10. Killian
KILLIAN
The door clicks shut, and I lean against it, still tasting her. Her scent is on my skin. Gregory Hart’s daughter was just coming apart under me in her own fucking office. I can still feel her nails in my shoulders. The way she locked up when she came.
I’d fantasized about it for years. Reality just fucking destroyed every single one.
Now she knows exactly what I can make her feel.
My burner phone’s in my hand before the satisfaction can settle, fingers moving automatically to dial a number I've memorized but never used. It connects after three rings.
“Gabe. I need you.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Silence stretches for three seconds. “Her place?”
He doesn’t need clarification. He’s known about Ellie since I showed him her father’s photograph years ago, and told him I was leaving the Order.
“They’ve been inside her home.”
“Fuck. I’m already moving. Three hours.”
I give him the address, and the line goes dead.
I move to the window, staring out at the garden. I should have known they'd be watching, should have anticipated that bringing me here would put Ellie directly in their crosshairs.
My phone buzzes with an encrypted message from another contact. A former Order tech specialist who maintains access to their surveillance networks in exchange for protection from Ross’s reach.
Unknown: Cell 7 deployment authorized. Primary target elimination: 24-48 hour window. Ross personally ordered the escalation.
Cell 7. Shit. Ross’s elite team, used only for high-value targets or personal vendettas.
The S.A.S. of the Order. Now they’ve moved from observation to active killing.
The surveillance started because of her research into her father’s death.
Into me. But Ross personally authorizing Cell 7?
That’s not about research anymore. It’s about punishing me, killing the woman I’ve claimed, the woman I can’t live without. He wants me to know it’s coming.
The rage is absolute. My fist connects with the drywall beside the window, splitting my knuckles. Blood wells up and drips onto the hardwood.
Fuck!
I've killed for less. Torn men apart with bare hands for even thinking about getting in my way. She's mine. Body. Head. All of it.
The thought of Order’s eyes observing her movements, her routines, her vulnerabilities, makes me want to tear each one of them apart.
The message was no random threat. It had been taken professionally, the angle suggesting long-range.
They've been documenting her movements for weeks, maybe months, maybe longer.
Which means I've failed already. Failed to protect her from the very danger I brought to her door the second I decided I needed her in my life.
I examine the photo more closely, noting details I'd missed in my initial fury. The timestamp in the metadata places it a month ago, before my arrival.
But why? What does Ellie know that makes her worth killing? Her father's research, obviously, but Gregory Hart has been dead for years. Any evidence he collected would be long gone, any connections severed by time and Ross's meticulous cleanup operations.
Unless she's found something new? Something that connects back to her father's work and threatens the Order’s operations.
My second call is to Jackson, the only member of my former crew with direct access to Order intelligence channels. He answers on the second ring.
“I’m compromised.” I say bluntly. “Need intel on Cell 7. They’re targeting someone important to me.”
Keys click in the background. “Give me six hours to pull what I can find. I’m about eight hours out, maybe less.” A pause. “Is this about the woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll make it seven. Don’t get yourself killed before I get there.”
“I can’t promise that.”
He snorts. “Yeah, figured. See you soon, brother.”
Two calls, and the people I trust with my life are already moving. Because I know what this is now, war. Ross has declared it by targeting Ellie, and I will respond with the full arsenal of skills and contacts his organization helped me develop.
A knock at my door cuts through my train of thought. Ellie standing there, her hair still mussed from my hands, and lips still swollen from my mouth. She looks vulnerable. It's a dangerous way to stand in front of a man like me.
“We need to talk about what just happened,” she says, chin lifted at an angle that means she’s terrified but refuses to show it. “About us, and about that text.”
"Not here," I say quietly, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the kitchen, the room furthest from windows and with the best acoustic protection. "The house isn't secure."
She stiffens but follows. I can see her working through the implications. In the kitchen, I turn the faucet on full blast. White noise. The water hits stainless steel, loud enough to scramble listening devices, and step close enough to whisper.
"I've called in specialists," I tell her, watching her eyes widen. "People I trust. They'll be here in a few hours to sweep for bugs and secure the property."
"Specialists?" Her voice is barely audible over the running water. "You mean—"
"People like me," I nod in confirmation as I interrupt her. "People who know how the Order operates, and how to take them down."
“The Order.” She repeats the name slowly. "My father was investigating the Order before he died." It's not a question, and I see the pieces starting to connect in her mind. She's always been too smart for her own good.
"Yes."
"And you know these people how, exactly?"
Goddammit. I could lie, could fabricate a story about prison connections or the criminal grapevine. But after what we've just shared, after what's changed between us, I can't stomach more lies. Not right now.
“Because I used to be one of them.” The words leave my mouth with a sigh. “Before prison. Before… everything.”
Her face goes through three expressions in two seconds.
Shock. Then something worse. Understanding.
I watch the pieces click together behind those intelligent eyes.
The certainty about where the text had come from.
The tactical thinking. The way I move through the world, like I’m always ready for violence.
Because I am.
"That's why you were so certain about the text. This is something you would have done." Again, they are not questions but realisation.
Clever little thing.
"Yes."
"And that's why you're not afraid of them like a normal person would be."
I can't help the dark laugh that escapes me. "I never said I wasn't afraid, Ellie. I know exactly what they're capable of. That's why I'm taking this shit seriously."
"How deep were you? In the Order?" She studies my face, and I feel that gaze stripping away every defense I’ve spent years building.
"Deep enough that they want me dead for leaving." Another moment of truth.
The doorbell rings before she can respond. No one should be arriving yet. Gabriel’s ETA is still three hours out.
“Stay here,” I order, moving to the security panel to check the camera feed. The screen shows fucking Nathan standing on the porch, his expression a mixture of anger and anxiety.
“It’s Nathan,” I tell Ellie, watching her face fall. “What the fuck is he doing back here after yesterday?”
She winces.
“I blocked his number. He’s probably been trying to call all morning. I’ll handle it.”
She moves toward the door before I can argue.
Every instinct screams at me to follow. But I force myself to stay back. She needs to do this herself.
I stay in the hallway, eight feet back. Close enough to reach her in two seconds if needed. Through the partially open door, I watch her step onto the porch.
Smart girl. Keeping him outside. Maintaining her authority.
“Ellie, please.” Nathan’s voice is desperate.
“You blocked my number, so I had to come see you. I know things ended badly yesterday, and I shouldn’t have texted you what I did, but after sleeping on it, I realized you’re not thinking clearly.
That man is dangerous. Let me help you. We can call my father and get this whole arrangement dissolved. ”
“Nathan, I appreciate your concern, but this is my decision.”
“Your decision?” His voice rises. “You’re not thinking clearly. He’s manipulated you somehow; that’s what these people do. They find vulnerabilities and exploit them.”
I laugh under my breath. I mean, he’s not wrong. I have manipulated her, found her vulnerabilities, exploited every crack in her armor. But Nathan says it as if I’ve done something to her against her will, like she’s a victim rather than a woman making her own choices.
“I’m exactly who I’ve always been, Nathan. Maybe you just never really knew me.”
He flinches, and his shoulders slump. He’s done fighting.
“This is about him, isn’t it? That criminal living in your house. What’s happened to you, Ellie?”
“Nothing’s happened to me.” She sounds certain now. “I’m finally figuring out what I actually want. And I’m sorry, but it isn’t this.”
“Fine.” The word is bitter. “But when this blows up in your face, and it will, don’t expect me to be here to pick up the pieces.”
The door closes with a slam. Ellie stands there for a moment, hand still on the doorknob. Then she turns, finding me watching from the hallway. Our eyes meet. She chose me.
“Well that’s that done,” she says quietly, moving past me back toward the kitchen.
This woman just chose me.
Don’t fuck it up.
My phone buzzes.
Gabriel: 20 minutes out. Made better time than expected.
“Gabe’s almost here.” I show Ellie the message.
“Good. The sooner we know what we’re dealing with, the better.”
“Until then, we need to act normal, in case they’re watching.”
"Normal," she repeats with a humorless laugh. "After what just happened in my office? After that text? After learning you used to work for the organization that might have killed my father? What exactly is 'normal' about any of this, Killian?"
She's right, of course. Nothing about this is normal. I’ve crashed into her carefully ordered life and left nothing standing.