Chapter 16 Morning, Interrupted #3
When I pulled back, his expression had softened just slightly. Enough that I could see the cracks in his armor.
“We'll figure it out. We'll argue. We'll fight. We'll probably make each other miserable half the time. But that's what happens when things get complicated. You don't run from it. You stay and you work through it.” My voice came out rougher than I wanted it to.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“Well. You signed up for exhausting the day you decided to raise me.” I kissed him again, slower this time. “So what do you say? You want to keep doing this and see where it goes? Or are we calling it a mistake and pretending it never happened?”
Declan's hands tightened on my waist. “I don't want to pretend it didn't happen.”
“Good.” I stepped back, grabbed my coffee. “Then we're on the same page.”
“Are we though?” He stood too, and I could see the doubt still living in his eyes. “Because I still don't know what this is. What we are. What happens when—”
Glass exploded.
The bedroom window upstairs shattered with a crack that cut through everything. The sound was immediate and unmistakable, followed by the echo of a gunshot that made my blood run cold.
I hit the floor on instinct and pulled Declan down with me. More glass rained down from somewhere above us. Another shot rang out. Then silence fell, heavier than the gunfire.
“Stay down.”
“What the fuck—” Declan started.
“Sniper.” I crawled toward the living room, staying low and using the furniture as cover. “Someone just shot through your fucking window.”
“Are you hit?”
“No. You?”
“No.”
I made it to the living room and grabbed my phone from where I'd left it on the coffee table last night. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, turning everything into focus.
This wasn't a warning anymore. This was an execution attempt. Someone had waited until morning, until we were vulnerable and comfortable, and taken a shot.
I pulled up Luka's number and hit call.
He answered on the second ring. “Troy.”
“Someone just put a bullet through Declan's window. Sniper. At least two shots. We're both fine but this is escalating fast.”
“Where are you now?”
“Living room. Ground floor. Out of the sight line.”
“Stay there. I'm sending Dmitri.” I heard movement on his end. Voices in the background. Keys jangling. “He's already in Chicago. I had him come in two days ago when the pattern started looking wrong.”
“You anticipated this?”
“I anticipated trouble. Didn't think it would escalate to sniper fire this fast.” More movement on his end. Car doors slamming. “How far away was the shooter?”
“Don't know. Didn't see them. Just heard the shots and the glass breaking.”
“Fuck.” Engine noise now, loud and immediate. “Dmitri's five minutes out. Maybe less. He's got keys to the safe house I bought last month. You're going there until we sort this out.”
“Luka—”
“Not negotiable, Troy. Someone just tried to put a bullet in your head. You're going to the safe house and you're staying there until I arrive.” His voice went harder, the tone he used when he wasn't accepting arguments. “I'm eight hours out. Dmitri will keep you alive until then. Do what he says.”
The call ended.
I sat there on the floor, back against the couch, trying to process what had just happened. Someone had tried to kill us. In broad daylight. In Declan's house. While we were eating fucking breakfast and trying to figure out what we were to each other.
This wasn't a warning anymore. This was war.
“Troy.” Declan's voice cut through my thoughts.
I looked over at him. He was sitting against the cabinets with blood on his feet from the broken glass. His expression was hard and controlled, but I could see the questions building behind his eyes.
“So you want to tell me what the fuck is really going on? Because 'someone you work with' doesn't cover any of that conversation I just heard.”
I dragged a hand through my hair. I tried to figure out how much to tell him. How much he could handle. How much would keep him safe versus how much would put him in more danger.
“Luka is my handler. He coordinates operations. Assigns targets. Manages logistics. He's the one who keeps track of who's trying to kill me and why.”
“Your handler.” Declan repeated the words like they were in a foreign language. “Like you're some kind of spy?”
“Close enough to that.”
“That's not a fucking answer, Troy.” His jaw tightened. “You told me you kill people for the Sentinels. You told me it's your job. But you didn't tell me you have a handler. You didn't tell me there's an organizational structure around this. You didn't tell me any of the actual details.”
“Luka runs part of the operations for the Sentinels. He's good at what he does. He keeps people alive. And right now, he's trying to keep us alive by sending someone he trusts to get us to safety.”
“Who's he sending?”
“Guy named Dmitri.”
“And who is this Dmitri person exactly?”
“Security specialist. Ex-military. Russian. Good at his job.” I met Declan's eyes. “And before you ask, I trust him. Luka wouldn't send him if he wasn't the best option.”
Declan was quiet for a long moment. I could see him processing, working through the implications, trying to reconcile the life I had described with the reality that was unfolding in his kitchen.
“He should be here in five minutes. Luka wants us to go to a safe house. Says we're staying there until he gets here.”
Declan's expression went flat. “A safe house.”
“Apparently he bought one last month.” I crawled over to him and sat beside him with our backs against the cabinets. “Look, I know it's not ideal, but—”
“I'm not going.”
My brain stuttered trying to process the words. “What?”
“I said I'm not going.” He looked at me, and there was a stubborn immovable quality in his eyes that I recognized. “I have a life here, Troy. I have a business to run. Clients who depend on me. Fights scheduled. I'm not letting some asshole with a rifle intimidate me out of my own house.”
He couldn't be serious. He couldn't actually be sitting here with glass in his feet and bullet holes in his wall and telling me he wasn't going to leave.
“Someone just tried to kill us.”
“I'm aware.” His jaw was set with that same fucking stubbornness that had kept him in my life for years even when I had given him every reason to leave. “But running and hiding isn't going to solve that. It's just going to drag this out.”
“It'll keep you alive.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it'll just make me a sitting target somewhere else.” He grabbed my hand. “I'm not going, Troy. You can go if you want. But I'm staying here.”
This was insane. He was being insane. A sniper had just taken shots at us through his fucking window and he was talking about clients and fights like this was a normal goddamn day.
“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”
“Probably. But it's my decision.”
“Your decision is going to get you killed.”
“Maybe. But it's still mine to make.” He squeezed my hand. “I'm not running from this, Troy. I'm not hiding while you and your people figure out who wants you dead. I'm staying. And if that makes me a target, then at least I'll see them coming.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was being an idiot. That pride wasn't worth dying over. That Luka knew what he was doing and we should listen.
But I could see the determination in his eyes. The same look he'd had when he decided to keep me after my mother died. The same look he'd had when he refused to give up on me no matter how hard I pushed.
“You're really not going to budge on this.”
“No.”
“Even if Dmitri tries to convince you?”
“Even then.”
I leaned my head back against the cabinet. “Luka's going to be pissed.”
“He can be pissed. It's my house. My life. My choice.”
“Your funeral too if this goes wrong.”
“Then I'll die in my own home instead of some safe house I've never seen.”
Before I could respond, I heard a car pull up outside. The engine cut and a door slammed with force.
“That's him.”
Footsteps on the walkway, fast and purposeful. Then pounding on the door.
“Troy! It's Dmitri! Open up!”
I got up and stayed low. I made it to the door and unlocked it.
Dmitri pushed inside like a hurricane, all controlled energy and barely contained urgency. His eyes swept the interior, found me, then landed on Declan.
“Blyat, Troy, are you trying to get killed?” He grabbed me, pulled me into a bear hug that lifted me off my feet. “I leave you alone for not even a month and someone is shooting at you already?”
“Good to see you too, Dmitri.”
He set me down with a grin that was all teeth. “You look like shit. Who beat your face?”
“Long story.”
“Is always long story with you.” His gaze went back to Declan, still sitting on the floor by the cabinets. Then his eyes tracked between us, taking in the tension, the way we were sitting close, reading the body language. A slow grin spread across his face. “Ah. I see. This is the stepfather?”
“Fucking hell, Dmitri.” My face went hot. “That's Declan.”
Dmitri crossed the kitchen with easy confidence. He offered his hand to Declan with a smile that was all charm and zero professionalism. “I am Dmitri Volkov. Is pleasure to meet you. Troy has mentioned you before, though he left out the interesting details.”
Declan took his hand warily. “Declan Kane.”
“Yes, I know. Troy talks about you when he is drunk.” Dmitri pulled him to his feet easily, like he weighed nothing. “You are very handsome in person. Pictures do not do you justice.”
“Pictures?” Declan looked at me with raised eyebrows.
I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. “Can we focus on the fact that someone just tried to kill us?”
“Da, yes, the shooting situation.” Dmitri's expression shifted, got more serious but still maintained that easy warmth. “Luka says I am to take you both to safe house. Is already stocked with food, weapons, everything you need. We leave now, yes?”
“No,” Declan said.
Dmitri blinked. “No?”
“I'm not going to any safe house. I'm staying here.”