Chapter 18 Cut Loose
EIGHTEEN
CUT LOOSE
DECLAN
The numbers on my computer screen had stopped making sense about twenty minutes ago.
Figures that should have added up didn't. Client schedules that had been perfectly organized yesterday now had gaps I couldn't account for.
The bills that needed paying sat in a stack to my left, mocking me with their pristine white envelopes and the past-due stamps printed in red ink.
I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. Failed.
My office was too quiet and too still. I could hear the clock on the wall ticking. The weights clanked in the gym below. My breathing was coming too fast and too shallow.
I looked like shit and knew I looked like shit.
I'd seen myself in the bathroom mirror this morning and barely recognized the man staring back.
The cut above my eyebrow from the fight was healing but still visible.
The bruises on my ribs were worse, all dark purple and mottled, spreading across my entire left side in a pattern that made every breath an exercise in pain management.
I picked up my pen. Set it down. Picked it up again.
The client files in front of me needed reviewing. Treatment plans needed updating. Insurance forms needed signing. All the administrative bullshit that kept the center running and kept me employed.
But my brain wouldn't cooperate.
I'd already missed my nine o'clock. Completely forgot Marcus had an appointment until Mara knocked on my door fifteen minutes after he'd left, asking if everything was okay. I'd lied and said I'd been on an important call. She'd nodded but her expression said she didn't believe me.
That wasn't like me. I didn't miss appointments. Didn't forget clients. Didn't let the administrative side of things fall apart because my personal life was a fucking mess.
Except apparently I did now.
I checked my phone for the third time in ten minutes. No texts from Troy. Nothing since this morning when he'd confirmed the security detail had checked in and the perimeter was clear.
I set the phone down. Picked it up again thirty seconds later.
This was getting ridiculous. I was acting like some anxious spouse waiting for their partner to call, not a grown man who'd survived decades without needing constant reassurance that the people in his life were still breathing.
But Troy wasn't just people. And after yesterday morning, after the gunshot and the shattered window and the very real possibility that we could have been dead if we'd been upstairs, I couldn't shake the need to know he was okay.
A knock on my door made me look up.
Rafael stood there holding two bags that smelled like Chinese food. He was dressed casually today in jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His expression was concerned and friendly, the same expression he'd worn for years when checking in on the fighters at the gym.
“Thought you might be hungry,” he said.
I gestured to the chair across from my desk. “Come in.”
He set the food down and sat. Studied me with those sharp dark eyes that missed nothing. “You look terrible, Declan. What the hell happened?”
“Long couple of days.”
“That's an understatement.” He pulled the containers out of the bags and set them on my desk like we were going to have a picnic in my office. “When's the last time you ate?”
I tried to remember. Breakfast yesterday before the shooting. Then nothing until Dmitri had forced food on me last night. “Yesterday morning, maybe.”
Rafael opened one of the containers. Steam rose, carrying the smell of fried rice and vegetables. “Eat. Then tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“Someone shot at my house yesterday,” I said. Picked up the fork he'd set in front of me. “If Troy and I had been upstairs, we'd be dead.”
Rafael's fork clattered onto his plate. “What?”
“A sniper. Put two rounds through my bedroom window.” I took a bite of the food. It tasted good, better than it should have. “Troy and I were downstairs having breakfast. Got lucky.”
“Fucking hell, Declan.” Rafael's face had gone pale. “Someone tried to fucking kill you?”
“Tried to kill Troy. I was just collateral.” I ate another bite. “Whoever's after him figured out where he's staying and decided I was fair game too.”
“Who the hell is after him? What did he do?” Rafael was leaning forward now, all the easy charm gone from his expression. “And why the fuck are you sitting here eating lunch like this is normal?”
“Don't know who yet. Troy's working on it.”
“Troy's working on it.” Rafael repeated. “Someone shoots at your house and Troy's just handling it? What does that even mean?”
“It means he's got people looking into it. Trying to figure out who's behind the attacks.”
“Attacks? Plural?” Rafael's voice went up. “How many goddamn times has someone come after you?”
“This is the third one. Each one more serious than the last.”
“And you're still going to work like nothing happened?” Rafael looked at me like I'd lost my mind. “Declan, you need to get the fuck out of that house. You need to go somewhere safe. You need police protection or something.”
“The police can't help with this.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it's complicated.” I set the fork down and met his eyes. “Troy's got his own way of handling things. People who know how to deal with this kind of threat. I'm staying out of it and letting them work.”
“That's not good enough.” Rafael stood up and started pacing. “You're my friend. You almost got killed yesterday. And you're sitting here telling me to trust that your stepson's mysterious people are going to fix it?”
“Rafael—”
“No. Don't Rafael me.” He turned back to face me. “I have resources. I have connections. I can make calls. Get you protection. Get you somewhere safe until this is over.”
“I appreciate that, but—”
“But nothing.” His hands were shaking, actually shaking. “You think I'm going to sit here and watch you walk back into a house where someone took shots at you? You think I'm okay with that?”
The genuine fear in his voice caught me off guard.
“I'm being careful,” I said. “There's security now. People watching the house. Troy's not leaving me exposed.”
“Security.” Rafael laughed, sharp and bitter. “Someone put bullets through your window, Declan. Security didn't stop that.”
“They weren't there yet. They are now.”
“And you trust that's enough?”
“I have to.” I stood up and moved closer to him. “Look, I know this sounds insane. I know you're worried. But running isn't going to solve this. And I'm not going to hide while Troy deals with it alone.”
“Why the fuck not? He's the one they're after.”
“Because he's living in my house. Because whoever's doing this is using me to get to him. Because I'm involved whether I want to be or not.” I grabbed Rafael's shoulder. “I'm not running. I'm staying. And I'm trusting that the people Troy brought in know what they're doing.”
Rafael's jaw was tight. “This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say.”
“Probably.”
“You could die, Declan. And you're treating it like it's just another problem to manage.”
“What else am I supposed to do? Fall apart? Let the fear control my life?” I squeezed his shoulder. “I've got bills to pay. Clients depending on me. A fight coming up that I need to train for. I can't just stop living because someone's trying to kill me.”
“Yes, you can. That's exactly what you should do.” Rafael's voice cracked. “You should disappear until this is over. Let Troy's people handle it. Come back when it's safe.”
“I'm not leaving Troy alone in this.”
“Why the hell not?”
Because he's mine, I wanted to say. Because I just got him back and I'm not letting him go again. Because if something happens to him while I'm hiding somewhere safe, I'll never forgive myself.
But I couldn't say any of that to Rafael.
“Because he's family,” I said instead. “And family doesn't run.”
Rafael stared at me for a long moment. Then he pulled me into a hug and held on tight.
“You're an idiot,” he said against my shoulder. “But you're my friend. So if you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Understood?”
I nodded. “Understood. Thanks, Rafael.”
“Don't thank me. Just stay alive.” He pulled back, and his eyes were red. “I'd hate to lose one of the best fighters I know over something this fucking preventable.”
“I'll do my best.”
“Your best better be good enough.” He wiped at his face. “Now finish your food. You look like hell and you need the calories.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. The food helped. Made my brain work slightly better. Made the exhaustion feel less crushing.
When Rafael stood to leave, he paused at the door. “Be careful, Declan. Whoever this is, they're not going to stop until they get what they want. Make sure you're not what they want.”
Then he was gone.
I sat there staring at the half-eaten food on my desk. My phone was next to the container. I checked it again even though I'd checked it two minutes ago.
Still nothing from Troy.
I picked up the insurance form I was supposed to have filed three days ago. Started reading through it. Got halfway down the page before I realized I hadn't absorbed a single word.
My hands were shaking. Actually shaking.
I set the form down and pressed my palms flat against the desk. Took a breath. Then another.
This wasn't me. I didn't fall apart over stress. Didn't let fear get under my skin and make me useless. Didn't forget appointments or lose track of paperwork or sit in my office checking my phone like some anxious teenager waiting for a text.
But I couldn't stop.
Couldn't stop thinking about Troy sitting in that house with Dmitri while I was here pretending to work.
Couldn't stop running through worst-case scenarios where the next attack came while I was away and I got a call saying he was dead.
Couldn't stop feeling like I'd made a mistake leaving him there alone.
He wasn't alone. Dmitri was with him. The security team was in place. Luka was on his way to Chicago with more resources.