him. The crewman riding in the back with us pointed to his own ears, then reached over and plugged our helmets into the cabin intercom cables.
A metallic squawk immediately filled my ears, cutting right through the ambient noise.
"Greetings, gentlemen. This is Major Riley, your Command Pilot; Captain Edwards, Co-pilot; and Sergeant Fitzpatrick, your crew chief. You're now under the expert care of the 160 th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. We'll be flying you directly to Quantico. Our ETA is approximately forty-five minutes. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."
Ash and I held hands the entire flight. We kept turning our huge helmeted heads to make eye contact, but that was about all we could do. I certainly wasn't going to tell him I loved him with the entire flight crew listening in on the comms, and talking dirty was obviously out. We couldn't even lean in for a kiss with these big-ass helmets on; we'd have to have snake tongues to pull that off.
Instead, we just rubbed the insides of our palms together, tracing slow circles against each other's skin. It was simple, private, and better than nothing. It was exactly what we needed to keep each other grounded while the blacked-out landscape blurred beneath us.
It was a pretty quiet flight after that. Every once in a while, one of the crew members would say something over the comms—completely nonsensical to us, but obviously meaningful to them. Major Riley gave us regular time hacks every ten minutes, and then chimed in one last time when we were five minutes out from Marine Corps Base Quantico.
Pressing my mouth close to Ash's helmet visor, I explained to him that dad and his HRT team were actually based out of the FBI facility here, drawing support from the Marines whenever they needed it.
It was a total rush when we came in for the landing. The helicopter swooped in low and flared out at the last second, settling smoothly directly in front of a brightly lit hangar. The crew chief quickly unbuckled us and led us out into the rotor wash.
The moment we stepped inside the hangar, I was assaulted by a thirty-five-pound Ben, sprinting across the polished floor and hurtling directly into my arms. Ash got the exact same treatment from Jason, while Amanda was desperately trying to hold onto Willie, who was twisting and pulling to launch himself into Ash's arms as well.
Ben and Jason were talking completely over each other in their pure excitement—words tumbling out about a plane ... a huge plane ... landing ... the ramp going down ... dad driving the car right into the back of the plane ... the crew tying it down ... and the plane taking right off with all of them still inside the car. Both of them had die-cast metal airplanes clutched in their hands, using them to aggressively act out the story, complete with loud, requisite engine noises.
Mom and dad were standing right behind them, of course, smiling through the noise. Ash and I carried our laughing, squirming charges over to them, and we all collapsed into a huge, chaotic Sanders—and Ash—group hug.
Once the initial dust settled, dad ushered all of us into a quiet side room that had been set up with a massive table of refreshments. The moment the smell of food hit me, I realized I was suddenly starving; looking at Ash, I could tell he was in the exact same boat. We both immediately descended on the table, cracking open sodas and piling plates high with sandwiches and chips before finally collapsing into a couple of chairs.
We ate; dad talked. He was heading straight from here to the HRT facility across the base. We wouldn't see him for a while—a few days, maybe several, he wasn't entirely sure. He'd be heading right back down to Kill Devil County. Warrants were being issued, and the arrests were scheduled to start first thing in the morning.
Under the table, I felt Ash's hand settle on my leg. Since I could manage a sandwich with one hand, I slid my free hand over and gripped his, holding on tight.
Ash was coming home with us, at least for the immediate future. I caught his eye and gave him a quick grin. I'd lobbied dad heavily about this yesterday on the beach. Turns out I didn't need to. FBI had dibs over North Carolina Child Services. They'd need Ash and his testimony long after he'd aged out of the system.
As a key witness to widespread local corruption, the absolute last place he could safely be was anywhere near Kill Devil County. The FBI complex in Quantico was far enough away; and it'd be the center of the investigation for some time. With our house just outside the main gate, it made a perfect place to stash Ash.
Dad laid down the ground rules with his usual stern authority. We'd have an active FBI security unit sitting on the house, just as a precaution. The house itself was already fully wired with every security feature you could think of, and a few you probably couldn't. We were not—repeat, not —free to come and go as we pleased. Any movement outside the front door had to be fully coordinated with our FBI babysitters.
"Questions?" Dad asked, looking between the two of us.
We had none. Ash was coming home with me; that's all I needed to know.
Thank God the house was only fifteen minutes from the Quantico front gate. It was an easy enough commute for dad on a normal day, but it felt utterly interminable when you were crashing from a two-day adrenaline high. Amanda was thrilled to ride shotgun with mom, leaving the mid-level captain's chairs to the sleeping Ben and Jason. Ash and I claimed the way-back bench seat—it was far easier to hold hands and touch other places back there in the dark than it would have been in the middle row.
Once we arrived, we carried our sleeping charges inside and tucked them into their beds; it was our last official act of the day.
With the rest of the house finally quiet, I led Ash up to my apartment. Okay, maybe it wasn't technically an apartment, but my room sat directly over the garage, tucked down a separate hallway away from the main house. It was a completely self-contained haven: a combined bedroom, sitting room, study, and kitchenette, and—most importantly right now—my own private bathroom.
We dumped our bags in the corner; there would be plenty of time to deal with all of that tomorrow. I grabbed a couple of blankets out of the closet, and made a makeshift bed for Willie.
Ash just stood there in the center of the room, looking like he was trying to force his brain to assemble enough cells to say something. I didn't let him try. I just held my arms open wide. He looked at me, gave a faint nod, and moved in, practically collapsing against my chest. He tucked his head deep into the crook of my neck, doing a soft combination of kissing, breathing, and maybe slightly nuzzling my skin—I wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it felt super nice.
I held him as tightly as I could. One arm wrapped securely around his waist; the other tucked under his ass to hold him up. I wasn't trying to make a move or start fooling around—I seriously thought his knees were going to buckle, and he'd drop right to the floor if I didn't support him. I just swayed us back and forth, very slightly, the exact way I did with the littles when they were completely exhausted.
"Let's just go to bed," I whispered into his hair. "Everything else can wait."
He just nodded against my neck. Keeping him close, I half-lifted, half-dragged him over to the edge of my queen-sized bed and sat him down. I giggled just a little under my breath as I realized I was going to have to do all the heavy lifting myself to get us tucked in. It was no surprise, really. If I was crashing from a two-day adrenaline high, Ash was crashing from a three-week marathon—compounded by a crazy dad, an army of corrupt deputies, and a complete upending of his entire life.
I tugged his polo off over his head, then gently pushed him back so he was lying flat across the mattress. Even completely exhausted, he looked breathtaking. He had these solid, beautifully rounded shoulders, a tapered torso that V-ed down to a narrow waist, all those corded muscles from his chest down through his abs before they disappeared into his shorts.
My body reacted before my brain could even catch up, my cock swelling and tightening in my shorts as I unzipped his and pulled them down his legs. He was wearing light gray boxer-briefs, the soft cotton casting perfect shadows that showed off the thick contour of his cock beautifully. I stripped those off too, leaving him completely bare.
I tucked my arms under his shoulders, hauling him up until his head finally hit the pillow, then lifted his hips to leverage the rest of his weight fully into the bed.
My own clothes quickly followed, mingling with his in the messy pile on the floor. With Ash lying on his back, I scooted into the bed and pulled the blankets up over both of us. I tucked myself tight against his side, pressing every part of me that I could up against his warmth. I pulled my knee up and over his thigh, letting it rest across his thick cock. One of my arms tucked under his head to cushion him; the other draped securely across his stomach to pull him close. All I wanted to do was hold my Ash. To protect him. To comfort him. To just drift off beside him.
I thought he was already completely asleep, but as I dusted his neck with soft, fleeting little kisses, he sighed. It was a happy, deeply-peaceful sound. I felt his entire body relax in my arms, as if all the built-up tension and fears of the last three weeks were finally flowing out of his body and into the mattress.
"I love you so much, Gray," he murmured into the dark, his voice thick with sleep. "This is so nice…hold me…"
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