Chapter 21 Damian
Damian
We rolled out just after sundown, the van cutting through the dark like a blunt blade.
River cracked a joke about Morgan packing us snacks, and I shut him down with a look, but the truth was—I’d thought of her too.
Thought of her sitting in that kitchen, whispering into that recorder like it was a lifeline.
I told her she was safe here. But safety was a fragile thing, and I hated leaving her behind.
The road stretched black and empty, headlights carving pale tunnels. Cyclone tracked Hemsley’s beacon, the green pulse steady on his screen. Southbound again, but slower this time, like he wanted to be noticed.
“Could be bait,” Cyclone muttered.
“Of course it’s bloody bait,” I said. “Question is, do we take it or cut the line?”
River leaned back, lazy grin not fooling me. “You’re wound tighter than usual, mate. That because of him—” he jabbed a thumb at the tracker—“or because of the woman sitting back at the farmhouse?”
My grip on the wheel tightened. “Watch your mouth.”
He held up his hands, grin widening. “Just saying. You glare less when she’s in the room.”
I didn’t answer, because the worst part was—he wasn’t wrong.
I’d trained my whole life to compartmentalize.
Mission here. Emotion there. Never bleed one into the other.
But Morgan had slipped through a crack I hadn’t known was there.
And the more I tried to wall her out, the more I caught myself thinking about the way her voice softened when she said Ruby’s name.
The way her smile flickered alive when she forgot she was afraid.
The way my chest felt when her eyes found mine, like I was the one being seen.
Bloody foolish.
Cyclone broke the silence. “Truck’s slowing. Pulling toward the outskirts.”
I snapped back into soldier mode, forcing every stray thought about Morgan into the vault. “We follow. No closer than five hundred. If Hemsley wants to play bait, we’ll play smarter.”
River muttered something about “smarter than lust-drunk Brits,” but I ignored him, eyes locked on the taillights ahead.
Because no matter what else was tearing through my head, one truth burned clear:
I wasn’t just protecting an asset anymore.
I was protecting Morgan Tate.
And I’d kill anyone who thought to use her to bleed me.