The Last Loose Ends

The Last Loose Ends

The air in the room was thick with tension. No one moved. No one spoke. Then—

Shane struck first.

He lunged across the table, reaching for Ivan, but Ivan saw it coming. He twisted away just in time, shoving his chair back as Thompson’s hand closed around empty air. The sudden movement sent a plate crashing to the floor, silverware clattering against the wood.

Shane was up in an instant, coming at Ivan from the side, but Ivan was quick—too quick. He dodged, using the edge of the table for leverage as he swung himself backward. Thompson recovered fast, lunging again, but Ivan grabbed a fork from the table and flung it. It wasn’t meant to injure—just to distract. It worked. Thompson flinched, and Ivan took advantage of the momentary hesitation, driving his shoulder into Thompson’s chest and sending him stumbling back.

Aaron was frozen. His heart pounded in his ears. He had expected a fight, but not like this. Not this fast. Not this brutal.

Shane went in again, this time more aggressively, trying to pin Ivan against the wall. Ivan twisted out of reach, grabbed a chair, and shoved it in Shane’s direction. The impact threw Shane off balance just long enough for Ivan to pivot, aiming a sharp kick at Thompson’s leg. Thompson gritted his teeth, bracing himself, but the impact still sent him reeling.

The motel room was a mess now. The table had been pushed out of place, chairs were knocked over, and broken glass littered the floor. The fight wasn’t going in their favor.

Aaron took a step back, his pulse erratic. Then—pain. Sharp and sudden.

Something grazed his arm.

He hissed, clutching at the burning sensation. When he looked down, he saw his sleeve torn, blood soaking through the fabric. A piece of broken plate? A stray knife? He didn’t know. He barely had time to register it before—

Ivan caught Shane by the wrist, twisting it sharply, forcing him down. Thompson saw an opening and moved in, catching Ivan in a chokehold from behind. But Ivan wasn’t done yet. He threw his weight back, slamming both of them against the side of the table. Thompson’s grip loosened, just for a second—but that second was enough.

Ivan turned, slipping out of the hold, driving an elbow into Shane’s ribs.

Aaron knew they were losing. If they didn’t turn this around—fast—Ivan was going to take them all down.

Ivan was ruthless. Efficient. Every move calculated. Shane barely had time to recover from the hit to his ribs before Ivan was on him again, shoving him hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay standing.

Thompson lunged at Ivan’s back, aiming for another chokehold, but Ivan anticipated it this time. He ducked low at the last second, sweeping a leg out and knocking Thompson’s footing out from under him. Thompson crashed onto his side with a grunt, pain flashing across his face.

Aaron, still gripping his bleeding arm, could only watch as Ivan pivoted, taking full advantage of the chaos. He reached for a knife left on the table, spinning it effortlessly in his fingers before pointing it straight at Shane.

"Stay down," Ivan warned, voice smooth, calm—like he wasn’t winded at all. Like this was just another day to him.

Shane’s hands curled into fists. He wasn’t going to let this bastard win.

Aaron’s mind raced. They needed an opening. Something to tip the fight in their favor.

Thompson, still on the ground, made the first move—again. He grabbed at Ivan’s ankle, yanking hard. Ivan lost his balance for the first time since the fight started, stumbling slightly, the knife in his hand dipping downward.

That was all the opportunity Shane needed.

He surged forward, ignoring the pain in his ribs, slamming his full weight into Ivan. The force sent both of them crashing onto the table, knocking over everything in their path. The knife clattered out of Ivan’s grip, and before he could reach for it, Thompson was back up, grabbing Ivan from behind and yanking him into a tight hold.

This time, he didn’t let go.

Ivan thrashed, trying to break free, but Thompson locked his arms around his chest like a steel vice. "Shane—now!"

Shane didn’t hesitate. He drove his fist into Ivan’s stomach once, twice. The impact forced a breathless grunt from Ivan’s lips, but his glare remained sharp, alert. He wasn’t out yet.

Aaron’s pulse pounded as he saw Ivan’s hand reach blindly for anything—something to use. And then—

The gun.

It had been on his belt the whole time. Hidden under his jacket.

Aaron saw it before anyone else did.

Without thinking, he launched himself forward, slamming his weight against Ivan’s side. The sudden movement threw Ivan off just enough that, when he reached for the gun, his fingers barely grazed the handle.

Thompson took advantage of the moment of vulnerability.

One final twist. One final push.

And Ivan went down, unconscious.

Even unconscious, he looked dangerous. His breathing was steady, his jaw clenched, his body still tense as if ready to spring back to life at any second.

Shane exhaled sharply, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His ribs ached like hell, but they’d done it. Finally.

Thompson crouched down and pressed two fingers to Ivan’s throat. After a moment, he gave a nod. “Still breathing.”

Aaron slumped against the wall, pressing his fingers against the wound on his arm. Blood had seeped through his sleeve, sticking the fabric to his skin. It throbbed, but he forced himself to push past it. They didn’t have time to deal with it now.

“What the hell do we do with him?” Shane asked, voice rough.

Thompson glanced around, then at the hallway leading to their rooms. “We take him with us.”

Aaron let out a sharp laugh. “And do what? Have a sleepover?”

Thompson ignored the sarcasm. “We need to get him out of the open before someone walks in and sees this mess.”

Shane sighed but didn’t argue. He bent down, grabbing one of Ivan’s arms while Thompson took the other. They heaved him up, his dead weight almost pulling them down with him.

Aaron stood there watching, hesitant. “If he wakes up—”

“Then we knock him out again,” Shane grunted. “Come on, Aaron. Don’t just stand there.”

Aaron rolled his eyes but stepped forward, grabbing Ivan’s legs. Together, they hauled him toward the hallway, moving quickly despite the strain. Every second felt like borrowed time. Any moment, Alberta could come back, or worse—one of Ivan’s people.

By the time they reached the room, Aaron’s arms burned, and his wound stung even more. He bit down on the pain and helped shove Ivan inside. They dropped him into the nearest chair, breathing hard.

Thompson pulled out zip ties from his bag—because of course he had those—and secured Ivan’s wrists to the chair arms. He tightened them until they cut into Ivan’s skin.

Aaron watched Ivan’s face carefully. He looked different like this—still, silent, without that usual smugness. But there was no satisfaction in seeing him like this.

Just unease.

Because they all knew it wouldn’t last.

The alarm was still shrieking when Hera and Alberta rushed into the kitchen. Smoke curled up from the toaster, a dark wisp against the dim light. Alberta hurried forward, grabbing a dish towel and waving it to clear the air. She moved with surprising urgency for someone her age, her usually warm expression pinched in frustration.

“This is strange,” she muttered, pressing the cancel button on the toaster before yanking the plug from the wall. “I swear, I disconnected this earlier.”

Hera lingered near the doorway, glancing back toward the dining hall. Her heart pounded, knowing that every second she kept Alberta occupied was a second the boys had to handle Ivan. She took a slow breath and turned back, forcing her voice to stay light.

“Maybe someone plugged it back in?”

Alberta shook her head. “No one’s been in here but me this morning.” She frowned, tapping her fingers against the counter. “I should go ask Ivan if he did it.”

Hera stiffened. Dammit. The last thing she needed was Alberta walking in on whatever was happening in that dining hall.

She stepped forward quickly, placing a gentle hand on Alberta’s arm. “Wait.”

Alberta blinked at her in surprise.

Hera hesitated only a second before lowering her voice. “Actually... I wanted to ask you something.”

The older woman’s face softened instantly. “Oh? What about, dear?”

Hera swallowed, feeling the weight of the lie before she spoke. “Ivan.”

Alberta’s eyebrows shot up. “Ivan?”

“Yeah.” Hera forced a small, curious smile, reaching for a cup from the drying rack. “I mean, he seems... interesting.” She turned on the faucet, filling the cup with water as casually as she could. “You seem to know him well.”

Alberta practically beamed. “Oh, honey, where do I even start?” She pulled out a chair and sat down, clearly delighted to have someone to talk to.

Hera exhaled slowly, gripping the cool glass between her fingers.

Good. That bought them some time.

She glanced at Alberta, who was already launching into a fond retelling of Ivan’s past. Hera lifted the cup to her lips, nodding along.

Then, in a quieter voice, she said, “Why don’t you start from the very beginning?”

Back in Aaron and Shane's room, a grave headache attacked Ivan as he slowly found his way back to life. He stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as his head lolled to the side. His eyes fluttered open, sluggish at first, before sharpening as he took in the scene.

Thompson stood by the door, arms crossed, his massive frame blocking any possible escape. Shane loomed nearby, hands clenched into fists, ready to strike if needed. And then there was Aaron—just a few steps away, gripping his injured arm, his gaze unreadable.

Ivan’s lips curled into a smirk. “Guess you found your courage, didn’t you, handsome?”

Aaron stiffened, looking away, but not before catching the briefest flicker of something in Ivan’s eyes—concern. It was gone just as fast as it had appeared, replaced by his usual cocky demeanor.

Shane didn’t give him time to play games. “Why did you take the diplomats?” he demanded. “Why lure us out here?”

Ivan exhaled, his smirk deepening. “Everyone has a role in keeping the system running. I’m playing mine.”

Aaron scoffed. “By working with the Watchman?”

"I'm just trying to keep this country safe."

"Is that what he told you? Come on, man. You were in the military. You should know better." Shane said, raising his hands in despair.

That got a reaction. Ivan’s jaw tensed, but the smirk didn’t falter. He leaned back against the chair, watching them like a predator amused by its prey.

Then, he finally spoke the truth. “We took back Protocol Q.”

The room fell silent.

Shane’s expression darkened. “Bullshit.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you for doubting,” Ivan mused, tilting his head. “But trust me, the Calvary isn’t just a myth. It’s bigger than you think.” His gaze flicked between them, watching the realization dawn. “Way, way bigger.”

Aaron’s pulse quickened. If the calvary had protocol Q again, that means the Shadow Command was back where it started.

That means Elias Novak died for nothing.

Thompson took a step forward. “How?”

Ivan chuckled. “Let’s just say the people guarding it weren’t as untouchable as they thought.” He let the words settle before adding, “And we made sure to clean up loose ends.”

Aaron’s stomach dropped. “Loose ends?”

“The four of you.” Ivan’s voice was casual, almost amused. “You were the last loose ends. You were supposed to be taken care of today. Buried under the Alaskan snow.” His gaze flickered briefly to Aaron’s wound again. His smirk faltered for just a second before returning. “But then… things changed.”

Shane’s voice was sharp. “And the Greek Squad? Elijah, Lucas, Trinity...are they dead?”

Ivan shrugged. “Don't worry. Your friends are fine ...For now." He stretched slightly, as if he weren’t tied to a chair. “But time’s running out. Soon, control of this country—and then the world—will be in our hands.”

Thompson’s jaw tightened. “We need to leave. Now.”

Shane wasted no time. He pulled out his phone, sending Hera a quick text.

Ivan just watched, perfectly calm. He wasn’t panicking.

Aaron threw his bag over his shoulder, keeping his grip tight on the strap to steady his trembling fingers.

As he turned, Ivan spoke. “Better get that bandaged. There’s one in the kitchen drawer.”

Aaron hesitated, just for a second. Then he shook it off. He texted Hera: Bring bandages when it’s clear. A thumbs-up appeared seconds later.

The team moved quickly, gathering their gear, their movements silent and urgent.

Then Shane looked at Ivan. “What are we doing about him?”

A long pause.

Ivan chuckled, tilting his head toward Shane’s holstered gun. “I mean, you have a gun right there.”

Aaron didn’t hesitate. He walked back over, ignoring the way Shane and Thompson tensed.

Ivan smirked up at him.

And then as quick and as hard as he possibly could, Aaron ran his fist across Ivan's face.

The impact was brutal. Ivan’s head jerked to the side, his smirk vanishing as his body went limp. Once again, he was out cold.

Aaron exhaled, adjusting his glasses as Shane and Thompson stared at him, stunned.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Aaron muttered.

They didn’t look back.