21. Fracturing Foundations #2
The irony almost makes me laugh. Lucas, innocent? The man who blackened my eyes, fractured my ribs, wrapped his hands around my throat until spots danced at the edges of my vision? The bruises have faded from my skin, but the memory of his violence remains branded into my nervous system.
“Once Detective Archer officially closes the case,” Eve continues, “there’s—”
Eve is cut off by a commotion outside.
The crystal wine glasses on our table shatter in rapid succession—one, two, three, four—before my brain registers the staccato crack of gunfire.
“Get down!” Eve yells, already moving with practiced efficiency, her hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.
More shots ring out. Glass explodes. Someone screams. My body freezes, caught in the paralysis of terror as chaos erupts around me.
People shouting.
Tables overturning.
The acrid smell of gunpowder cutting through the lingering scents of expensive perfume and fine cuisine.
I’m still sitting upright, stupidly vulnerable, when strong arms wrap around me from behind. Micah . He lifts me from my chair, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. His heartbeat thunders against my ear—steady, strong, certain—as he moves with purpose through the growing pandemonium.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his deep voice a lifeline in the madness.
Smoke billows through the restaurant, thick and disorienting, filling my lungs and stinging my eyes.
Shadows move through the haze—running figures, crouched forms, indistinct threats.
I glimpse Olivia dragging Lydia beneath a table, Eve moving in the opposite direction, her posture battle-ready despite her cocktail dress.
“My friends—” I gasp, struggling against Micah’s iron grip.
“They’re being handled,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Zeke and his men are here. My priority is getting you out.”
Another burst of gunfire, closer now. Micah tightens his hold, shielding my body with his much larger one as he navigates through the smoke.
His movements are fluid, decisive. He’s a man accustomed to violence, unfazed by danger.
The stark contrast between this Micah and the gentle lover who whispers praise against my skin in the darkness sends a shiver through me.
We burst through a side exit into the frigid night air.
The sudden cold burns my lungs, still raw from the smoke.
Micah doesn’t slow, covering ground with long strides, keeping my face pressed against his chest. I catch fractured glimpses of the scene—men with guns positioned around the parking lot, the restaurant’s windows glowing orange with fire, patrons fleeing in every direction.
“Who—?” I try to ask, but my voice breaks.
“Later,” Micah promises, his beard brushing my forehead as he scans our surroundings with predatory intensity. “First we get somewhere safe.”
His truck appears through the smoke. He yanks open the passenger door one-handed, somehow maintaining his grip on me, and deposits me inside with surprising gentleness given the urgency of the moment.
Before I can fully register the change in position, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat, slamming the door, and starting the engine.
We hurtle backwards, tires squealing against asphalt.
Through the windshield, I see two masked figures emerge from the smoke, weapons raised.
Micah swerves hard, avoiding a spray of bullets that pings against metal.
His expression remains unnervingly calm, almost detached, as he shifts gears and accelerates forward, narrowly missing a parked car.
“Duck down,” he orders, one hand reaching to push my head below window level. “Keep down until I say otherwise.”
I comply without question, folding myself into the footwell as the truck lurches and weaves through the parking lot.
More gunshots ring out behind us. A loud cracking sound follows.
Maybe metal ripped apart by bullets? I can’t tell, can only feel the truck’s violent acceleration as we burst onto the main road.
“Stay down,” he repeats, then adds with unexpected tenderness, “You’re safe now. I promise.”
As we speed through the night, city lights strobing across the dashboard, I close my eyes and focus on his promise, clinging to it like a talisman against the terror threatening to consume me.
I don’t know how much time passes before Micah tells me it’s safe to get up. I don’t move at first, too afraid of what might happen if I do. But his reassuring nod and the softness in his eyes are all the comfort I need to get my aching body out of the floor of the truck.
I curl into the passenger seat, knees drawn to my chest, watching shadows slide across Micah’s face as streetlights flash past. The beautiful emerald dress that made me feel alive just hours ago is torn at the hem and smells of smoke. My hands won’t stop shaking.
The ringing of Micah’s phone slices through our tense silence. He answers on the first ring, hitting the speaker button without taking his eyes off the road.
“We’re clear,” Micah says before the caller can speak, his voice steady despite everything.
“Good.” Zeke’s voice fills the cab, clipped and dangerous. “Everyone’s accounted for. Eve’s handling the local police, making sure this stays a random gang shooting in the reports.”
Relief floods through me. “Olivia and Lydia? They’re okay?”
“They’re safe,” Zeke confirms. “Seb got Olivia out. Eli took care of Lydia.”
Micah’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Who was it?”
“The Gallaghers.” Zeke spits the name like poison.
“Confirmed?” Micah asks.
“They used outside men for the hit but Connor’s right-hand man was spotted a few blocks from the restaurant before he got away.”
“Brendan,” Micah growls, the name reverberating with fury. “Are you sure of his involvement?”
I shudder at the implication but can’t find it in me to feel anything but vengeful satisfaction. These people tried to kill us over territory and power.
“Why else would he be so close,” Zeke’s anger comes out in every word.
“It’s definitely cause for suspicion.”
“We’re cleaning house,” Zeke continues, his voice cold steel. “This will not go unpunished.”
Micah’s eyes flick to me briefly, then back to the road. “You need me.”
It’s not a question.
“Get her to safety first,” Zeke orders. “Then meet us at the club. We’re going to send a message no one in Columbus will forget.”
The call ends, leaving us in silence broken only by the hum of tires on asphalt and my shallow breathing.
“Naomi,” Micah begins, reaching for my hand. His palm engulfs mine, warm and solid and real. “I need to—”
“I know,” I interrupt, twining my fingers with his. “You have to go.”
His eyes—dark, intense, filled with conflicting emotions—meet mine at a red light. “I’ll take you back to the cabin first.”
I shake my head. “There’s no time. Take me to your apartment in the city. I’ll be fine for a few hours.”
“It’s not safe. Sandra’s hired private investigators.”
“Then I’ll stay with Olivia,” I suggest. “Or Lydia.”
Micah’s jaw works beneath his beard. I recognize his expression—the same one he wears when battling between what he wants and what must be done. Then he shakes his head making his decision.
“I’m taking you to the cabin,” his tone dangerous and firm. There’s no arguing with him. “Zeke and the others will wait,”
“Okay, but whoever did this,” I say quietly, “they tried to kill me. Kill my friends. I want them to pay.”
Something shifts in his eyes—pride, maybe, or recognition. He lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that feels like a promise.
“They will.”