Chapter Ten
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A war is coming.
That’s the first thought rattling around my skull as I sit beside Eli’s sleeping form, elbows on my knees, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
A war is coming…and I’ve brought the most delicate man I’ve ever known right into the middle of it.
He’s curled on his side, fist tucked under his cheek, lips parted as he sleeps. He looks breakable. Too breakable. The kind of man the world should handle with care. Wrap in bubble wrap, slap a fragile sticker on, and instruct everyone within a ten-mile radius not to breathe too hard.
And I dragged him into the fucking Shadows world where we’re stuck right in the middle between the Italian Mafia and the Mexican Cartel.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I scrub a hand down my face and lean back in the chair that’s already killing my spine. None of it matters. I’d sleep on the bathroom floor if it meant I could see him breathe.
There’s a part of me…some warped protective instinct…that wants to go out tomorrow, buy him a house in the middle of nowhere, set it up with groceries, guards, and every damn comfort he could ever need… then lock the world out.
Let him rest. Be safe. Live.
Away from all of this.
Away from bombs and cartel kings and men who’d slit throats just for a message.
Away from me.
But I know Eli.
He won’t accept it.
And worse?
I don’t want him out there.
I want him right here.
In my bed.
In my room.
In my damn house, where I can get to him in two seconds flat if he so much as sways.
I just have to talk the stubborn man into it.
Convince him that staying with me isn’t charity.
It’s not pity.
It’s where he belongs.
A soft sigh escapes him, his body shifting, blanket pulling slightly.
The clock on the nightstand ticks obnoxiously loud.
The meeting is in ten minutes. I don’t want to wake him.
I want to let him sleep until his body decides it’s done rebooting.
I want to guard the damn door and tell the world they can shove their cartel threats and bomb shelters up their collective asses.
But this is life and death.
The kind that won’t wait for rest.
“Fuck,” I whisper, leaning closer. “I don’t want to do this.”
But I reach out anyway, brushing my knuckles along his cheek.
“Eli,” I murmur. “Pretty boy… time to wake up.”
He shifts, eyes fluttering weakly before opening halfway, unfocused, sleepy.
“Skip?”
God help me, that soft voice damn near breaks me.
“I know, sweetheart,” I say quietly. “I know you’re tired. If it weren’t important, I’d let you sleep another ten hours. But we’ve got a meeting. Big one.”
He blinks slowly. “Danger?”
“Yes,” I admit. “That’s why I need you awake. In the room. With me.”
And where I can fucking monitor every breath you take.
I slide an arm behind his shoulders and help him sit up, keeping a steady hand on him when he sways.
“I’ll keep a close eye on you,” I promise. “If you get dizzy, if you feel off…hell, if you have to piss…I’ll know.”
He smiles sleepily. “You always seem to be watching me.”
“Damn right,” I mutter, brushing hair from his face. “Now come on, baby. Let’s get this over with.”
He leans into me more than he probably realizes.
As I help him to his feet, his fingers curl instinctively into the front of my shirt.
Fuck, he’s exhausted.
As we head down the stairs and out the front door, I make myself a promise. Not the stupid, impossible kind where I pretend I can out-muscle his condition, but the one I can keep.
I’ll be watching him every second tonight.
If he sways, I’ll catch him.
If he goes down, he won’t hit the floor.
If his body shuts off again, it’ll shut off right into my arms.
He’s not fainting alone again.
Not while I’m breathing.
I hold him steady as he gets his balance, his hand still on my chest, his eyes half-lidded but trusting.
I want to pick him up and carry him, but I also know he needs to feel strong enough to do this on his own.
“Easy,” I murmur. “Lean on me as much as you need. Hell…lean more than you need.”
His lips twitch into a tiny, sleepy smile.
And with one arm around his waist and the other ready to grab him if he so much as blinks too slow, I guide him toward the clubhouse.
Club meeting or not…brothers or not…bomb or not.
My eyes aren’t leaving him for a damn second.
***
“Has anyone seen my fucking phone?” Maverick asks as we all settle into the war room.
It takes everything in me not to pull Eli into my lap where he fucking belongs. He doesn’t realize that every brother in this room would throw themselves in front of a bullet the second they understood he was mine… but those same brothers are big, loud, and carved out of intimidation.
So I gave him space.
Not much…but enough.
“Want me to track it?” Foster asks.
“Not unless you can track it to its exact location within this compound,” Maverick says. “I had the damn thing five minutes ago.”
“It’s in the kitchen,” Foster grins.
“How the hell—”
“Security cams,” he says smugly. “You grabbed a water and set it on the stove.”
Maverick rolls his eyes and stalks off to retrieve it.
By the time he returns, everyone inside the compound, minus the guards and prospects, is packed into the war room.
“Did anyone feel that earthquake earlier?” Sunny asks, settling beside Bones.
“Probably one of the strongest in weeks,” she adds. “With us being right on the San Andreas fault, I’m shocked the ground’s been so quiet.”
She’s not wrong. Palm Springs rattles more than a toddler with a toy drum, but most quakes are so small we don’t even notice.
“I bet Coachella Valley got hit harder,” Eli murmurs quietly.
“Palm Desert too,” Maverick says, staring down at his phone.
“Well, this must be serious if we’re all in here,” Riley says, changing the subject.
“There’s been a threat,” Spike starts. “One that could very well destroy this compound.”
The shift in the room is immediate. Men straightening, expressions sharpening.
“The Italians have an inside source with Los Fantasmas,” Spike continues.
“Do we have proof?” asks Knuckles.
“They gave us a lot of information,” Spike says, nodding at Foster. “I trust it’s legit, but I doubt it’s everything.”
“Would be stupid to hand over the whole deck,” Tank grunts. “Bet they’re holding a few cards.”
He’s not wrong.
“But not about the threat,” Foster says. “I’ve gone through every byte of that intel. And it’s a LOT. Enough to end Cortéz.”
“Then why haven’t they?” Crusher asks. “If they could kill the bastard, why sit on it?”
“Because killing the captain isn’t enough,” I say. “Someone else will take his place. You gotta take out the ship.”
“Seems impossible,” Spike mutters, pulling Riley onto his lap.
Shit.
He only does that when he’s ready to break something in half. She’s his anchor, and when he pulls her to him, it means he’s about to lose his shit.
“Uh… Prez?” a prospect says from the doorway. He swallows like he’s approaching a guillotine. “There’s some men out here asking for entry.”
“Gonna need more information than that, Prospect.”
“They say they’re friends. Say they’re Moretti.”
“The Italians?” Tank asks. “What the fuck are they doing here? We just left their mansion.”
“Let them in,” Spike says. “Tell them to leave weapons behind.”
The prospect nods and hurries off.
“You know they’ll be armed anyway,” Bones mutters. “I’m alerting security.”
“Should we leave?” Riley asks.
“No,” Spike says. “My gut says they’re not here to attack. But I want you where I can see you, anyway.”
My arms ache to drag Eli onto my lap, but I refrain for a whole new reason now. Probably the same reason Spike is putting Riley back in her seat.
If shit goes sideways, I need both my hands…and my body…free to protect my family.
But I still need to touch him.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell Eli, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You still with me?”
He looks up at me and nods, though he’s pale. No forced smile. No pretending. Just fear.
Since I can’t hold him like I want to, I do the only other thing I can to reassure him. I lean down and kiss him. Soft. Slow. Calming.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper against his lips. “Breathe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you. Spike wouldn’t have let them through the gate if they were a threat.”
“It’s true, sweetheart,” Spike says gently…because he knows exactly what happens if Eli panics. “Would you be more comfortable over here with the girls?”
Spike is my brother. My President. My old friend.
But if he tries to separate me from Eli one more time…
“It’s in the corner, brother,” Spike adds quickly, smirking like the cocky shit he is. “Behind a wall of Shadows. You and Eli are right in front of the damn door. That’s the only reason I asked.”
I grunt but don’t argue.
Because he’s right.
Eli’s fingers curl into the side of my cut, trembling, and he shakes his head.
Spike sees it. Reads it. Nods once, understanding.
Before either of us can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Spike calls out.
The prospect pushes the door open, stepping aside as three men walk in like they own the oxygen in the room.
Confident. Controlled. The kind of calm that comes from knowing the world fears your very steps.
I recognize the first man immediately.
Luca. The Don’s so-called right hand.
“Luca,” Spike says, rising to his feet with an extended hand. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
There’s ice under the words. A controlled warning.
Spike isn’t happy they’re here, and Luca damn well knows it.
But Luca steps forward, shakes Spike’s hand, then steps back with a respectful bow of his head.
“I’m afraid I’m here for a family matter,” he says.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Spike replies.
Luca’s expression flickers…grief, sharp and genuine…before he lowers his gaze.
“I am so sorry, Boss,” Luca says softly. “We had no choice. We were attacked an hour ago.
We… we didn’t get everyone out of the mansion in time.”
The room goes dead quiet.
A murmur ripples through the room, low and furious.