Chapter 7 – Lance
Chapter Seven
Call the Bigger Monster
Lance
Hang tight, Spitfire. I'm coming for you .
I could hear her ragged breathing through the phone, the distant sounds of chaos—shouting, something crashing. My foot pressed harder on the accelerator, the Aston Martin's engine screaming as I took another corner too fast.
"How much further?"
Her voice was small, terrified in a way that made something feral wake up inside me.
"Thirty seconds. I can see the building." The co-op's industrial facade came into view, police lights flashing in the distance already on their way. "Stay exactly where you are. Don't move until I get to you."
"Lance—" Her voice cracked. "I think they're gone. It's been quiet for a minute."
"I don't care. You don't move." The command came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't help it. Every protective instinct I'd spent years learning to control was screaming at me. "You hear me, Morgan? You stay put until I'm there."
"Okay." A shaky exhale. "Okay."
I screeched to a stop in front of the co-op, not giving a damn about blocking the fire lane. I went around the side of the building, speaking into the phone.
"I'm here," I said into the phone, already moving. "Stay on the line."
The destruction inside stopped me cold for half a second. Overturned tables. Scattered fabric and thread. Broken glass everywhere. Bullet holes in the concrete walls. The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air like a toxic perfume.
You did this. This is your fault.
The beast inside me snarled, wanting blood. Wanting to hunt down whoever had dared to touch what was mine. My hands flexed, muscle memory itching for the familiar weight of weapons. I could already feel the warm spray of arterial blood, could hear the screams that would precede death.
I forced myself to focus. Morgan first. Revenge later.
But not much later.
"Lance?" Her voice through the phone, smaller now.
"I'm coming to you. Thirty more seconds."
I navigated the chaos, stepping over debris, my mind automatically cataloging the scene. Professional work. Not random. The bullet patterns were too precise, the destruction too organized. This was a coordinated attack by people who knew what they were doing.
I avoided them and went to the side entrance before they could close down the scene.
He chose wisely.
The storage room door was locked from the inside, just like she'd said.
"Morgan, it's me. I'm outside the door."
I heard movement, the scrape of something heavy being moved, then the click of the lock turning. The door opened a crack, revealing one golden-brown eye peering out—wide, unfocused, searching.
Then it swung wide, and there she was.
Alive. Breathing. Whole.
But the look in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees.
Shell-shocked. That was the only word for it.
Her gaze was unfocused, like she was seeing something else entirely—replaying horrors in her mind that I couldn't reach.
Her usually perfect posture had collapsed—shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold her pieces together.
"Lance." My name came out as barely a whisper, like she couldn't quite believe I was real.
Relief crashed over me so hard I nearly staggered. Every violent impulse I'd been fighting crystallized into a single, burning need— find whoever did this and make them pay. Slowly. Methodically. The way my grandfather had taught me.
Without thinking, I stepped forward, my hands reaching for her.
She didn't pull away this time. Just stood there, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.
"Hey," I said softly, my voice gentler than it had been in weeks. "I'm here. You're okay."
Behind her, Amber sat slumped against the wall, blood trickling from her temple, her arm cradled against her chest. My eyes automatically cataloged her injuries—concussion, possible broken arm, bruised ribs from the way she was holding herself. Survivable.
"Are you hurt, Morgan?" I asked, my hands hovering just inches from her face, wanting to touch, to reassure myself she was really unharmed.
She shook her head, the movement jerky. "I'm... I think I'm okay."
Her voice sounded distant, disconnected.
"Amber's hurt. They hit her. She wouldn't wake up for a while. We need to get her to the hospital."
The flat way she said it made my chest tight. This wasn't the Morgan who usually faced everything head-on with fire and determination. This was someone trying very hard not to fall apart.
"Can you tell me your name?" I asked Amber, kneeling beside her while keeping most of my attention on Morgan.
"Amber Miller," she said weakly. "And before you ask, I know what day it is, who the president is, and that you're an overprotective asshole. So my brain's working fine."
Despite everything, I felt a flicker of relief. If Amber was giving me shit, she'd be okay.
"Good. Let's get you both out of here. The paramedics are right outside."
Morgan nodded but didn't move. Just stood there, staring at something I couldn't see—probably replaying the attack in her mind. I'd seen that look before, in mirrors after particularly brutal assignments.
"Morgan?" I said gently.
She blinked, seeming to come back to herself slightly.
"Sorry. I'm just... there was so much noise.
And then nothing." She looked up at me, and I saw fear there—raw, honest fear that cut through me like a blade.
"I thought you might not come. I know things between us are.
.. I know you probably don't want to deal with my problems anymore. "
Something twisted in my chest. Even after everything, even in the middle of trauma, she was worried about being a burden to me.
My jaw clenched so hard I heard my teeth grind. Someone had made her doubt that I'd come for her. Someone had terrorized her so badly that she thought I might abandon her.
They would pay for that too.
"Spitfire." I stepped closer, my hands settling lightly on her shoulders. "I will always come when you call. Always. Do you understand me?"
She nodded, but I could see the doubt lingering in her eyes. The aftermath of trauma, making her question everything she thought she knew.
A police officer approached, moving too fast, too close to Morgan. I stepped between them before conscious thought, my body coiled for violence. The cop stopped short at whatever he saw in my expression—probably the same thing that had made hardened killers think twice about crossing me.
"Just checking on the witness," he said carefully, his hand unconsciously moving to his weapon.
"She's fine," I growled. "Give her space."
I turned back to Morgan, forcing my expression to soften. "You're freezing," I observed, noting the way she'd started shivering in earnest now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
I shrugged off my jacket and stepped closer. This time, she didn't refuse when I draped it around her shoulders. She even pulled it tighter around herself, and something inside me eased slightly at the acceptance.
"I can't stop shaking," she said, looking down at her hands with genuine confusion. "Why can't I stop shaking?"
"Shock," I said gently. "It's normal. Your body's processing what happened."
Every instinct I had screamed to sweep the building, to hunt down whoever had done this.
The scent of gunpowder made my hands itch for weapons.
I could feel the familiar weight of pistols at my hips—phantom sensations from a life I'd tried to leave behind.
But Morgan needed me steady. Needed me present.
I helped Amber to her feet carefully, letting her lean on me as we made our way out of the storage room. Morgan followed like a sleepwalker, her bag clutched against her chest like armor.
The main area of the co-op was now swarming with first responders. Paramedics immediately took charge of Amber, despite her insistence that she was fine.
I studied the crime scene more carefully now, my training kicking in automatically. The bullet patterns told a story. The attackers had come in fast and hard, but not indiscriminately. This wasn't a robbery gone wrong. This was targeted.
"Ma'am, we need to check you out, too," one of the EMTs said to Morgan.
She just stared at him for a moment, like she didn't understand the words.
"She's in shock," I told the paramedic, something in my tone making him nod quickly. "Just give her a minute."
My phone buzzed. Silas.
Silas: Got your location. Press is swarming. Hector's people?
Me: Has to be. Get me everything on tonight's surveillance. Everyone who was here.
Silas: Already on it. You need backup?
I glanced at Morgan, still staring at nothing, still shaking.
Me: Not yet. But soon.
The police approached, wanting statements. Morgan answered their questions, but her responses were slow, halting. She kept looking around like she expected someone to jump out at any moment.
When they finished, I couldn't stand watching her struggle anymore.
"Give me your hands," I said.
She held them out, and I took them in mine, rubbing my thumbs over her knuckles. Her skin was ice cold, despite the jacket.
"I keep seeing their faces," she said suddenly, her voice barely audible. "The man who grabbed Amber. The way he looked at me. Like I was..." She trailed off, shuddering.
"Like you were what?"
"Like I was already dead."
Violence erupted through my veins like molten metal. Someone had looked at her like prey. Like something to be hunted, hurt, discarded. Like she was nothing more than a message to be delivered.
I was going to tear them apart. Piece by fucking piece. Starting with their fingers and working my way up. I'd make them beg for death long before I granted it.
But not now. Now I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her. For a moment, she resisted, then melted against me, her face pressed against my chest.
"You're not dead," I said fiercely. "You're here. You're safe. And I'm not going anywhere."
She stayed there for a long moment, just breathing. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, rapid and irregular. When she finally pulled back, she looked a little more like herself.
"I don't know what to do with that," she whispered.
Before I could respond, she started swaying slightly on her feet.
"Whoa." I steadied her immediately. "When's the last time you ate anything?"
She frowned, thinking. "I don't... this morning? Maybe."
"That's not good enough." I unclasped my watch, the one I'd worn every day since she gave it back to me months ago. It was an old Rolex, nothing flashy, but it kept perfect time. "Here. Remember this?"
Recognition flickered in her eyes.
"When you get overwhelmed, you watch the time pass," I said softly. "Your mom taught you that. To let time heal what hurts."
Her breath caught. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything about you." I slipped the watch onto her wrist, my fingers careful against her skin. The contact sent electricity through me—a reminder of everything we'd had, everything I'd lost. "Just breathe with it. Count the seconds until you feel more like yourself."
She looked down at the watch, and I saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. Her breathing gradually started to match the rhythm of the second hand.
"Thank you," she said quietly. Then, even quieter, "For coming. For being here."
I wanted to say a hundred things. That I'd burn the world down to keep her safe. That whoever did this would pay in blood. That the only reason I wasn't already hunting them down was because she needed me here , steady, present.
Instead, I just nodded.
Across the room, I caught sight of Atticus pushing through the police barrier. His face was a mask of controlled fury, but when his eyes found Morgan, relief flooded his features.
"She okay?" he asked when he reached us.
I shrugged. "Physically, yes. Emotionally..." my voice trailed and I shrugged.
"And you? You holding it together?"
I met his gaze. "For now."
"Good. Because I'm going to need the Lance who can think clearly, not the one who wants to burn everything down."
"Both versions want the same thing," I said quietly. "Just different timelines."
Atticus nodded grimly. "Pierce is coordinating with NYPD. We'll find them."
I raised an eyebrow. "We?"
"Don't even think about cutting me out of this. They attacked my sister-in-law in my city." His expression turned cold. "That's not acceptable."
As I stood there watching Morgan follow the second hand with her eyes, one thought echoed through my mind with crystalline clarity.
Someone had terrorized the woman I loved. Had made her feel small and scared and helpless. Had looked at her like she was already dead.
They would learn what a mistake that was.
I'd spent ten years trying to be a better man. Trying to bury the weapon my grandfather had forged. But some lines, once crossed, couldn't be uncrossed.
They'd crossed that line the moment they touched her.
Now they'd face the consequences.
But first, I'd make sure she was safe. Then I'd show them exactly what kind of monster they'd awakened.