Keaton （Skee）
"Run."
For one terrifying heartbeat, she doesn't move.
The world around us disappears until there's nothing left except the woman standing in front of me and the choice hanging between us.
I can hear my own breathing. The steady hum of the garage lights.
Somewhere in the distance, gravel crunches beneath tires, a reminder that we're standing in the middle of an estate protected by men who would happily put a bullet through me if they found us.
I wait.
Every instinct I've spent years developing tells me to grab her hand and drag her through the tree line before Ronan wakes up.
I know exactly how to move an unwilling person through hostile territory.
I know how to throw someone over my shoulder and disappear into the woods before the first radio call ever goes out.
But I won't.
I spent weeks reminding her that she still had choices. That Ronan hadn't taken every piece of herself, no matter how hard he'd tried. I refuse to become another man who decides for her.
Then her fingers tighten around mine. Not because I pulled. Because she chose.
Relief slams into my chest so hard it almost steals the breath from my lungs.
I don't give either of us time to think. We start running.
The open garage is behind us as we sprint toward the tree line, my attention flicking constantly between the shadows ahead and the house at my back.
Every step feels impossibly loud against the ground, even though I know the sound exists only inside my own head.
Adrenaline has a way of turning ordinary things into warnings, convincing you every breath, every footfall, every heartbeat can be heard from a mile away.
The trees are less than seventy yards away. I've crossed greater distances under enemy fire. Tonight, it feels endless.
Maeve keeps pace beside me far better than she should. The emerald dress catches around her legs with nearly every stride, forcing her to gather the fabric with her free hand while trying not to lose the heel she'd somehow managed to keep on through all of this.
She stumbles once.
My grip tightens before I even realize she's slipping.
"I've got you," I say, the words barely more than a breath.
She doesn't answer. She simply nods and keeps running. The determination in that single movement settles somewhere deep beneath my ribs.
Three days ago she believed she was saying goodbye to me. Now she's trusting me enough to run blindly into the woods.
The thought is almost too much to carry.
We reach the first line of pines, and I pull her off the narrow service road without breaking stride. The obvious route is exactly where Declan will send people once they discover Ronan. I need thicker cover, fewer sight lines, terrain that forces anyone following us to slow down.
Branches scrape across my arms as we push deeper into the trees.
Pine needles cushion our footsteps, swallowing the sound beneath layers of damp earth and fallen leaves.
The fading sunlight disappears almost immediately beneath the canopy, the darkness wrapping around us like another layer of protection.
Only then do I allow myself one quick glance over my shoulder. The garage is still open.
No movement. No guards. No alarms. Nothing.
That should make me feel better. Instead, it knots my stomach even tighter. Because silence rarely stays silent for long.
I squeeze Maeve's hand once before looking ahead again. "We're almost there."
I don't know if I'm trying to reassure her...or myself.
The trees finally begin to thin, the dense wall of pines giving way to the narrow clearing where I'd left the SUV tucked beneath the canopy.
Relief unwinds something tight in my chest as the familiar outline comes into view exactly where I'd left it.
No headlights. No waiting security team.
Just my vehicle hidden well enough that anyone driving past would never know it was there.
I don't stop moving until we're completely around the back side of the clearing. Habit forces me to scan the road one last time before stepping into the open, my gaze lingering just long enough to convince myself we hadn't been followed.
Nothing. For now... Nothing.
I round the front of the SUV, fishing my phone from my pocket while unlocking the passenger's door. The screen is still littered with missed calls from Matt, Rachel, and Wheels, but I ignore every one of them and tap the only person who'll understand exactly what I need.
Bullet answers before the first ring finishes. "I'm twenty minutes out."
No greeting. No questions. Just the assumption that I'm somewhere in the woods needing backup.
I pull the passenger door open before answering. "I don't need you."
There's a beat of silence. "...You sure about that?"
"I have her." I let go of Maeve’s hand to move some of the items off the passenger seat. For some reason my brain can’t figure out why I have the need to grab ahold of it again.
Another pause. Short. Heavy. "You got her out?"
"I did." I glance toward Maeve.
She's standing exactly where I'd left her, chest still rising and falling from the run. Her eyes move between me and the phone pressed against my ear, trying to piece together a conversation she can only hear half of.
I hold out my hand.
She doesn't hesitate this time. Her fingers slide into mine, and I help her into the passenger seat, steadying her as she gathers the skirt of her dress and ducks beneath the doorframe.
She settles onto the seat with a quiet exhale, her eyes lifting to mine for just a second before I gently close the door.
My heart is still hammering against my ribs. I have extracted people from active war zones with a steadier pulse than this.
"I need your cabin," I say as I round the hood.
Silence. "...My cabin?"
"The safe house."
Another pause.
"I don't have a safe house."
I can't help the corner of my mouth lifting. "Bullet."
"What?"
"I've seen the satellite imagery."
A long sigh crackles through the speaker. "...You've got to be kidding me."
"I wish I was."
"How long?"
"A couple years."
"You've known about it for years?"
"I like maps."
"You have issues."
"I've been told."
He mutters something under his breath that I'm fairly certain isn't meant for human ears.
"I'll text you the code," he finally says.
"I already know where the key is."
Another beat of silence. "...Of course you do."
I slide behind the wheel, shutting the door quietly before starting the engine.
For the first time since I sprinted across the Gallagher estate, I allow myself to breathe.
Not deeply. Just enough.
Bullet breaks the silence first. "You okay?"
The question catches me off guard. My eyes drift toward the passenger seat. Maeve is watching me now. Not with fear. With exhaustion. The beginnings of bruises are already darkening beneath her jaw.
No. Nothing about tonight is okay.
"I will be."
Bullet doesn't argue. He simply accepts the answer for what it is. "I'll head that way."
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel before pulling onto the narrow dirt road. "Give me an hour."
"...Skee."
"One hour." He knows exactly why I'm asking.
By the time Grayline gets there, Rachel will have blankets. Wheels will somehow have snacks. Matt will want answers. Bullet will check every lock on the property twice before saying another word.
Maeve deserves sixty minutes before all of that.
Another long silence stretches between us. "You've got one hour."
The line goes dead. I set the phone in the center console before easing the SUV onto the empty road. Beside me, Maeve is still watching me.
Don't look at her.
The thought repeats itself somewhere in the back of my mind as I guide the SUV down the empty road.
Eyes forward. Hand on the steering wheel. Breathe. Everything is fine. Everything is absolutely—She's still holding my hand.
I don't look. I don't have to. I can feel it.
Her fingers are wrapped around mine with surprising strength, as though she's afraid that if she lets go, I'll disappear before she wakes up.
My pulse refuses to cooperate.
Statistically speaking, adrenaline should be wearing off by now. Instead, it's getting worse. I have extracted diplomats from active war zones. Pulled a kidnapped journalist out of a cartel compound.
Driven through gunfire with Wheels laughing in the driver's seat because apparently near-death experiences make him hungry.
None of that prepared me for one woman quietly holding my hand.
I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the road.
Do not acknowledge it. If I acknowledge it, I'll overanalyze it. If I overanalyze it, I'll start counting. If I start counting...
I'm already counting. Two taps. Pause. Two taps. Pause.
My fingers drum softly against the steering wheel before I force them still.
This is fine. Everything is—No. Nothing about this is fine.
I went rogue. I ignored Matt. I ignored the plan. I ignored every rule Grayline had spent years building. And I let Bullet know I know about his house.
He's going to be furious when he realizes I've known about it since the day Coleman walked him around the property.
To be fair…Bullet should've expected I'd find it.
He bought land. I like maps. It was practically inevitable.
Beside me, Maeve shifts in her seat. The movement pulls me back to the present.
Only then do I realize she's still holding my hand.
She must notice it at the exact same moment. Her fingers loosen just enough that I think she's going to pull away.
Instead…She simply changes her grip, sliding her hand more comfortably against mine.
Like she'd decided letting go would be harder.
My chest does something profoundly inconvenient.
"Taibhse?" Her voice is quiet. Fragile.
I glance toward her for the briefest second before looking back at the road. "Yeah?"
The single syllable comes out rougher than I intended.
She looks out the windshield, her fingers tightening around mine again. "Where are we going?"
The answer comes immediately. Not because I'd rehearsed it. Because there isn't another one. "Somewhere safe."
She nods once. No questions. No hesitation. No demand for my real name or where I was taking her. She lets the answer be enough.
The trust settles heavier across my shoulders than any rucksack I'd ever carried.
I don't deserve it. Not yet.
The road stretches out ahead of us, disappearing into the darkness.
For the first time in three days, I can actually see her.
Not through a camera. Not through a hacked phone. Not reflected in a security monitor.
She's here. Breathing. Safe.
***
The farther we get from the Gallagher estate, the quieter the world becomes.
Streetlights give way to long stretches of empty road. The city disappears behind us until the only sounds left are the tires humming across asphalt and the occasional chorus of frogs hidden somewhere beyond the tree line.
Maeve hasn't let go of my hand once. Not when we turned onto the highway. Not when she finally leaned back against the seat. Not even now.
I don't think she realizes she's still holding it. The thought makes something dangerously warm settle beneath my ribs.
I leave it alone. If I think about it too much, I'll ruin it.
The GPS announces the next turn. I don't need it. I'd memorized Bullet's safe house years ago. Mostly because he thought nobody knew it existed.
The gravel driveway crunches beneath the tires as I ease the SUV between a line of pine trees. A small cabin comes into view, tucked against the edge of the woods with a wraparound porch and enough distance from civilization that nobody would think twice about a light burning in the windows.
Maeve studies it through the windshield. "...It's pretty."
"It'll do."
She smiles. "It'll do?"
"It's structurally sound."
Her laugh slips out quietly. "There you are."
I glance toward her. "What?"
"The statistics."
I can't help it. The corner of my mouth twitches.
I park beside the porch and finally pull my hand away, immediately missing the warmth of hers.
I climb out first, circling the front of the SUV before opening her door.
She steps out slowly, taking in the silence around us.
"No guards?"
"No."
“No cameras?"
I hesitate. "...Fewer."
She rolls her eyes. "There you are again."
"What?"
"The honesty that's technically not honesty."
Fair.
I lead her toward the porch, stopping beside a large ceramic planter overflowing with bright yellow flowers.
I crouch, reaching beneath the lip of the planter until my fingers close around the spare key.
"You're kidding."
I glance over my shoulder. "What?"
She points at the planter. "It was under the flowerpot?"
"It's statistically one of the first places people look."
"Exactly."
"Which makes it statistically one of the least likely places they'll believe someone actually left it."
She blinks. "...You really think like that."
"Constantly."
"I don't know if that's impressive or exhausting."
"Both."
The lock clicks open.
Warm air greets us as I push the door inward and motion for her to step inside first.
The cabin is small but comfortable. Stone fireplace. Leather couch. Kitchen off to one side. A hallway leading toward the bedrooms.
Safe. For the first time in days...Actually safe.
I close the door behind us. The silence feels different here. Peaceful.
Maeve slowly turns in a circle, taking everything in before finally looking back at me. She stares at me for a minute underneath the new lights. I see the moment recognition hits.
"No..." The whisper barely reaches me. "I know you."
Every instinct I have screams that something has gone catastrophically wrong. "Maeve..."
"You were in the house." She takes a step backward, shaking her head. "You were there the day the security system was updated."
Shit.
"I saw you."
"I know."
"You lied to me." The hurt in her voice lands harder than any accusation ever could. "You told me you didn't work for Ronan."
"I don't."
A humorless laugh escapes her. "I saw you in my house."
"I was."
"You were working for him."
"No." The word leaves me immediately. "I was working around him."
She just stares. Not understanding. Not believing me. "I didn't install his security system."
"Then why were you there?"
Because I needed one place where I could hear you if something happened. Because I couldn't stand the thought of you being completely alone. None of those answers belong to her. Not yet.
So I tell her the truth.
"I installed one microphone."
She blinks. "What?"
"The guest bathroom." Confusion washes over her face. "The rest of that system..." I shake my head. "...was never mine.”