Chapter 2 #2
"We've identified the shooters," Doran says, pushing off the mantel. "Krajnc family. They've been making moves against our interests in Belfast for months. This was a message."
"A message," I repeat. "They tried to kill me to send a message?"
"To kill you, to take you—we're not certain which." Aleksandr's voice is ice. "Either way, the message was clear: we can touch what's yours. We can hurt you where you're vulnerable."
The words hit me like a slap to my face.
Vulnerable. That's what I am now. A weak point in their armor. A liability.
"Why now?" I ask. "Why me? Rev is Doran's wife—if they wanted to hurt him, wouldn't she be the bigger target?"
"Rev is constantly protected," Doran says.
"She never leaves the estate without security.
But you..." He trails off, and something like guilt flickers across his face.
"You weren't supposed to be a target. You're not directly involved in our operations.
We thought that distance would keep you safe. "
"They targeted her precisely because she seemed unprotected," Aleksandr adds. "A softer target. Easier to reach. And the connection to you—" he nods at Doran "—made her valuable as leverage."
"This is my fault." Rev's hand tightens on mine. "Dalla, I'm so sorry. I brought you into this world. I never thought—"
"Stop." I turn to face her. "You were going to be married off to Doran regardless, then you fell in love. That's not a crime, and I'm not going to let you carry this guilt."
"She's right," Doran says, and his voice softens when he looks at his wife. "This isn't on you, mo chroí. This is on the Krajncs. And they'll pay for it."
"The question now," Greer interjects, steering the conversation back on track, "is what we do going forward. The Krajncs have made their move. They'll be expecting retaliation, which means they'll also be expecting us to circle the wagons. Protect our vulnerabilities."
"Which means they'll be watching," Aleksandr says. "Waiting for another opening."
"So, we don't give them one." Doran pushes off the mantel again, pacing. "Jacksonville is out. If they're targeting people connected to me, keeping Dalla in my household makes her a bigger target. And it puts Rev at risk."
"I don't care about the risk to me," Rev says fiercely.
"I do." Doran's tone leaves no room for argument. "I won't have you both in the same location. It's too easy. One strike takes out both of you."
Rev opens her mouth to argue, then closes it.
She knows he's right. We all do.
"Agreed." Aleksandr steeples his fingers. "She needs to be somewhere separate. Somewhere they won't think to look, or won’t have enough balls to fuck with her at. Somewhere with enough distance that any move against her would require significant resources and planning."
"What about Tallahassee?" The suggestion comes from the doorway, and I realize with a start that RJ has spoken.
His voice is flat, professional.
He still isn't looking at me. "She has her own family connections there. It's close enough to Jacksonville for support if needed, but separate from Doran's operations. And it's in the States, which puts distance between her and the Krajncs."
Greer tilts her head, considering. "Can you work remotely, Dalla?"
"I—yes. I've done it before. Tallahassee, New York, London—as long as I have my equipment, I can work from anywhere."
"Then it's settled." Doran pushes off the mantel again, pacing. "Tallahassee. We'll set her up in a secure location. Full security detail."
"I'll go." RJ again. This time, everyone turns to look at him.
"I'm already assigned to her protection," he continues, his tone unchanged. "Makes sense for me to stay on. I know her patterns. Her habits. And after today..."
He trails off. His jaw tightens. "After today, I'm not trusting her safety to anyone else."
The room goes quiet. I feel Rev's eyes on me, curious and knowing.
I feel Greer's gaze, sharp and assessing.
I feel the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on my chest.
"Da can spare me for however long this takes," RJ adds. "The Dublin situation is stable. She's the priority now."
Aleksandr and Greer exchange one of their silent conversations.
Then Aleksandr nods. "Fine. RJ will accompany Dalla to Tallahassee and remain as her primary protection until the threat is neutralized." His pale eyes find mine. "You'll check in daily. Any concerns, any irregularities, you report them immediately. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Good." Greer rises, smoothing her skirt. "I'll have my assistant arrange the details. You'll leave tonight."
Tonight.
In a matter of hours, I'll be on a plane to Florida.
Alone with RJ.
I look at him without meaning to, and this time—just for a second—his eyes meet mine.
The impact is electric.
A jolt that runs from my chest to my stomach to somewhere lower.
He looks away almost immediately, his expression shuttered, but I saw it.
That flicker of something beneath the ice.
He's not as unaffected as he wants everyone to believe.
Rev finds me in my guest room an hour later, throwing clothes into a suitcase with more force than necessary.
"You're going to wrinkle everything," she says from the doorway.
"Don't care."
She sighs and crosses to the bed, gently removing a silk blouse from my grip. "Here. Let me."
I step back and watch her fold my clothes with the same precise care she's always had.
Even as kids, her side of the closet was immaculate while mine looked like a tornado had hit it.
Some things never change.
"I don't want to leave you," I admit. "We just got here. We were supposed to have a whole week."
"I know." She smooths a cashmere sweater and sets it in the suitcase. "I was looking forward to it too."
"This is insane. Three days ago, I was in Jacksonville, worrying about fabric swatches and production schedules. Now I'm fleeing the country with a Brotherhood soldier because some Slovenian crime family wants to use me as a pawn."
"Slovenian with Irish ties," Rev corrects. "The Krajncs have been operating in Belfast for years. It's complicated."
"Of course it is." I sink onto the edge of the bed. "How do you do it, Rev? How do you live in this world every day and not lose your mind?"
She pauses, a pair of my jeans in her hands.
"I love him," she says simply. "I love Doran more than I'm afraid of what his life means.
And I trust him to keep me safe." She sets the jeans down and sits beside me.
"It helps that I'm not naive about it. We grew up in the MC.
I know what violence looks like. I know what men are capable of when they're protecting what's theirs. "
"What's theirs," I echo.
"Mm." She bumps her shoulder against mine. "You should be prepared for that, by the way."
"For what?"
"For RJ looking at you like you belong to him." Her lips curve. "He already does, you know. Even in that meeting—he wasn't asking for the assignment. He was telling them. No one else gets to protect you. Only him."
"He was just being professional."
"Dalla. Sweetheart." She turns to face me fully. "That man would burn down the world for you. I saw the way he looked when he brought you into that safe room. Like he'd rip apart anyone who tried to take you from him."
My chest tightens. "We barely know each other."
"Sometimes that's all it takes. One look. One moment." Her eyes go soft, distant. "Doran knew the second he saw me. Took me a little longer to catch up, but he knew."
"And that doesn't scare you? Being wanted that intensely by someone that dangerous?"
"It terrifies me," she admits. "Every single day. But it also makes me feel safer than I've ever felt in my life. Because I know—I know, down to my bones—that nothing will ever hurt me while he's breathing."
I think about RJ's body covering mine.
The steady beat of his heart while bullets flew.
The way his hands shook when he touched my face, like he was afraid I might break.
Like he was afraid he might break.
"He's going to be with you every day," Rev continues. "In your space, watching you, learning you. That kind of proximity changes things. It strips away all the walls you think you have."
"Is that a warning or a prediction?"
"Both." She smiles and pulls me into a hug. "Be careful, Dal. But also... be open. You don't have to carry everything alone. If he wants to help carry it, let him."
I hold her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.
My sister. My twin. The other half of my soul.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too." She pulls back, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Call me every day. Text me. Video chat. Whatever. I need to know you're okay."
"I will. I promise."
She kisses my forehead and stands. "I'll let you finish packing. The car leaves in two hours."
Then she's gone, and I'm alone with my half-packed suitcase and the terrifying knowledge that everything is about to change.
The drive to the airstrip is silent.
RJ sits in the front seat next to the driver, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning constantly.
I'm in the back, my suitcase in the trunk, my carry-on clutched in my lap.
The leather seats are cold against my thighs.
Dublin passes by the windows in a blur of lights.
It's dark now—nearly midnight—and the city has that particular glow of a place that's still awake but winding down.
Pubs spilling golden light onto wet sidewalks.
Couples walking hand in hand.
Normal people living normal lives.
I wonder what that feels like.
We pull onto the airstrip and the private plane is waiting, sleek and white against the darkness.
The Mackenzie family crest is painted on the tail.
Of course it is.
RJ exits first, scanning the area before opening my door.
His hand hovers near my elbow as I step out—not quite touching, but ready to grab me if needed.
Protective. Possessive.
What's theirs.
"After you," he says, gesturing toward the stairs.
I climb into the plane and find a seat near the window.
The interior is all cream leather and polished wood, more luxurious than most apartments I've lived in.
A flight attendant appears with a warm smile and offers me champagne.
I take it.
Hell, I need it.
RJ settles into the seat across the aisle from me.
Close enough to reach if needed.
Far enough to maintain the professional distance he's clearly trying to enforce.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as the flight attendant offers him a drink.
He declines with a curt shake of his head.
Of course he does.
He's on duty.
No alcohol, no relaxation, no letting his guard down.
I, on the other hand, have no such restrictions.
I sip my champagne and let the bubbles fizz on my tongue.
The plane taxis down the runway, and then we're lifting off, Dublin falling away beneath us.
I watch the lights shrink until they're just pinpricks in the darkness, then nothing at all.
Just black ocean and endless sky.
Goodbye, Ireland.
Goodbye, safety.
Hello, whatever comes next.
We fly in silence for nearly an hour.
I pretend to read a magazine.
He pretends to review something on his phone.
Neither of us acknowledges the elephant in the cabin—the memory of his body pressed against mine, his hand on my jaw, his voice rough with promise.
When this is over, we're going to finish this conversation.
The flight attendant dims the cabin lights and retreats to the galley.
We're alone now, suspended somewhere over the Atlantic, wrapped in darkness and the soft hum of the engines.
"You should sleep."
I turn my head. RJ is watching me, his expression unreadable in the dim cabin light.
"Can't," I admit.
"Try anyway. It's a long flight."
"Is that an order?"
Something shifts in his jaw. "A suggestion."
"Funny. Sounded more like an order." I sip my champagne and study him over the rim of the glass. "Do you ever turn it off? The soldier thing?"
"What?"
"The constant vigilance. The scanning for threats. The pretending you don't have emotions." I set my glass down. "It must be exhausting."
His eyes flash. "I'm doing my job."
"Your job. Right." I lean back in my seat, crossing my legs. "So the part where you caged me against a wall and promised to finish our conversation—that was just part of the job description?"
"That was a mistake."
The words hit harder than they should.
I set down my champagne glass and turn to face him fully.
"A mistake," I repeat.
"Yes."
"So when you touched my face—when you looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered—that was just adrenaline? Just the heat of the moment?"
He doesn't answer.
His jaw is tight enough to crack.
"Look at me, RJ."
He does.
And there it is again—that flicker beneath the ice.
That hunger he's trying so desperately to smother.
"That wasn't a mistake," I say quietly. "And we both know it."
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The plane hums around us.
The darkness presses against the windows.
I can hear my own heartbeat, loud in the silence.
"It doesn't matter what it was," he says finally. His voice is rough. Strained. "You're my principal. I'm your protection. That's the beginning and end of it."
"Is it?"
"It has to be."
"Why?"
The question hangs between us.
He looks away, his jaw working.
"Because I'm not a good man, Dalla. I've told you that. The things I've done—the things I'm capable of—" He shakes his head. "You deserve better than a monster who only knows how to kill."
"Maybe I don't want better." The words slip out before I can stop them. "Maybe I want someone who understands what it means to live in the dark."
His eyes snap back to mine. Something raw and hungry flashes across his face before he shuts it down.
"Get some sleep," he says roughly. "We'll be in Tallahassee in eight hours."
He closes his eyes and turns his head away. Conversation over.
But I saw it.
The crack in his armor.
The war between what he wants and what he thinks he's allowed to have.
I lean my head against the window and close my eyes, but I don't sleep.
I think about monsters.
I think about men who kill without blinking and then touch you like you're made of glass.
I think about the way he said that was a mistake when we both know he didn't mean it.
The plane carries us west, toward Florida, toward whatever comes next.
And somewhere over the Atlantic, I make a decision.
RJ might be determined to keep his walls up.
But I've never been very good at following orders.
And I have eight hours to figure out how to tear them down.