Chapter 27
Connor
Back in my room, I found Mia sitting on the bed, her body on edge as she awaited my return. She looked up as I entered, her eyes questioning.
“What did he say?”
she asked softly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
I crossed the room and sat beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched. “He’s still suspicious, but he showed me something that confirms your story about Matheson.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“One of Tomas’ journals. He documented a meeting with Matheson back in 1997—a business proposal involving government contracts and money laundering that my father refused. God, I can’t get used to calling him anything other than Tomas. Anyway, Matheson threatened him then.”
“Then don’t call him anything but Tomas,”
she murmured, her brow creasing. “So, Matheson’s been planning this for decades. Waiting for the right moment.”
“Looks that way.”
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaustion seeping into my bones. “Tomas knew he was dangerous. Which is crazy when you think about it as he was just as dangerous.”
Mia nodded slowly, processing this information. “Does Declan have it?”
“He knows where it is,”
I confirmed, careful not to reveal more. “That’s why Matheson targeted him first, and now me, but I have no clue where it is.”
She was quiet for a moment, then looked up at me with renewed determination. “This will change everything. If we can get to that book before Matheson does, we could use it against him.”
“One step at a time,”
I cautioned. “First, we survive tomorrow.”
I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was becoming familiar, comforting in its simplicity. She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed briefly.
“You should rest,”
I said gently. “Tomorrow will be... intense.”
She nodded but made no move to lie down. “I keep thinking about Wren,”
she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “The way she looked at me when she found out the truth. Like I’d ripped her heart out.”
“She’ll come around,”
I assured her, though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself. “She loves you. That hasn’t changed.”
“But her trust in me has.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if I can ever get that back.”
I took her hand in mine, threading our fingers together. “Trust can be rebuilt. It takes time, honesty, and consistency. But it’s possible.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
she asked, her eyes searching mine. “Rebuilding your trust in me?”
The question hung between us, loaded with implications. I considered my words carefully before answering.
“I think I’m building something new,”
I said finally. “Something that acknowledges who you were and who you are now. Something that has room for both.”
Her breath caught, and I saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I don’t deserve that kind of understanding.”
“It’s not about deserving,”
I replied, squeezing her hand. “It’s about choosing. And I’m choosing to believe in you—something stronger than I’ve ever felt before.”
One tear rolled down her cheeks as she moved closer, resting her forehead against mine. “I want to be worthy of that choice,”
she whispered, her breath warm against my lips.
“You already are,”
I murmured, closing the distance between us.
The kiss was gentle at first, hesitant—as if we were both afraid this fragile moment might shatter. But as her arms wound around my neck, pulling me closer, the restraint I’d been maintaining crumbled. My hands found her waist, drawing her against me as the kiss deepened, becoming hungry, desperate.
We fell back onto the bed together, her body soft and yielding beneath mine. For a moment, I forgot about tomorrow’s dangers, about Matheson and his tactical team, about my family’s suspicions. There was only this—her hands in my hair, her lips against my skin, the small sounds of pleasure she made as I traced the curve of her neck with my mouth.
“Connor,”
she breathed, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. “If tomorrow goes wrong—”
I pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “It won’t.”
“But if it does,”
she insisted, “I need you to know that everything between us—every touch, every word, every moment—it was real. The realest thing in my life.”
Instead of answering, I kissed her again, pouring everything I couldn’t yet say into it. We undressed each other slowly, savoring each newly revealed inch of skin like it was the first time.
I slipped my hand beneath her lacy bra, feeling her arch into my touch as I traced circles against her nipple. She gasped when I unhooked the clasp, exposing her completely to my gaze.
“Beautiful,”
I murmured, lowering my head to flick my tongue against the hard bud.
She writhed beneath me, fingers tangling in my hair as I worshipped her body. When I moved lower, trailing kisses down the soft plane of her stomach, she whimpered my name like a prayer. As I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her underwear, I looked up to find her watching me, pupils dilated with desire.
“Please,”
she begged, her voice a raw whisper.
My breath scorched her thighs as I traced her clit with my finger, a torturously slow circuit. “Please what?”
I growled, my voice vibrating against her delicate flesh.
I locked my gaze onto her pussy when she moaned in desperation. I watched, entranced, as she grew wetter, her juices glistening like dewdrops between her lips. I was starving for her taste.
“Fuck me with your fingers, your tongue, devour me! Just do something, anything!”
she cried out, her voice laced with need.
A low, hungry laugh escaped me as I dove in, my tongue ravaging her, consuming her. She was sweet and salty on my tongue, an intoxicating mix that drove me wild. Her legs quivered against my face, and I knew she was on the edge, ready to explode against my mouth. I was more than ready to take her there.
Her fingers gripped the sheets as she came undone, my name a broken cry on her lips. I held her through the waves of pleasure, relishing the flush spreading across her skin. When her breathing steadied, she pulled me up to her, eyes dark with renewed hunger.
“My turn,”
she whispered, pushing me onto my back with surprising strength.
Her mouth traced a deliberate path down my chest, her hair cascading around us like a curtain. I sucked in a sharp breath as her hand found me, stroking with exquisite precision. Her lips followed, and I had to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation.
“Look at me,”
she commanded softly.
I obeyed, meeting her gaze as she took me in completely. The vulnerability in that connection was almost too much to bear—more intimate than the physical act itself. When I felt myself approaching the edge too quickly, I gently guided her back up.
“Not yet,”
I murmured against her mouth. “Together.”
She nodded, understanding without words. I rolled her beneath me again, positioning myself between her thighs. The first slow push inside her drew gasps from us both. For a moment, we remained perfectly still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air.
“I never thought we'd be here again,”
she whispered, her voice catching.
I kissed her deeply as I began to move, setting a rhythm that built steadily. Her legs wrapped around my waist, urging me deeper. Every barrier between us—physical, emotional—dissolved until I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.
“Connor,”
she panted, her inner muscles tightening around me. “I'm close—”
“Let go,”
I urged, increasing my pace. “I've got you.”
We tumbled over the edge together, clinging to each other as pleasure crashed through us. In the aftermath, her tears mingled with mine, salt and sweetness on our lips. We lay tangled together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,”
I said quietly, “this is what matters. What's between us.”
She pressed a kiss to my heart. “Promise me you'll remember that. No matter what.”
I nodded, pulling her closer, trying to ignore the hint of foreboding in her words. For tonight, at least, we had found our way back to each other. And I would fight like hell to keep it that way.
“We should sleep,”
I murmured against her hair.
She nodded but made no move to pull away. “I wish we could stay like this,”
she whispered. “Just for a little while longer.”
I tightened my arms around her, as if I could somehow shield her from what was coming. “We’ll have more moments like this,”
I promised. “After tomorrow.”
I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Some things you just know,”
I replied softly. “Now sleep. Tomorrow is going to be the fight of our lives.”
Mia
I woke before dawn, years of training making it impossible to sleep past 5 AM, even after the exhaustion of yesterday. Connor’s arm was still draped across my waist, his breathing deep and even against my neck. For a moment, I allowed myself to savor the warmth of him, the solid presence at my back that had somehow become my anchor in a world turned upside down.
Carefully, I extracted myself from his embrace, pausing only when he stirred slightly before settling back into sleep. I dressed silently in the clothes that Kat had dropped off while Connor and Declan were having their meeting last night— black tactical pants, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and combat boots that fit surprisingly well. Practical clothes for what was coming.
The house was quiet as I made my way downstairs, though I noted the security system had been armed and recently checked. Someone else was awake. Following my instincts, I headed toward the kitchen and found Rory sitting at the island counter, a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.
He looked up as I entered, his expression guarded. “You’re up early.”
“Old habits,”
I replied, moving to the coffee maker and pouring myself a cup. “You too, apparently.”
“Couldn’t sleep,”
he admitted, setting down his phone. “Too many scenarios running through my mind.”
I nodded, understanding completely. “Any updates from your men in Vancouver?”
“Yeah. I suggested to Declan to send two of our best men. Brothers. Identical twins, Ryker and Royal O’Toole. They’ve established surveillance on Lily’s apartment and her school. So far, no sign of Matheson’s people. She appears safe.”
Relief washed through me, temporarily easing the knot of tension in my chest. “Thank you,”
I said, meaning it. “I know you didn’t have to do that.”
Rory studied me over the rim of his coffee mug. “We didn’t do it for you or her,”
he said bluntly. “We did it because it was the right call tactically. We can’t afford to have Matheson holding leverage over you today.”
I accepted that with a nod. “Fair enough.”
A silence stretched between us, not entirely comfortable but not hostile either. I could feel him watching me, analyzing, calculating.
“You know,”
he said finally, “I’ve been trying to figure out why Declan hasn’t had you locked up or worse. Beyond the fact that you’re Wren’s sister.”
I met his gaze steadily. “And?”
“And I think it’s because of Connor.”
Rory set his mug down. “I’ve never seen him like this—not with anyone. He’s always been the planner, the one who thinks with his head. Goofy at times but that was before he had clan captain thrown at him. But with you...” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.
“He’s making a mistake,”
I said quietly, the words painful but necessary. “Trusting me.”
Rory’s eyebrow rose. “Is he?”
The question caught me off guard. I’d expected agreement, not challenge.
“I was sent to kill his brother,”
I reminded him. “And then him.”
“But you didn’t,”
Rory pointed out. “Despite having multiple opportunities. Despite knowing the consequences of failure.” He leaned forward slightly. “Why?”
I looked down at my coffee, watching the steam rise in delicate curls. “I told you all yesterday— Because I saw what family could be, not the twisted version Matheson created in the agency. I saw how you all protect each other, how you fight for each other.”
“The truth,”
he interrupted. “Just me. No audience, no performance. Why didn’t you complete your mission?”
The directness of his question demanded equal honesty. I took a deep breath.
I hesitated, then pushed on. “I fell for Connor the second I saw him. It wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did.”
Rory nodded slowly, as if confirming something he’d already suspected. “That’s what I thought.”
“Does it change anything?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
He stood, moving to refill his coffee. “Love makes people do unexpected things—both good and bad. The question is whether your love for Connor is stronger than your fear of Matheson.”
“It is,”
I said without hesitation. “I would die to protect him. To protect all of you.”
He turned to face me, his expression serious. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
Before I could respond, the kitchen door swung open, and Declan entered. He paused momentarily upon seeing me, his posture stiffening slightly before he continued to the coffee pot.
“Morning,”
he said, his voice deliberately neutral. “You’re both up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,”
Rory replied, exchanging a glance with me. “Too much on my mind.”
Declan poured himself a cup of coffee, his movements precise and controlled. “I’ve been going over the estate’s security feeds from last night. All clear so far.”
“They won’t make a move until tonight,”
I said, setting my mug on the counter. “Matheson prefers to operate under cover of darkness. Less witnesses, easier to control the narrative if things go wrong.”
Declan’s jaw tightened slightly at my casual assessment, but he nodded. “Exactly what I would do. We should use the daylight hours to finalize our preparations.”
The kitchen door swung open again as Connor entered, his hair still damp from a shower. His eyes found mine immediately, a silent question in them that I answered with a small nod—I’m okay.
“What did I miss?”
he asked, moving to stand beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in a subtle show of support.
“Just discussing timing,”
Rory explained. “Mia believes they’ll wait until dark to make their move.”
Connor nodded. “Makes sense. We should use that to our advantage—set up our defensive positions during daylight when we can see clearly, prepare for low-light combat conditions.”
“I’ve already called in reinforcements,”
Declan added. “Ten of our most trusted clan members will be here by noon. That gives us a total of thirteen defenders, not counting Wren and Kat.”
“Fourteen,”
I corrected quietly. “I can fight.”
The room fell silent as three pairs of eyes turned to me. Declan’s expression hardened.
“You expect us to put a weapon in your hands?”
he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “After everything?”
I met his gaze steadily. “Yes. Because regardless of what you think of me, I’m your best chance against Matheson’s team. I know how they operate, how they think. I have more combat training than anyone else here. And my choice of weapon is a McMillan TAC-50 sniper rifle. I’ve never missed my mark.”
“She’s right.”
Connor’s hand found the small of my back, a gesture of support that didn’t go unnoticed by his brother. “We’d be idiots not to use every advantage we have. And Mia is definitely an advantage.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed as he looked between us. The tension in the room was palpable, a living thing that seemed to press against my skin. Finally, he set down his coffee mug with deliberate care.
“Fine,”
he conceded, though his voice remained hard. “But you’ll be positioned where we can see you at all times. And if you so much as twitch in a direction I don’t like—”
“You’ll put a bullet in my head,”
I finished for him. “I understand.”
Rory cleared his throat. “We should show her the armory, let her select her weapon. If she really is as good as she says with a sniper rifle, I have some ideas about positioning.”
Declan gave a curt nod, then turned to Connor. “A word. Outside.”