2. Shane
2. SHANE
T he masquerade isn’t my scene. The bass thumps like artillery, bodies press in too tight, and the strobe lights fracture faces into jagged secrets—chaos dressed up in sequins and lies. Control slips here, smoke through my fingers, and I hate it. Always have. But I can’t peel my eyes off her.
Destiny Sinclair cuts through the crowd like she’s out of place—midnight hair spilling down her back, the black dress hugging her like a second skin, backless, showing the elegant line of her spine. Her mask’s obsidian, silver-edged, but I’d know her anywhere. Those ocean-blue eyes, sharp with something hidden. That tilt of her chin—unsure but damn well hiding it. Hours ago, I yanked her from a car wreck—tires screaming, glass shattering—her pulse racing under my grip as I pulled her clear. Now she’s here, senator’s daughter, secrets shadowing her like they do her father’s files.
“You’re staring like a man dying in the desert who just spotted a mirage,” Reese says, sliding up with two whiskeys and that grin that’s gotten us out of—and into—more shit than I can count. His bronze mask doesn’t hide the trouble in his eyes.
I grab the drink, eyes still on her. “What’s she doing here?”
“Living, looks like.” Reese tracks her, appreciative. “Wait—that the girl from earlier? Sinclair’s kid?”
My jaw tightens. “She shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet…” His smirk grows as she sways, hesitant, into the crowd. “Princess has a wild side. Intriguing.”
“Dangerous,” I growl, spotting a guy at the bar—silver mask, cold eyes—watching her too hard. “Her father’s got enemies.”
“So do we,” Reese shoots back, sipping his drink. “Doesn’t stop us.”
He’s gone before I can snap, weaving through bodies with that charm that parts crowds like water. I watch him zero in on her—easy, reckless. She jumps when he speaks, then laughs—soft, real, cutting through the noise to stab something sharp in my chest. He offers his hand; she takes it, hesitant, and they’re dancing. Her stiffness melts as he spins her, pulls her back, his hand settling too low on her back—possessive, lingering. My grip dents the glass.
That should be me. My hands on her. My?—
I kill the thought, downing the whiskey in one searing gulp. This is duty, not want. Protection, not?—
My earpiece crackles. “Shane,” Marcus’s voice—clipped, cold. “We’re seeing results. Stay out of it.” Click. My gut twists—results? What the hell’s he running now? Blackwood Corporation’s shadow looms, and I shove it down, refocusing.
She’s at a table now, pouring champagne from a bottle she nabbed—quiet rebellion, no one else clocks it. Then she slips a twenty into a waiter’s pocket—stiffed by some suit—and it’s small, kind, not the princess act. I see it; they don’t.
Reese has her against a column, bronze mask glinting, whispering something that widens her eyes. He leans in—too close, too damn intimate. I’m moving, cutting through the crowd, boots heavy. He’s lifting her chin when I grab his shoulder.
“Enough,” I growl.
He turns, irritation flashing before he grins. “Shane. Worst timing, brother.”
Destiny stares, recognition flickering. “You,” she breathes, voice scraping me raw.
“Me,” I say, eyes locked on her. “Walk away, Reese.”
“Don’t think she wants me to,” he says, hand still on her. “Do you, gorgeous?”
The crowd surges, shoving her forward—her back hits Reese’s chest, her front inches from mine. Her perfume hits me—floral, expensive, dizzying. Her hands land on my chest, burning through my shirt. I steady her hip—instinct—and feel her jolt, sharp, electric. Her champagne flute wavers, nearly spills; she catches it, breath hitching.
“Careful, princess,” Reese murmurs in her ear, eyes daring me over her shoulder. “Two wolves sniffing around.”
“I can handle it,” she says, but her voice shakes as my grip tightens.
“Can you?” I lean in, lips brushing her ear. “This game’s got teeth.”
Her eyes snap to mine—defiant, vulnerable. “Maybe I like teeth.”
“Love her already,” Reese laughs, hands sliding up her arms—too bold, too much.
“You don’t know me,” she says, softer now.
“Don’t I?” My voice drops, rumbling. “Destiny Sinclair. Senator’s daughter. Perfect mask, rebel heart. Shadows in your eyes—questions you shouldn’t ask.”
She stiffens, panic flaring. “How?—”
“Masks don’t hide what I see.” My thumb grazes her wrist—pulse racing. “Be careful who you trust.”
“You?” she challenges.
Reese spins her to face him, hands on her hips. “Trust’s dull,” he says. “Break rules, princess.”
I step closer—three of us a knot in the chaos. “Reese.”
“Shane.” He doesn’t look, focused on her. “She’s escaping, not swapping cages.”
The music slows, sensual. She’s caught between us, breathing fast, eyes darting. “Dance with me,” Reese says, daring me over her shoulder.
“No,” I growl. “She’s out. Now.”
“My call, isn’t it?” Her voice cuts, steel under silk.
I meet her gaze—really see her. She’s scared, trapped, but standing tall. Respect stirs, grudging.
“Fine,” I say, easing back. “But I’m not leaving you.”
“Who said alone?” Reese pulls her into a slow sway, grinning. “Happy to play.”
She hesitates, then sways with him, hands on his shoulders—but her eyes stay on me, questioning. I don’t dance. Don’t play. But I stay close—watchdog distance.
A suit—gold mask, fat hands—lurches from the bar, grabbing her arm as Reese spins her. “Sinclair’s girl, huh? Let’s have some fun.” His grip’s sloppy, drunk, too tight. She stiffens, mask slipping—fear.
Sarah’s face flashes—dusty alley, blood pooling, my hands too late. Not again. I’m on him, wrenching his wrist. “Hands off,” I snarl, twisting ‘til he yelps.
“Know who I am?” he slurs, red-faced.
“Don’t care.” I shove him back—he stumbles, cursing. Reese flanks me, charm gone, all edge. The guy scrambles off.
Destiny’s shaken, eyes wide. “Thanks,” she mutters.
“Don’t thank me,” I say, scanning. “Stay sharp.”
She slips away later, seeking quiet—I track her to the library. Jace is there, still as stone, black mask stark against his pale intensity. She startles, then freezes as he steps closer. His reserve cracks—something primal flares, sparked by the flush Reese left on her cheeks. He doesn’t speak, just looms, eyes boring into her. She holds his gaze, startled but steady—too long, too raw. I clear my throat from the door; Jace pulls back, silent.
Back in the chaos, Reese finds me. “Lost her for a sec—where’s she at?”
“Safe,” I say, nodding toward her rejoining the floor. “Keep eyes on.”
The night drags—then Silver Mask from the bar corners her near the exit. “Senator’s girl slumming it? Daddy’d hate this.” His voice is ice, calculated.
She freezes. “You’re wrong?—”
“Am I?” He steps in, smirking. “Richard Sinclair’s prize, dancing with trash? Headlines, princess.”
I’m there, arm around her waist, pulling her back. “Walk,” I warn, low, lethal.
“She’s not alone,” Reese adds, sliding up, sharp now.
Silver Mask hesitates, then sneers. “Tell Sinclair—Blackwood’s watching. Always.” He melts into the crowd.
Destiny’s trembling—fear, confusion. “How’d he know? The masks?—”
“They see what they want,” I say, guiding her out. “We’re gone.”
“Blackwood Corporation—what’s that?” Reese asks, all business.
“Saw it in Father’s files,” she whispers. “I wasn’t supposed to.”
“Where’s Dahlia?” I ask, steering her.
“Lost her when?—”
“I’ll get her,” Reese says, our eyes locking—years of trust in one look. He’s off.
“No—I can’t leave her!” she protests.
“He’ll find her,” I promise, pushing through. “You’re the target now.”
Outside, the air bites, cooling my skin. I tuck us between my SUV and the wall—shadows shield us. She’s shaking, anger mixing with fear. “Who are you, really?”
“Private security,” I say, clipped.
“For who?”
“You, tonight. Officially tomorrow—your father hired us post-gala.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t need?—”
“Tonight says you do,” I cut in, scanning.
She steps closer, fire blazing. “I don’t want you tailing me.”
“Tough. His rules.”
Pain flickers in her eyes—his rules, always. It stings me, unexpected.
“Look,” I soften, “that guy wasn’t bluffing. They’re after you to hit him.”
“You think I don’t know?” she snaps. “I’m here for answers—his lies, this facade!”
“By risking yourself?”
“By finding truth!” Her fists clench. “Protect me if you want—but it’s for him, not me.”
Her rawness guts me. I reach up, slow, pulling her mask off—needing her bare. She lets me, eyes questioning.
“I protect what matters,” I say, quiet. “Job or not.”
The air crackles—her pulse jumps under my gaze, inches away. Too close.
“Reese—he’s with you?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I nod, jealousy twisting. “Good when he’s not an ass.”
She smiles—small, real. “He said you’re honorable.”
“Did he?” That jars me.
“Most honorable man he knows.” Her eyes probe. “Are you?”
I should back off. Shouldn’t touch her. Instead, my hand cups her cheek—thumb grazing her lip, too raw, too much.
“Not always,” I rasp. “Not now.”
Her breath catches—lips part. I could kiss her—taste her truth.
“We should go,” I say, pulling back, burning.
She nods, reality crashing in. I open the car door—she pauses. “Tomorrow—when you’re my security—what’s tonight?”
“Doesn’t exist,” I say, throat raw. “For both of us.”
Hurt flashes—she slides in, silent.
A figure watches—long hair, black mask—nods once, then vanishes. I don’t know him, but he knows us.
Tomorrow changes everything. Tonight—her heat, her truth—gets buried.
I’d still burn it all down to keep her safe.