Chapter 9 Octavian
OCTAVIAN
This is the part of the job I hate. How the time drags despite being solely focused on her.
Tonight’s been made a bit easier I guess by the watch Keira gifted me this morning.
She bought me a gold Rolex, which if it had stopped there would have been nice.
However, she had etched on the back the gps coordinates of her house, so ‘I’d never forget where I needed to report for my babysitting duties.
’ While she is mocking me, I laughed when she walked away.
Either way, the sooner this is over, the sooner I get her home and can take a breath.
Thankfully, this damn gala is finally coming to a close.
I lean against the far wall, tracking Keira's movements through the thinning crowd. She's still networking, still performing for the people gathered here.
I think back to the man who was watching her earlier. I remember the way her fingers tremble when she reaches for her glass afterward.
She's good at hiding things.
A man in a black tux slides up beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder as he leans closer to whisper something.
Too familiar, and my jaw tightens.
Whatever he said made her laugh, and suddenly I don't like it.
His hand makes its way to her back.
I push off the wall and as I move toward her, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, glancing at the screen.
Shane.
Declan's man.
I answer. "Da," I pause and then quickly correct myself, "Yeah." Romanian won't do me any good here.
"You got eyes on Keira?" Shane's voice is short.
I look across the room. She's still with him. Hand still on her back, fingers spread too wide.
"Of course."
"We got a body," Shane says. "Our security called it in. Female. Bottom of parking basement where staff parked so guests won't see it."
Where I parked, too.
"They want Keira out fast. No fucking around," he says.
They mean Callum and Declan.
My hand tightens around the phone.
"I'll take her," I say and hang up.
I cut straight through the clusters of donors and staff like they're nothing. I don't care about being subtle now.
The tuxedoed asshole sees me coming, but he doesn't move his hand.
I approach Keira and lean in. "Come with me," I tell her, my voice low.
She looks up at me, confusion flickering across her face before she masks it with a laugh.
"What? I, I'm fine. I just need to—"
"You need to come with me. Now."
The man's hand lands on my shoulder. Big mistake.
"Hey, man, relax. She's okay."
I look down at his hand.
Five fingers pressed against my jacket, uninvited.
I turn slowly, catching his wrist in one smooth motion and twisting just enough that his smile vanishes.
"Touch me again," I say, my voice low and firm, "and I'll rip your fucking hand off and shove it down your throat. Do you understand me?"
His face goes pale.
"Hey," Keira's voice cuts through the tension as she taps my arm. "Okay, okay, let him go. Jesus."
I release him. He stumbles back, clutching his wrist, and vanishes into the crowd.
I try my best not to make a scene, but I don't know how to operate in these things.
Keira glares at me. "What are you doing? You're embarrassing me."
"We're leaving."
I take Keira's hand and pull her toward the exit.
She doesn't resist, but I realize two things as my mind is spinning. I've never touched her like this, and the warmth from her hands is something, something—
"Wait, I need to get my purse," she says, trying to tug her hand free, interrupting my thoughts. "I don't know where I left it."
"Here," I say and head to the chair she'd draped it over earlier, grab it, and hand it to her. "Take it."
"Oh." She says, grabbing it, surprise lighting up her face.
"Come on," I say, not acknowledging her gratitude.
We move quickly toward the elevators, my hand firm on her lower back. I hesitate to take her hand again.
As the doors open, I slide my hand into my jacket, resting it on my gun. Two women inside take one look at me and rush out.
Keira steps in, annoyed. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"
"We're leaving," I say as the doors close.
"Yeah, you said that, captain obvious, but why are we leaving?"
I don't answer. I don't want to scare her. Not yet anyway. I'm sure she'll see it when we get to the car.
As the elevator descends in silence, she crosses her arms and just stares at me with those green eyes.
"I swear to God, if you don't tell me, I'm not getting out of this elevator."
The doors slide open and I motion for her to step out.
She moves to the back corner instead, gripping the handrail.
Her jaw sets.
Stubborn.
Always so fucking stubborn.
I step toward her.
She tightens her grip on the rail, planting her feet.
"Keira. Out. Now."
She doesn't move. Just shakes her head.
"Tell me what's happening or I'm not moving."
I don't have time for this.
I close the distance, catching both her wrists and twisting just enough that her fingers release the bar.
“No, Octavian. Don’t!"
I lift her up and swing her over my shoulder in one smooth motion.
"Put me down!"
She grabs for the elevator door, but I'm already stepping through.
Her fists hammer against my back.
"Octavian! Let me go," she says, wiggling.
"Not until you're safely at the car."
She responds with a leg kick, her heels catching me in the ribs.
It doesn't hurt.
I carry her across the parking basement, ignoring the echo of her protests bouncing off the concrete walls.
Shane and another man are standing near a support column, and when they see us, they both smile.
"We're working on IDing her," Shane says, jerking his chin toward what I assume is the body on the ground behind the column.
When I approach, I look down and see a woman in a blue dress with messy brown hair.
Her tongue has been cut out, leaving a dark, gaping wound in her mouth.
Black feathers are scattered across her chest. It looks like they are arranged deliberately.
Feather. Same shape, same as the one the man in the ballroom held. The one she pretended not to notice.
Suddenly, Keira stops moving. She must have seen the body.
"Can you put me down, please?" she says, her voice quieter now. Calmer.
"No."
"Just put me the fuck down, Octavian."
The shift in her tone makes me pause. She's not fighting anymore.
I lower her slowly, setting her on her feet. She turns to look at the woman on the ground.
And her face does something I haven't seen her do yet. A crack comes through and she looks sad. All the color draining from her skin.
"Oh no," she whispers. "Bridget."
And then it clicks.
This was the woman she was talking to earlier. The one she pulled into the corner for a quiet conversation.
Keira just stares down at her, frozen.
Her breath comes faster, shallower.
She doesn't cry. Doesn't scream. Just stares.
Like she's trying to process something too big to fit inside her head.
She looks at Shane, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"Tell my brothers about the feathers."
I glance at Shane. He's already pulling out his phone.
"Okay. And you know her?"
"Yes. Her name is Bridget. She worked for us. I'll have someone give you all the details. We'll need to send something to her family."
Then she turns and walks toward my car without another word.
I watch her go, her shoulders rigid, her body almost limp.
The fire in her, the thing I both hate and admire, has gone out.
She doesn't say a word as I open her door and she gets in the car.
I drive in silence.
Keira sits in the passenger seat, her hands resting on the purse laying in her lap, her gaze fixed on the window.
She doesn't fidget.
Doesn't check her lipstick.
Doesn't pull out her phone.
Just stares.
I glance at her twice. Both times, she doesn't move.
She's quiet. Not defiant. Not flirtatious. Not even testing me.
Just... I don't know, but I don't like it.
When we pull up to her house, I turn the car off.
I don't reach for the door and neither does she, which she always does without fail.
I glance at her. I shouldn't ask.
"Are you all right?"
She doesn't look at me, just scoffs. "Like you give a shit."
She wipes her eyes quickly, a single sharp motion, before I can see if there are tears.
I don't say anything because I'm not sure what to say, or what I should say.
Overstepping my job is not worth it, for both her and me.
I get out of the car and move around to her side, opening the door.
I extend my hand to help her and she takes it.
As she goes to pull her hand away from mine, I hold onto it for a moment longer.
"I'm sorry for what happened to your employee," I say, my voice low. "But nothing like that will ever happen to you."
Those green eyes, slightly glossy, meet mine, and she nods, and then finally pulls her hand away.
I follow a few paces behind as we make our way inside. When she gets to the base of the stairs, she pauses.
"Goodnight, Octavian."
"Noapte bun?,” I say and quickly correct myself to speak English, “Goodnight."
I stand there and watch her ascend the stairs.
As I do, trained thoughts of work enter my mind.
Tonight wasn't random. The woman in the parking garage was targeted.
And so was Keira.
Whatever these feathers mean, I'll find out. And when I do, I'll put a bullet in the skull of whoever left them.
Because next time, it won't be a message. It'll be her.
And they'll have to get through me before I let that happen.