Chapter 6 Elias #2
A wet, choked laugh bursts from her throat. Moisture glosses over her pupils. "You're forging me a ring out of industrial steel."
"Gold warps and scratches too easily," I argue, my jaw tight. "This alloy refuses to break. You can slam it against a filing cabinet or a rifle stock, and the surface won't take a single dent."
Reaching out, she grazes the rough metal. "It's absolutely perfect."
"The work isn't finished. The edges require aggressive filing and internal engraving." I snatch the ring back to shield the imperfection from her view. "The process requires time."
Stepping closer, she crowds directly into my personal space. "We have time."
"Logan buzzed minutes ago." I jerk my chin toward the thick iron barricade. "The siege above is over. The Feds will return by sunrise. The outside world is waiting to tear this entire compound apart."
"We have twelve hours," she commands, her tone unyielding.
"The audit concluded hours ago, Mia. Keeping you locked inside this Vault requires a legitimate reason."
"Then invent one."
Her chin tilts up, presenting a fierce, direct challenge.
Staring at the massive door, the logical path lays itself out. Opening it lets my brothers inside to celebrate the victory. Handing over the data ensures the Costa empire burns to ash.
But the second that heavy steel unseals, she stops belonging solely to me. She instantly transforms into the federal witness. The former CFO. A tactical problem for the club.
Inside these four walls, she remains just Mia. And I remain the man obsessed with the rhythm of her pulse.
Ripping the intercom handset off the wall mount, I stare at the blinking red indicator.
Logan is pacing the hallway upstairs. I can feel the President's impatience vibrating through the steel, likely already wondering if the 'Ghost Code' that’s been haunting our servers for eight months is about to flare up again.
My thumb depresses the talk button. "Logan."
Static crackles through the ancient speaker. "About damn time, Elias. Is the room secure? Are you two in one piece?"
Mia watches my face, entirely still.
"The Vault is secure," I answer, projecting a flat, absolute authority. "However, the data integrity remains compromised. Verifying the hash totals on the ghost ledger requires additional processing time."
Silence stretches over the line. Logan possesses a genius-level intellect. He knows I could verify encrypted hash totals in my sleep within ten minutes.
"How much time?" Logan presses, dark amusement bleeding into his deep tone.
"Twelve hours."
"A full twelve hours? The Feds plan to knock our gates down at sunrise, brother."
"Twelve hours. Hold the perimeter." I growl into the receiver. "Nobody breaches this Vault until I give the verbal authorization. Hold the perimeter."
Releasing the button cuts the connection before he can argue the logistics.
Heavy, private silence rushes back into the underground space.
A slow, predatory smile curves Mia's lips, spiking the heat in my blood. "Twelve hours, huh?"
"The ring requires finishing," I state, turning my attention back to the workbench. I grip the handle of a metal file. "The alloy demands exactness and intense patience."
"What am I supposed to do while you work?"
Glancing over my shoulder, I take in the sight of her. The ruined pink cardigan lays abandoned on the floor. My oversized flannel slips off her bare shoulder, fully exposing the dark, purple bite marks I left blooming across the side of her neck.
"Read the black ledger," I offer. Handing over my trauma is the most massive sacrifice I can make. "Check my math."
The tension bleeds out of her posture. She understands the weight of the offering. I just handed her the keys to the kingdom and a direct map to the most broken parts of my psyche.
"Watching you work sounds vastly superior." Dragging the heavy steel chair over to the workbench, she takes a seat and props her chin on her folded hands. "I want to witness how you build something unbreakable."
Locking the band into the vice, I run my thumb over the cold steel. The ambient temperature in the room steadily climbs. I position the file against the rough edge.
The sharp grate of friction echoes off the concrete walls.
The aggressive scrape of metal shaping metal fills the confined space. One stroke. Two strokes. Three.
She observes every micro-movement while I systematically strip away the flaws.
Snow falls heavily above ground. Enemies circle the perimeter of the clubhouse. The federal government desperately wants to slap cuffs on her wrists and lock me inside a concrete cage.
Down in the dark, the numbers perfectly balance.
"Elias?"
"Yeah."
"Seventy-one."
I pause the file. "What?"
"My pulse," she murmurs over the scraping metal. "It's seventy-one. I kept track."
I turn my head, catching the brilliant curve of her mouth.
"Good," I grate out, my throat constricting. "Keep tracking the variables."
Applying pressure to the tool, I return to the vice. For the first time in six years, the compulsion to count the seconds vanishes. Time simply passes, measured only by the steady drag of oxygen into her lungs and the violent rasp of the file against the steel.
The world outside can wait. The impending club war can wait.
She remains safe inside this Vault. Secure. Mine.