Breach - 5

Chapter Five:

What We Never Said

Cain didn’t answer.

He squeezed the tube of ointment instead, focusing on the wound, not the man.

“You disappeared the night before my engagement,” Saxon continued. “Didn’t call. Didn’t warn me. I waited for you. And you didn’t show.”

“I had to go,” Cain said.

“No, you chose to go.”

Cain leaned back on his heels, jaw locked. “I was ordered to leave. By your father.”

Saxon’s eyes darkened. “He hated you.”

“He was right to.”

Saxon sat up—wincing slightly, but defiant.

“No,” he said. “He hated that I loved you.”

Cain’s hand froze mid-air.

Those words… landed like gunfire. Deep. Clean. Devastating.

“You were the only real thing in my life,” Saxon said, voice quieter now. “And you let him scare you off.”

Cain’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

He stood, walked to the window, shoved a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want you dead,” he said finally.

Saxon blinked. “What?”

Cain turned, voice hoarse. “He told me if I didn’t leave, he’d make you disappear. He already had a plan in motion. An overdose. A setup. Something clean.”

Saxon swallowed.

“He threatened to kill me?”

Cain nodded once.

“I made a deal. I vanished, and you lived.”

Saxon stood slowly, blood draining from his face. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

“I thought disappearing would hurt less than watching them put you in the ground.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Saxon crossed the room, fists clenched at his sides.

“Do you know what it did to me?” he asked, voice breaking. “Do you know how fucked up I got trying to find you? How many people I threatened—how many times I almost blew my own brains out because I thought I’d hallucinated all of it?”

Cain’s throat tightened. “I thought I was saving you.”

“You destroyed me.”

The words hit harder than any blade ever had.

Cain’s hands shook.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Saxon blinked.

And for the first time—really looked at him.

Cain wasn’t the hardened machine he pretended to be. Not now. Not here.

He was a man coming apart.

And Saxon? He’d been shattered for years.

They were both ghosts in each other’s chests.

Saxon stepped forward, stopped right in front of him, and touched his wrist.

“Take me apart again,” he whispered. “But don’t leave this time.”

Cain’s eyes burned.

And then—

He kissed him.

Slow. Devastating. Tender.

Saxon responded with the same broken desperation—lips soft, hands firm, clinging. There was no dominance here. No punishment. Just want.

Cain cupped his jaw, kissed him deeper, hands mapping every bruise he’d left behind.

They moved to the bed slowly—carefully.

Saxon climbed into his lap, straddling him, breath warm against Cain’s neck.

“Make me feel real,” he whispered.

Cain nodded, voice rough. “I will.”

He undressed him slowly this time. Reverently. Like Saxon was something to be rediscovered. Memorized. Worshipped.

Cain’s hands ran down his thighs, up his chest, over his ribs—pausing on the scar he’d left years ago with a single rough night and too much whiskey.

Saxon’s eyes fluttered shut. “You ruined me.”

Cain kissed the scar. “You ruined me first.”

He kissed him again.

And then he pushed inside—slowly, carefully, with the kind of control that felt like breaking glass.

Saxon wrapped his arms around Cain’s shoulders and whispered his name like it was a confession.

Cain rocked into him, over and over, watching his face change with each thrust—pain, relief, surrender, love.

Saxon cried out once—raw, soft.

Cain kissed him through it.

Their foreheads pressed. Their breath mingled. The rhythm built—sweet. Filthy. Deep.

Saxon moaned, “Don’t stop—please, Cain—don’t ever stop—”

Cain didn’t.

Not until they both came, trembling in each other’s arms, shaking from more than just orgasm.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Wrapped in warmth. In silence. In everything they never said.

—

04:20 A.M.

Saxon stirred beneath the sheets, cheek resting on Cain’s chest.

“Do you still love me?” he asked softly.

Cain didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Saxon exhaled, like he hadn’t breathed in years.

Cain kissed his forehead.

And for once, they both fell asleep.

Together.

—

Somewhere else…

The man on the phone listened carefully.

“They’re together now,” the voice said. “More than before.”

There was a pause, then—

“Good,” said the other. “Let him get attached. We’ll take him when it hurts the most.”

— —

11:33 A.M.

Cain was halfway through his routine perimeter check when the security feed flickered—then flashed to camera 14.

East garden.

And there he was.

Saxon.

Leaning too damn close to Luca—the pretty, ex-marine with soft hands and a jawline that looked like it was sculpted for sin. Luca was holding a tablet. Saxon was laughing.

Then he touched his forearm.

Lingering. Smiling.

Cain’s vision blurred red.

He stormed out of the surveillance room and didn’t stop walking until he hit the glass doors leading to the garden.

His boots hit the stone path like thunder.

—

11:38 A.M.

Saxon looked up at the sound of his name.

“Cain—”

“Inside,” Cain snapped. His voice held no space for argument.

Saxon raised an eyebrow. “I’m not done here.”

Cain’s jaw ticked. “Now.”

Luca cleared his throat, awkwardly stepping back. “Uh, I should—”

“You should shut the fuck up and go back to post,” Cain said without turning.

Luca froze.

Saxon’s gaze narrowed. “He didn’t do anything.”

“He breathed too close to you.”

Cain stepped forward, grabbed Saxon by the wrist—not enough to hurt, just enough to command—and pulled him toward the house.

—

11:42 A.M.

Cain’s private quarters.

The door slammed shut.

Saxon spun to face him, chest rising. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Cain’s voice was a growl. “What the fuck were you doing with him?”

Saxon scoffed. “You told me to act normal. That was me acting normal.”

“You touched him.”

“So?” Saxon snapped. “You touch me harder.”

Cain stepped closer. “You were flirting.”

“I was testing you.”

Cain froze.

Saxon’s eyes flared with heat. “And guess what, soldier? You failed.”

Cain’s breath caught.

Then he grabbed Saxon by the throat and slammed him up against the wall.

Not to hurt. To hold.

To show him who he fucking belonged to.

“You like playing games?” Cain hissed.

Saxon smirked. “I like when you lose.”

Cain’s hand dropped to Saxon’s belt.

“Then you’re about to fucking win.”