Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Dalla
I wake up to an empty bed and sunlight streaming through the window well.
For a moment, I'm disoriented.
The light is brighter than usual, the angle different.
Then I glance at my phone and realize why—it's almost noon.
I've slept for over twelve hours.
Yesterday was... a lot.
I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles, and let myself remember.
RJ's mouth on me.
RJ's hands.
RJ inside me, making me feel things I didn't know I could feel.
We'd barely left this bed, only emerging for food before tumbling back into each other.
But now the bed is cold on his side, and when I listen, the basement is silent.
I find a note on the pillow beside me, written in cramped handwriting:
Perimeter check. Didn't want to wake you. Come find me when you're up. -R
I shower quickly, throw on leggings and an oversized sweater, and grab my iPad.
I've been neglecting Greer's deadline, and if I don't get some real work done today, I'm going to be in trouble.
The basement feels too quiet, too isolated.
I need people.
Noise.
Distraction from the way my body keeps replaying every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from yesterday.
I head upstairs into the main area, and as usual it’s alive with energy.
Prospects are scattered around—Bodul behind the bar, Hakon mopping the floors, Aren doing something with a laptop in the corner.
The big leather sectional near the windows is empty, bathed in the kind of natural light that's perfect for detail work.
I claim it, curling up with my iPad and stylus, and lose myself in the designs.
Greer's collection is almost finished.
Twelve pieces, all building on the personal work I showed her in Dublin.
I just need to complete the final two—a structured coat with unexpected draping and a gown with intricate back seaming—and then the technical flats for production.
I'm deep in the gown's construction when a shadow falls over my screen.
"Whatcha working on?" I look up to find Bjorn grinning down at me, his twin Njal right behind him.
Kraken and Magnolia's sons, my childhood partners in crime, the closest thing I have to brothers besides blood.
They're both massive, built like their father with broad shoulders and arms that could crush skulls.
But their mother's mischievous streak shines through in their matching grins, the twinkle in their eyes that says they're always up to something.
"Fashion stuff," I say. "You wouldn't understand."
"Ouch." Bjorn clutches his chest dramatically. "She wounds me."
"She's always been mean to us," Njal agrees, dropping onto the couch beside me. He's close, the way we've always sat—shoulder to shoulder, comfortable. "Remember when she put hot sauce in our cereal?"
"You deserved it. You cut my Barbie's hair."
"We were giving her a makeover!"
"She was bald, Njal. Completely bald."
Bjorn settles on my other side, sandwiching me between them like we're twelve again and hiding from our parents after breaking something we shouldn't have touched. "To be fair, she looked very avant-garde."
"She looked like an egg with legs."
"An avant-garde egg with legs."
I laugh despite myself.
Gods, I've missed this.
The easy banter, the childhood memories, the feeling of being surrounded by people who've known me my whole life.
Living in Tallahassee on my own has been good for my independence, but it's also been lonely in ways I didn't let myself acknowledge.
These two idiots used to sneak me out to concerts when we were teenagers.
They held my hair back the first time I got drunk.
They threatened to beat up the first boy who broke my heart, and probably would have if I hadn't stopped them.
We're not blood, but we're family in every way that matters.
"So," Bjorn says, slinging an arm around my shoulders, "we heard you've been busy."
"Working, yes. Greer's deadline is—"
"Not that kind of busy." Njal waggles his eyebrows. "The other kind of busy. The kind that had the whole clubhouse putting in earplugs two nights ago."
My face flames. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't. That's why you're turning the color of a tomato." Njal pokes my cheek. "Look at that. She's blushing. Our little Dalla is all grown up and getting—"
"If you finish that sentence, I will end you."
"—coffee," he finishes innocently. "Getting coffee. From the very attentive Brotherhood soldier who follows you around like a puppy."
"He does not follow me around like a puppy."
"You're right. Puppies are less intense. He follows you around like a wolf who's decided you're his."
"I hate you both."
"You love us both," they say in unison.
I'm about to respond when I feel it—that prickle at the back of my neck that tells me I'm being watched.
I look up to find RJ standing at the edge of the seating area, two mugs of coffee in his hands, his gray eyes fixed on the twins with an expression I can only describe as murderous.
"Hey there, Brotherhood," Bjorn says cheerfully, not removing his arm from my shoulders.
If anything, he pulls me closer.
The little shit knows exactly what he's doing.
"Hello." RJ's voice is flat. Clipped. The professional soldier voice I haven't heard since Dublin. "Dalla. Coffee."
He holds out one of the mugs, and I have to extract myself from the twin sandwich to take it.
Our fingers brush, and his jaw tightens.
"Thanks." I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic. "RJ, you remember Bjorn and Njal. Kraken and Magnolia's boys."
"I remember."
Silence stretches.
The twins exchange a look—the kind of wordless communication that only siblings can manage.
"So," Njal says, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk, "you're very close to our Dalla for a security guard."
RJ's eyes narrow. "I take my job seriously."
"Yeah?" Aren's voice carries from his corner, where he's apparently been eavesdropping this whole time. "You like getting deep up in it, and we all heard it."
The common room goes dead silent.
Then Bjorn snorts.
Njal chokes on air.
Bodul drops his head into his hands behind the bar, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Even Hakon has stopped mopping to stare.
RJ looks like he's calculating exactly how many of them he could kill before anyone stopped him.
"Oh my god," I manage, burying my burning face in my coffee mug. "I'm going to murder every single one of you!"
"Worth it," Aren says, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
RJ sets his jaw and turns to me. "I'll be outside."
He's gone before I can respond, the door to the back porch swinging shut behind him.
The moment he's out of earshot, I round on the prospects. "What is wrong with you?"
"What?" Bjorn holds up his hands innocently. "We're just having fun."
"You're antagonizing the man who's responsible for keeping me alive."
"He can take it. Besides—" Njal's expression softens slightly. "Anyone who looks at you like that, like he'd burn down the world if someone touched you wrong? He's all right in my book."
"Even if he does have a stick up his ass," Bjorn adds.
"That's the Irish in him. They're all like that."
I shake my head, but I can't quite suppress my smile.
They're idiots, but they're my idiots.
My iPad buzzes with an incoming notification, and my stomach drops when I see the name.
Greer Mackenzie - Video Call Request
"Shit. Shit shit shit." I scramble to sit up straighter, shoving my hair out of my face. "Everyone shut up, I have to take this."
The twins scatter like roaches when the lights come on. I accept the call and paste on my most professional smile.
"Greer. Good afternoon."
"Dalla." Greer's face fills the screen, perfectly composed as always. "I expected your check-in this morning."
"I apologize. I got caught up in the work."
"Mm." Her tone suggests she doesn't quite believe me. "Show me where you are."
For the next twenty minutes, I walk her through the collection.
The finished pieces, the works in progress, the technical challenges I'm still solving.
Greer is exacting as always—questioning every choice, pushing for better—but by the end, there's a hint of approval in her expression.
"The coat is strong," she says. "The gown needs refinement on the back seaming. But you're close, Dalla. Closer than I expected given the... circumstances."
"I've been focused."
"Have you?" Her eyebrow arches. "Doran mentioned your protection detail has become quite... attentive."
I keep my expression neutral through sheer force of will. "RJ takes his job seriously."
"So I've heard." A pause. "I trust he's treating you well?"
There's weight behind the question.
A reminder that RJ answers to the Mackenzies, that Greer could have him reassigned with a single phone call.
"Very well," I say carefully. "I feel safe with him."
"Good." She nods once. "Final files by Friday, Dalla. Don't disappoint me."
"I won't."
The call ends, and I slump back against the cushions, suddenly exhausted.
Greer has a way of wringing every ounce of energy out of you, even through a screen.
"That looked fun."
I start at my father's voice.
He's standing by the bar, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression.
I have no idea how long he's been there.
"Dad. Hey."
"Greer giving you trouble?"
"Greer is Greer." I set my iPad aside. "She pushes because she knows I can handle it."
"Mm." He crosses to the seating area and lowers himself into the chair across from me. For a long moment, he just looks at me—his daughter, his little girl, all grown up and tangled in things he can't protect her from.
"How are you really doing, baby girl?"
"I'm okay. Better than okay, actually."
"And the Brotherhood boy?"
My cheeks warm. "Dad—"
"I'm not blind, Dalla. And I'm not deaf, either." His mouth twitches. "None of us are, apparently."
I want to die.
I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.
"Can we please not talk about this?"
"We don't have to talk about it. But I need to know—is he good to you? Does he treat you right?"
"Yes." The answer comes without hesitation. "He does."
My father nods slowly.