Chapter 22
Four months had passed since I ripped Connor Flannery’s life out of him. Four months of not worrying about the Irish attacking.
Malakai was still a ghost. Every lead either turned to smoke or to corpses before we could wring anything useful out of them.
But we had cut down enough of his demons to send them slithering back into whatever holes they crawled from.
The attacks had slowed, but when a predator retreats, it isn’t mercy it’s usually calculation.
I knew they were waiting for something, they are bidding their time for an attack, but we will be ready.
The war hadn’t ended, instead It had just shifted and in the middle of it all… Layla kept growing.
Five months pregnant now, and she carried it with that stubborn, infuriating independence that made me want to lock her in our room until the baby was in my arms. She moved through the world like nothing had changed, like she wasn’t carrying the most important thing I’d ever created.
She still walked without caution, still reached for things on high shelves, still tried to argue her way into coming with me on business meetings that ended in blood.
She refused to be treated like she was fragile, even when every instinct in me screamed that she was.
She’d roll her eyes when I hovered, swat at my hands when I tried to help her up from the couch, give me that slow, deliberate stare when I insisted on carrying her up the stairs instead of letting her walk.
What she didn’t understand, what she might never fully understand, was that it wasn’t just about her anymore.
It was about them. The two heartbeats I could hear when I lay next to her.
The steady thrum of hers, and the softer, faster rhythm of the life growing inside her.
It wasn’t weakness I saw when I looked at her, it was something more dangerous than that.
She’d become my greatest vulnerability, and there wasn’t a force in this world I wouldn’t obliterate to keep her safe.
And if that meant chaining the world outside our gates to stop it from touching her, I’d do it without hesitation .
Tonight was the opening of Havoc under her new design.
Months of her pouring over plans, fabrics, furniture, lighting, her building something that was hers, piece by piece.
I’d given her the club because I wanted her to have something in this world that wasn’t born from my blood and enemies, but she had taken it and turned it into something alive.
I watched her now as she stood at the edge of the main floor, my guards flanking her like shadows.
She was in a fitted black dress that skimmed her curves and framed the swell of our child, like she was daring the entire room to look.
Her hair was pinned up, a few loose strands curling against her neck, and she had that smile that told me that she was proud of what she had accomplished.
She was radiant, the kind that made me forget the war entirely.
The place was unrecognizable. Gone were the cold steel walls and grim lighting that made the old Havoc feel like a cage for dangerous men.
She’d gutted it, breathed life into it, reshaped it without killing the edge.
The walls now wore dark, warm wood that drank in the light instead of bouncing it back harshly.
Deep red velvet booths curved along the walls, inviting but still private enough for dangerous deals and whispered threats.
The lighting was low, golden, spilling like honey over the polished bar, catching on the bottles like treasure in a den of thieves.
The air felt different too, it wasn’t softer, but fuller. It still had the thrum of danger, the hum of something wild beneath the surface, but now there was heat to it. There was a pulse, there was her pulse.
This was still Havoc… but it had her mark on it now.
I could feel it in every detail, in the way the seating was arranged to give her guards a clear line of sight, the way the stage was positioned so she could watch the room from above, the choice of fabrics that whispered decadence while still being practical.
She hadn’t just renovated a club, she had claimed a piece of my world and made it hers without asking permission.
And fuck, it made me want to pull her into one of those velvet booths and remind her exactly who she belonged to, even as I was realizing she was already weaving herself into everything that belonged to me.
My brothers were here, ensuring that the reopening of Havoc went smoothly, though I knew damn well it wasn’t just about business.
They’d all insisted on coming tonight, and not because they didn’t trust my security.
No, they’d been doing this more and more lately, hovering around Layla, making sure she smiled, making sure she had what she needed before she even had to ask.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed. Somewhere along the line, they’d taken her under their wing, and for men like us, that meant she was untouchable.
Lucien was stationed near the far wall like a sentinel, his black suit cut sharp enough to slice the air, tie perfectly knotted, boots polished until they caught the low light. His hair was slicked back, jaw tight, eyes always scanning, ready to step in before a threat could even blink.
Viking, of course, was posted at the bar, a deep navy three-piece suit clinging to his broad shoulders, tattoos just visible above his collar, shirt unbuttoned at the throat in deliberate defiance of formality.
He had a glass of whiskey in his hand and that easy grin on his face as he chatted with some of our more questionable business associates, but I saw the way his gaze flicked over the crowd every few seconds, checking for threats.
Volken was perched near the second-floor railing, surveying the crowd with that sharp, calculating stare that never missed a thing.
His charcoal suit was immaculate, his silver-framed glasses catching the glow of the overhead lights, giving him that polished, untouchable look that made people underestimate just how lethal he was.
He wasn’t drinking, or talking, he just stood watching everyone.
Draugr was harder to spot if you didn’t know where to look, he was leaning against a column near the side exit, black shirt and matching leather jacket making him part of the shadows.
His boots were scuffed from work that had nothing to do with polished floors, and his gloved hands were loose at his sides, but I knew better.
Draugr was the hammer you never saw coming until it crushed you.
And tonight, like the others, his attention was on Layla.
His stillness wasn’t laziness, it was the kind of calm you get when you’re waiting for an excuse to kill.
Even Rosemary was here, kept far enough from me to keep my temper in check but close enough that I could keep my eye on her. She was smiling, too sweetly, the way she always did when she wanted something.
And through it all, I knew that my brothers weren’t here for me. They were here for Layla. She had crept into their dead hearts the same way she crept into mine.
I kept my focus on Layla. I could always find her like the bond between us was a compass that never wavered.
She was laughing with Gideon and Ashen about something when she moved toward the stage area. I saw it a second before it happened as she spotted something on one of the upper shelves of the display wall and stepped onto one of the short service steps to get a better look.
It was only a step, it was small, it was harmless.
Except my heart stopped beating for half a second.
I moved before I could even take my next breath, I was already there, closing the space between us, my brothers moving in like a coordinated strike team.
I could feel all of them tense, like they’d just watched her step off a ledge.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My voice cut through the music, sharper than the bass thrum.
She blinked at me over her shoulder. “I’m just…”
“Get down,” I snapped .
She hesitated, then stepped down slowly, her brow knitting in confusion. Before she could say a word, I scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other braced around her back.
“Roman!” she hissed. “Put me down, I’m fine…”
“Fine?” I bit out, my voice low but lethal. “You could have fallen.”
“It was one step!”
“One step is all it takes,” I growled, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Do you have any idea what could have happened if you fell, what it would do to me if…” I stopped, jaw tight, because even saying it felt like tempting fate.
Viking gave a low whistle from behind me. “Jesus, brother, I thought she was dangling off a balcony.”
“She may as well have been,” Lucien muttered, though his eyes were still sharp on Layla, scanning her like he was checking for injury.
Volken just shook his head, but even he looked like he’d swallowed glass. “Don’t scare him like that again, Layla. ”
She huffed, crossing her arms in my hold, but I didn’t put her down.
Not until I’d walked her to a booth and sat with her pressed into my side, my arm locked around her.
The war might have been quieter for now, but in that moment, I realized something brutal, Malakai didn’t have to send an army to destroy me.
One misstep from her, one wrong turn, and my entire world could shatter.
I’d faced bullets, blades, and fangs without hesitation. I’d walked into burning buildings and bled out on cold concrete without blinking. But the sight of her standing on that step, a little too close to the edge, had iced my veins in a way no enemy ever had.
Her head rested against my shoulder, but I could still feel the faint tension in her posture, the way she bristled at being handled. “You can’t just pick me up every time you think I’m in danger,” she murmured, not looking at me.
“Watch me,” I said, my voice low enough that only she could hear.