CHAPTER 50
Luna
“So it’s either I stay and live a boring, powerless lie of a life with Van, I mean Quinn, leave and live at least a challenging, meaningful lie, but with my disgusting father, or I die and disappear and become one of the most powerful people in the world.”
“Or Quinn dies,” Ellie adds, petting Marlon where he sits on my lap. “You keep leaving that option off your list.”
“Because it’s stupid,” I spit.
“But, a little bit romantic?” Ellie asks tentatively. She looks gorgeous in the warm light filtering through the sheer curtains on the windows of this lovely guest room. It’s all brown and creams like a Pottery Barn catalog.
But she’s tired. And I’m ready to go. It’s been about 36 hours since we arrived. I’ve slept, I’ve eaten, I’ve had time to think. I’m sore but I’m on plenty of meds, I don’t need the monitor or an IV, even if my overprotective fake husband says otherwise.
“No, not romantic. Just stupid. Why would the Irish follow me? That makes no sense. Wives who just married in two seconds ago don’t take over.
Definitely not wives who are from a rival family.
And,” I get louder because my best friend is trying to interject something sweet or hopeful, “Why would I want to lead them? To tiptoe around trying to seem powerful and ambitious but in actuality trying to stay small and out of the way so the cave or whatever the hell their name is can make their moves? Thanks but that’ll be a big, fat no thanks. ”
“Even if it doesn’t make the most sense, the man is willing to give up revenge, give up his mission and training and everything he’s worked for and go into hiding for the rest of his life for you to fulfill your dream and become the don,” she says quickly, knowing I want to interrupt.
“That is romantic whether you want to admit it or not.”
“Ellie!” I scold. “Who the hell cares about romance, here?” Her face shudders. I soften my tone but only slightly, “I know you have love and the house with the fence and the baby on the way but that doesn’t mean it’s for everyone. I never planned on love.”
“And yet you got it anyway, and you’re spitting in its face!” Ellie raises her voice at me.
“Eleanna!” Mark calls from somewhere down the hall. He’s pissy that she’s getting worked up. Annoying, creepy bastard.
“Quit eavesdropping, fucker!” I yell back.
Ellie takes a deep breath.
I reach out and grab her hand. “I am not spitting at anything. I just don’t think it’s love. Lust, yes. Friendship, maybe. But now that I’m off the compound and have taken a step back, it seems a bit more like Stockholm syndrome.”
“Except Van is not your captor.”
“Isn’t he? Manipulated me into caring for him just in time for,” I make air quotes, “Command to swoop in and recruit me.”
“Then why is he still here, now, moping around like a puppy waiting for his owner? If that was his goal, it’s over. He delivered you to O. Why is he sitting in the basement holding his breath until you ask to see him?”
I huff in frustration, “He should have gone home!”
“And if he wasn’t in love with you, he would have!”
“Why?” I push my friend, “Why are you campaigning so hard for him?”
She grabs both my hands in hers, “Because he sees you. He’s not some boy who just thinks you’re hot.
He’s not a man trying to shut you up or calm you down.
He’s not holding you back and he doesn’t hold back with you.
” She shudders as she continues, “I saw some video of you two in his gym, it was terrifying. He’s incredible and you’re incredible with him, Lu.
Even more so than usual, I mean. He wants to do everything he can to give you your dream—leadership, power, the opportunity to lead, to make a difference. ”
“If I want to make a difference, I should go with Allie,” I say, not wanting to think too long about all she just said.
“Wow,” Ellie throws me some very unusual sass, “so you won’t trust your husband but you’ll go off to who knows where with a woman you just met?”
“She’s not asking me to love her!” I sass right back, “And I want to solve this puzzle. I want to get to the bottom of who is really fucking with us, how and why.”
“So that’s it? You vanish and never see any of us again?” Her eyes fill with tears. Mine do too.
I sniff and give her a glare with no anger behind it, “You know I’ll find a way to see you.”
“You better.”
“So,” I straighten against her guest room bed’s luxurious tufted headboard, “You think I need to make some calls or are they listening in and already on their way?”
“Mark?” Ellie asks the room, not even raising her voice.
“Incoming in two hours!” He yells back from…somewhere.
“I have to say again, I really, really hate your husband,” I whisper to my friend.
Again, his voice booms from the hall, “You’re a real fucking delight, yourself.”
Rolling her eyes at both of us, Ellie just laughs.
Her laugh dies when Van shows up in the doorway looking like an angry bear. He’s sweaty and panting, just coming from a workout or a fight. Or both.
Damn it, he’s hot. And beautiful. Under the forehead scar that made him who he is, his black eyes see straight into my mind and his lip twitches. Irritating, sexy bastard.
Lust is not love, Luna.
I sigh, Ellie mumbles some awkward excuse and rushes out of the room. Coward.
“You’re leaving,” his voice is low and cutting.
“Wow, word travels fast around—.”
“Come down to the range with me,” he says suddenly.
I chuckle, “Um, I was shot?”
“You think you won’t have to defend yourself when injured? Won’t have to fire back after you’ve been hit? You’re smarter than that. And stronger. Come on.”
I inhale and will myself to refuse him. I’m leaving.
This is over. No point hearing him out again.
But training with him is my siren song and he knows it, the bastard.
I twist to get out of bed and expect him to rush to help me.
He doesn’t. I want to call him an asshole but instead I think of Ellie’s voice.
He’s not holding you back and he doesn’t hold back with you.
I’ve been getting up every couple hours to stretch.
I’m full of ibuprofen and have had plenty of sleep.
I lift my chin and grit my teeth, straightening to my full height by the bed.
He watches, looking me up and down. He frowns at the visible bandages under the blank tank top I’m wearing.
Ellie helped me put on a bra and leggings, too, but I still feel naked under his assessment.
“How is your hip?” He finally asks.
“Fine,” I lie. Right now I’m at the end of the four-hour painkiller window and it hurts like a motherfucker.
“Then let’s go,” He twists his big body in the doorway and starts moving.
I move too, going faster than I have on my walks thus far.
We move through Ellie’s beautiful home. It’s a traditional home but renovated in recent years.
The walls and woodwork are all bright whites and neutrals but she loves deep red and you can see pops of it everywhere.
Kinda feels a bit Christmassy to me, but it suits her.
I also wish it was smaller! Damn it, this hurts. We pass through the entry, living, dining and kitchen area, which is all open and connected, to another hallway to Mark’s office. There, Van finally turns around.
He walks into my space, way too close, and says, “Up,” before I know what’s happening, he’s grabbed my thighs, avoiding my hurt hip, and hoisted me up around his waist.
“Ow! Fuck! I can—”
“You’re not taking the stairs, Lasa.” He says, but he’s not moving. He’s just holding me to him, watching me.
“And you can’t carry me the other way?” I say, wishing he would shift me into bridal hold instead and feeling…too much with his eyes this close to mine…his mouth right there.
“Too narrow,” he answers as he finally starts to move. His eyes are trained on where we’re going, the office closet, a second door, a narrow stairwell, another door. But my eyes are studying him.
He is…magnificent. I can appreciate that.
What he’s done with his clan, weeding out the old guard and training new men with honor, rebuilding his family from the ground up, it’s…
incredible. His muscles shift under me and my core pulls tight.
It can’t help it. His body is a masterpiece.
The way he fights, his speed, his accuracy.
I am in awe of all of it. All of him.
But that doesn’t mean I’m in love.
And sure, he respects me too. Wants my body, enjoys my snark.
Again, doesn’t mean we’re in love.
Once we’ve passed a couple doors in the creepy basement hallway, we enter a small, long, in-home gun range. Van sets me down. I hiss as my leg unfolds. My husband looks at a corner behind me and says, “Ellie, it’s time for more meds.”
Mark’s voice comes back, “Affirmative.”
I don’t look, I just flip the camera the bird. Van smirks.
“Let’s see how you shoot with a busted shoulder,” my husband says simply as he grabs gear off the wall to our left. I pick up the ear and eye protection from the counter in front of us and already my upper arm is screaming at me.
But he’s right. I can’t expect perfect fighting conditions in this…war that we’re in. I need to be able to fight through the pain and shoot back.
“You’ll have adrenaline on your side in a scuffle, but you have to back that up with—”
“Training, I know,” I mutter as I roll my eyes and take the Glock 43 from his hand. He’s chosen something lightweight on purpose, but I let it slide. This is going to suck. He puts on his own ear protection, crosses his arms and waits.
I begin.
My eyes sting as the shots go off. My arms burn. The pain is almost unbearable.
I expect my trainer to come behind me like he always has, to adjust my legs, my arms. If nothing else, his hand should lift mine, his fingers ghosting over my own.
But he doesn’t.
“Good but not great,” is all he says, arms still crossed. He pushes the button on the wall to move the target sheet closer to us and says, “Again.”