Chapter 12 Damien
DAMIEN
Ienter O’Malley’s, scanning the dim interior until I spot Ethan and Killian occupying a corner booth. Ethan’s nursing what looks like whiskey while Killian’s got a beer in front of him, his massive frame making the booth look like doll furniture.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Killian calls out as I approach. “Thought maybe you got lost in that pretty girl’s—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll make you eat your teeth,” I cut him off, sliding into the booth across from them.
Ethan smirks. “Touchy. She must be something special if she’s got you this wound up.”
“I’m not wound up.”
“Right,” Killian drawls. “That’s why you called an emergency meeting at a bar on a Wednesday night. Totally normal behavior for you.”
I flag down the bartender, order a Guinness, then turn back to face their matching grins. “Her friend needs a bodyguard. Someone good. Someone discreet.”
Ethan’s eyebrows climb. “Her friend? Not her?”
“Morgan doesn’t need one.”
“Because you’ve appointed yourself to that position?” Killian asks.
I ignore that. “The friend’s being stalked. Dead animals in the mail. Threats. She doesn’t want to go to the police.”
Ethan leans forward, interest sharpening his features. “What’s her story?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Confidential,” Killian repeats, shaking his head. “Man’s been watching this girl through her window, and now he’s talking about confidentiality.”
My jaw tightens. “You want to keep going?”
“Peace.” Ethan raises both hands. “We’re just giving you shit. What does she need? Level of threat?”
The bartender drops off my Guinness, and I take a long pull before answering. “Unknown sender. Escalating pattern. Could be nothing, could be something serious.”
“High-profile client?” Killian asks.
I hesitate. Morgan said she’d tell me more after talking to her friend again. “Maybe.”
“Jesus Christ, D.” Ethan runs a hand through his hair. “You’re asking us to recommend someone blind?”
“I’m asking you to recommend someone good. Someone who won’t ask too many questions.”
Killian counts off on his fingers. “Marcus is in Dubai. Chen’s on that tech CEO for another six months. Rodriguez just took that job in Washington.”
“What about Bishop?” Ethan suggests.
I shake my head. “Too aggressive. This needs someone with a lighter touch.”
“Lighter touch,” Killian snorts. “For a stalking case. Right.”
“The friend doesn’t want to make waves. Whoever takes this needs to be a ghost.”
Ethan drums his fingers on the table, thinking. “Thompson’s available.”
“Too handsy.”
“Picky bastard, aren’t you?”
“This is for Morgan’s friend.” The words come out harder than I intend. “It has to be right.”
Killian and Ethan exchange a look that makes me want to punch them both.
“What about Caleb?” Killian finally says.
I pause, considering. Caleb Ward. Former Delta, dishonorably discharged after taking the fall for a mission gone sideways. He’s been doing private security for the past few years, keeping his head down, staying off radar.
“Caleb works alone,” Ethan points out. “Doesn’t take many clients. Selective as hell.”
“He’s also the best we’ve got,” Killian adds. “If the friend needs discreet, he’s your guy. Man’s a ghost when he wants to be.”
“He owes you, doesn’t he?” I ask Ethan.
“Yeah.” Ethan takes another sip of whiskey. “I’ll make the call.” He slides out of the booth, phone already in hand. “Give me five.”
I watch him weave through the after-work crowd toward the back exit, then turn to find Killian studying me with that irritating knowing expression he gets.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He takes a long pull from his beer. “Just trying to figure out when you got so domestic.”
“Fuck off.”
“You are arranging bodyguards for the girlfriend’s friends. That’s serious territory, man.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
Killian nearly chokes on his beer. “Right. What is she then? Your stalking hobby?”
I flip him off.
“Come on, D. You’re following her to Connecticut, watching her sleep, now you’re calling in favors. If it walks like a duck—”
“How’s Emily?” I interrupt.
The shift in his expression is immediate. Softens around the edges in a way that would’ve made me mock him a few months ago.
“Good,” he finally says. “She’s good.”
“Still living with you?”
“Yeah.” He picks at the label on his beer bottle. “We’re looking at houses, actually. Something outside the city. She wants a garden.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A garden.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. Just didn’t picture you as the white picket fence type.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “Things change when you meet someone who makes you want to be better.”
“Better,” I repeat. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“Says the guy who literally stalked a girl to another state.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was keeping her safe.”
Killian laughs, loud enough that a few people at nearby tables glance over. “Right. Safe. That’s what you were doing, watching her through windows on Christmas Eve.”
“You followed Emily before Halloween.”
“And I’m not pretending it was noble.” He leans back against the booth. “I knew what I was doing. Knew it was obsessive and wrong, and I didn’t give a fuck because I couldn’t stay away from her.”
I don’t respond.
“That’s the difference between us, D. I own what I am. You’re still trying to convince yourself you’re some kind of protector.”
“I am protecting her.”
“From what? Her ex, who hasn’t actually done anything yet? Or from yourself?”
“Marco’s a threat.”
“Maybe. But that’s not why you’re with her.” He holds my gaze. “You wanted her the second you saw her. Everything else is just justification.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” He leans forward. “Emily got kidnapped because of me. Because I couldn’t let her go, couldn’t keep my distance. You think I don’t recognize the same pattern when I see it?”
“Morgan’s situation is completely different.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Ethan returns before I can respond, sliding back into the booth with a satisfied expression.
“Caleb’s in,” he announces. “He’ll meet with the friend tomorrow. He wants to assess the situation himself before committing long-term.”
“Good.” I pull out my phone to text Morgan. “Where?”
“His new place. I’ll send you the address.”
My phone buzzes with Ethan’s text containing Caleb’s address. I forward it to Morgan along with a brief explanation.
“When’s the last time you saw him?” I ask Ethan.
“Caleb? A few months back. He came through town for some job, and we grabbed coffee.”
“How’s he doing?”
Ethan shrugs. “Same as always. Quiet. Focused. Doesn’t talk about the discharge.”
“Still bitter about it?” Killian asks.
“Wouldn’t you be?” Ethan’s tone sharpens. “Man took the fall for the command’s fuck-up. Lost everything.”
“He’s still working,” I point out.
“Private security’s not the same as Delta.” Ethan finishes his whiskey. “You know that.”
I do. The discharge might’ve been quiet, but it still branded Caleb. No military contractor would touch him. No government agency. He works alone now because that’s his only option.
“We should get the band back together,” Killian suggests. “Drinks like old times.”
“Old times,” I repeat. “You mean when Cross was still running cons and Ethan was hacking half the Eastern seaboard?”
“Good times,” Killian grins.
Ethan snorts. “Caleb might actually go for it. Man needs to socialize more. He’s a hermit.”
“Rich, coming from you,” I tell him.
“I socialize.”
“With your computers.”
“They’re better company than most people.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Killian says.
My phone vibrates. Morgan’s reply:
Thank you. When can she meet him?
I text back.
Tomorrow work?
Her response is immediate.
I’ll ask her and let you know.
“Look at you,” Killian observes. “Texting like a normal person in a normal relationship.”
“Shut up.”
“What’s next? Meeting the parents? Joint bank accounts?”
“I’ve already met her parents.”
Both of them stare at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You met her parents,” Ethan says slowly.
“They didn’t meet me. I was outside.”
“Oh, well, that makes it so much better,” Killian deadpans.
“It was reconnaissance.”
“It was stalking,” Ethan corrects.
“Potato, potahto. How’s work been?” I ask, mostly to change the subject.
Killian shrugs. “Same. Rich people need to off other rich people. Emily keeps threatening to make me get a real job.”
“You mean one that doesn’t involve carrying a gun?” Ethan asks.
“Exactly. She thinks I should go into consulting or some shit.”
“You’d last about five minutes in a cubicle,” I tell him.
“That’s what I said.” He grins. “She thinks I’m being dramatic.”
“You are dramatic,” Ethan points out.
“Says the guy who communicates exclusively through encrypted channels.”
“That’s called being professional.”
“That’s called paranoia,” Killian quips back.
I tune out their bickering, watching condensation slide down my glass. My phone sits face-up on the table, Morgan’s last text still visible on the screen.
I’ll ask her and let you know.
Simple. Normal. The kind of thing people say to each other every day.
Except nothing about this is normal.
I followed her to another state. I watched her through her bedroom window. Orchestrated our meeting at the gym like I hadn’t been tracking her movements for days. And now I’m arranging protection for her friend, inserting myself deeper into her life with every move.
Killian’s words echo in my head.
You’re still trying to convince yourself you’re some kind of protector.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve been lying to myself about what this is, what I’m doing. Marco’s a threat—that’s real enough. But would I have pursued Morgan this way if she didn’t need protection? Would I have followed her, watched her, engineered our connection?
Yes.
The answer comes instantly, certainly. I would’ve found a way to her regardless. The threat just gave me justification, let me pretend this was about keeping her safe instead of the truth—that I wanted her from the moment I saw her gasping for air in that conference room.
From what? Her ex, who hasn’t actually done anything yet? Or from yourself?
I take a long pull from my Guinness. The question sits in my chest like a stone. Morgan trusts me. Opens up to me in ways she admitted she never does with anyone. She doesn’t know I’ve been inside her apartment, inside her life, manipulating circumstances to keep her close.
She thinks I’m her savior.
What happens when she realizes I’m just another man who couldn’t let her go?