Chapter 35
Her world is too quiet. Not silent. Not empty. There’s noise, plates clinking, a chair scraping lightly across the floor, voices overlapping in that easy way people do when they’ve known each other long enough not to measure every word. But it’s the wrong kind of noise.
Soft. Unprotected.
I stand just inside the doorway of her family’s house, letting my eyes adjust to the space even though there’s nothing here that should require it.
Warm lighting spills across polished wood floors.
The air smells like food that’s been cooking for hours, something slow and steady that fills the place with heat instead of tension.
Too open. Too exposed. Too fucking easy to break.
Olivia is a step ahead of me, turning back with a small smile like she’s checking to make sure I didn’t bolt before crossing the threshold. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t call attention to it. She just waits.
I step inside.
The door closes behind me with a soft click that sounds louder in my head than it should.
I track the space immediately. Front door: single lock, no reinforcement.
Windows: three visible from here, all standard glass, curtains pulled but not secured.
Hallway to the left: likely bedrooms. Kitchen straight ahead.
Dining room to the right. No choke points.
No controlled entry. No layered security. Anyone who wants in gets in.
My jaw tightens. This is where she grew up. This is what she thinks safe looks like.
“Livie!” A woman’s voice cuts through my thoughts, warm and bright, and Olivia’s face changes in a way I haven’t seen before.
Softer. Lighter. Something unguarded slips through.
Her mom, I assume. She moves forward, arms opening, pulling Olivia into a hug that lasts longer than anything I’ve ever seen between people who aren’t trying to hold each other together after something breaks.
I stand where I am. Watch. Assess.
“Hi, Mom,” Olivia murmurs into her shoulder, and there’s something in her voice that tightens something in my chest in a way I don’t examine too closely.
Her mom pulls back, hands lingering on her arms like she needs to make sure she’s real, whole, standing in front of her. “You look tired,” she says, concern threading through her tone.
“I’m okay,” Olivia answers easily. Too easily. She’s good at that. Smoothing things over. Keeping things light.
Her mom’s eyes shift to me. That’s when the room changes. Not dramatically. Just enough. Curiosity. Caution. Assessment. Different kind than mine. “Hi,” she says, stepping forward slightly. “You must be—”
“Cobra,” I answer. No hesitation. No softening.
Her brows lift just a fraction, surprise flickering before she smooths it away. “Cobra,” she repeats, like she’s testing how it fits. “I’m her mother.”
I nod once. “I figured.” It’s not a joke.
She lets out a small breath that might be a laugh anyway. “Come in, both of you,” she says. “Dinner’s just about ready.”
Olivia glances back at me again, something in her expression asking without asking.
I move following her.
Her dad stands near the head of the table, steady and watchful, while Mia hovers closer to their mom with curious eyes and a nervous smile. Another man stands near the far side, tall, shoulders squared, eyes already on me before we even fully step into the room.
Her brother.
Mark.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t greet me. He just watches. Good. At least someone here understands that not everything walking through the door should be trusted.
“Hey,” Olivia says, her tone shifting again, softer but steadier now. “You remember I told you about my brother. This is Mark.”
Mark doesn’t take his eyes off me. I don’t look away.
We measure each other without saying a word.
He steps forward after a beat, extending a hand.
I look at it. Then take it. His grip is firm.
Testing. Mine is firmer. Not crushing. Not aggressive.
Just enough to make the point. He feels it.
His jaw tightens slightly. He lets go first.
“Sit,” her mom says, cutting through the tension like she’s used to doing it. “Before everything gets cold.”
We take our places.
I sit where I can see the door. The windows. The hallway.
Always.
Olivia slides into the chair next to me, close enough that her knee brushes mine under the table. That grounds something. Just a little.
Conversation starts again, lighter now, her mom filling space, asking about work, about the salon, about things that don’t matter outside of this house.
I don’t speak. Not much. I listen. Track. Watch. Every movement. Every shift.
Mark keeps glancing at me. Not subtle. Not trying to be. Eventually, he stops pretending. “So,” he says, setting his fork down, leaning back slightly in his chair. “What exactly are your intentions with my sister?”
There it is.
Direct.
I look at him. Hold his gaze. “She’s with me,” I say. No explanation. No elaboration. Just truth. It lands. Hard.
Olivia goes still beside me for half a second, then relaxes again.
Her mom’s eyes flick between us.
Mark’s expression doesn’t soften. “That’s not what I asked,” he says.
I tilt my head slightly. “It’s the answer you’re getting.”
The room tightens. Just enough.
Mark leans forward again, forearms braced on the table. “You think that’s enough?” he presses. “You show up here, won’t even give a real name, and just, what, claim her?” The word hits the table like a challenge.
I don’t flinch. “She’s with me,” I repeat. My tone doesn’t change. Doesn’t rise. Doesn’t sharpen. That’s what makes it land harder.
Mark’s chair scrapes back slightly as he shifts forward more. “Yeah? And what happens when whatever you’re into follows you here?” he shoots back. “You bring that shit into her life and then what? You walk away when it gets bad?”
My body starts to move before the thought finishes. Not fast. Not explosive. Just a shift. A lean. A readiness. The kind that doesn’t need noise to be understood.
And then… her hand. Light. Warm. On my arm. It’s barely pressure. Barely there. But it stops me. Not because it holds me back. Because it centers me.
I look down at it for half a second. Then back at him. The tension in my shoulders eases. Not gone. Controlled. Reined in.
For her.
“I don’t walk away,” I say. Still calm. Still steady.
Mark holds my gaze, searching for something in it. Maybe weakness. Maybe doubt. He won’t find either. “And if something comes for her?” he pushes.
My jaw tightens. “You think I’d be sitting here if I wasn’t already prepared to handle that?” That shifts something. Not enough to ease him. Enough to make him pause.
Her mom clears her throat softly. “Maybe we can all—”
“We’re not done,” Mark cuts in, not looking away from me.
I almost respect it.
Olivia’s hand presses a little more firmly into my arm. Not stopping. Grounding.
I shift slightly in my seat, adjusting instead of reacting. Adapting. For her. “I’m not the problem,” I tell him.
“That’s not convincing,” he shoots back.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not supposed to be.” That earns a flicker of something in his eyes. Confusion.
Then, my phone buzzes. Once. Sharp. I don’t look at it immediately. I don’t break eye contact. It buzzes again. I pull it out. One glance. That’s all it takes.
Dom: They’re not done.
A second message follows before I can lock the screen.
Dom: We picked up chatter. Direct. Not coded.
Dom: It said, “We’ll get her. One way or another.”
Something in me goes completely still. Not calm. Not controlled. Something deeper. Colder. Everything sharpens. The room. The people. The exits. The threats. All of it aligns into something clear.
War.
I slide the phone back into my pocket. Slow. Measured.
Olivia’s hand is still on my arm. She feels the shift. I know she does. I look at her. Just for a second. She meets my gaze. Reads it. Doesn’t ask. Not here. Not now.
I look back at Mark. The conversation we were having doesn’t matter anymore. Not in the same way. He notices the change. Everyone does, even if they don’t understand it.
Dinner continues.
Her mom tries to smooth it over.
Olivia answers questions.
Mark watches me.
I stay. I eat. I exist in this space the way she needs me to. But I’m not here anymore. Not really. I’m already moving pieces in my head. Tracking. Planning. Eliminating. They want her. They’re still coming.
Good. Let them.
I look at Olivia next to me. She’s laughing at something her mom said, her shoulders relaxed, her expression open in a way she never is at the clubhouse.
This is her world.
This. Right here.
Normal. Warm. Unprotected. Mine to guard now.
They don’t take this from her.
Not while I’m breathing.
Not while I’m standing.
Not while there’s anything left in me to use against them.
They want a fight.
They’ll get one.
And I won’t stop until there’s nothing left of them to come back for her again.