Chapter 27
LEXI
The call dropped before I heard the engine start.
One second Hannah was crying, gasping for breath between words I could barely understand; the next, the line went dead, leaving me with the echo of her name on my lips.
“Hannah?” I said it again, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. My voice cracked, anyway.
Lucas was already gone—stormed out with Noah and three men I didn’t know. He hadn’t said where he was going, only that she was on her way and I was to stay put. The way he’d looked at me—steady, determined, unyielding—had scared me more than the attack itself.
Now I stood in the front hall of Dominion Hall, barefoot, still in last night’s dress, the silk wrinkled and cold against my skin. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I’d been pacing for so long the marble under my feet had gone from cool to warm.
Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten. A bruised shade of blue stretched over the trees. The gates stood ready to open. Headlights flashed once in the distance, and every muscle in my body locked.
Please, let it be her.
The car barreled up the drive, tires crunching over gravel, engine cutting hard as it stopped. Before the driver could even open his door, I was running.
“Hannah!”
She stumbled out before I reached her, one arm braced against the car door, the other clutching her stomach. Her hair was tangled, her lip split. Dried blood streaked down one side of her face. Her blouse—one I’d seen her wear to meetings a hundred times—was torn at the shoulder.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she whispered, “Lexi,” and the sound of my name broke something open inside me.
I caught her as she swayed. The smell of rain, blood, and perfume hit me all at once. She felt smaller than I remembered—fragile in a way that made no sense, because Hannah was the strong one. She was the one who held everything together.
“It’s okay,” I said, voice trembling as I eased her toward the steps. “You’re okay now. This is a safe place.”
Her breath hitched. “He—he was in my room. I heard the window—”
“Shh. You’re safe.”
The words sounded like lies, but I needed to say them. Maybe for her. Maybe for me.
One of Noah’s brothers came forward, offering an arm.
He was massive—broad-shouldered, brown-haired, his beard trimmed close over a square jaw.
The kind of man who looked like he could lift a car just to see what was underneath.
His presence filled the doorway, quiet and immovable, radiating a steadiness that made the chaos in my chest slow just a fraction.
“Ma’am,” he said in a deep, even voice. “We’ll have the doctor meet you inside.”
Atlas Dane. I remembered his name from something Lucas had said—the leader of the Charleston Danes. The Commander. The one the others followed when things went bad.
I nodded, barely hearing him over the rush of my own heartbeat. My focus stayed on Hannah’s face—the purpling bruise under her eye, the scratch along her neck, the faint tremor in her hands.
“Did he touch you?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Atlas’s gaze flicked toward me, calm but alert, as if cataloging every detail, every risk. Then he gave a small nod to one of the men hovering near the steps. “Let’s get her inside.”
Something in his voice—low, certain, absolute—made me believe we really were safe, at least for the moment.
She shook her head, then winced. “No. I think he wanted to scare me. He—he said your name, Lexi. He said—”
Her voice broke.
I pulled her closer, guiding her through the doors. Warm light spilled across the floor, a strange contrast to the chaos inside my chest.
“Let’s get you upstairs to my guest suite,” I said softly. “You need to lie down.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
We moved slowly, step by step, up the sweeping staircase. Hannah leaned against me, her weight uneven. The doctor—someone Noah had called—was already waiting outside of my room. He murmured instructions in a calm voice as he examined my sister, the smell of antiseptic overtaking everything.
I stood by the window, arms wrapped around myself, trying to breathe.
Lucas should’ve been here.
He’d promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He’d said it with the kind of conviction that made me believe him. But now he was gone—out there somewhere, chasing the people who had done this—and everything felt colder without him.
When the doctor finally left, Hannah looked a little better. Her hair was pulled back, the cut on her lip cleaned. A thin blanket draped her shoulders. She sat propped against the pillows, pale but alert, her eyes following me as I crossed the room.
“Lexi,” she said quietly.
I sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m here.”
She reached for my hand, her fingers trembling. “He said your name.”
I swallowed hard. “Who did?”
“I don’t know. He was tall. Dressed in black. He said, ‘Tell your sister we’ll be in touch.’ And then he laughed.” Her eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears back. “Lexi, what’s happening?”
I didn’t have an answer. Not one that would make sense.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I promise you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Safe? In a gated mansion with armed guards. Is this what it takes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?” she demanded, voice cracking. “You disappeared. I couldn’t reach you. Now I’m sitting in a fortress, talking about men who break into my house and say your name. Tell me what’s going on.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is with you.”
The words stung. Not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
I stood, pacing to the window. The early morning light had grown stronger now, washing the room in pale gold. Beyond the glass, the harbor shimmered faintly in the distance. Everything looked so peaceful, it almost felt cruel.
I kept my forehead against the window glass. “It’s not nothing,” I said. “But I don’t know how to explain it without … without making it sound worse.”
“Try me,” Hannah said. Her voice had that hoarse, brave edge I knew too well—the sound you make when you’re holding yourself together with your teeth.
“You already know Lucas,” I began, turning back to her.
“I do,” she said.
I sank to the mattress beside her, the blanket rasping under my palms. “He’s … a lot.”
“He’s a soldier with eyes that count exits,” she said, and even in her exhaustion she was efficient, accurate. “And the way he looks at you, Lexi? I noticed that, too.”
Heat rose under my skin. “I know.”
She studied me for several long seconds, something softer loosening in her expression. “You love him.”
It didn’t feel like a question, so I didn’t treat it like one. “I do.”
Hannah exhaled, a fragile little laugh that had nothing to do with humor. “Then what? We learn how to live with … this?” She gestured vaguely at the room, at the house, at the invisible war that had reached into her bedroom.
A knock brushed the door. It opened three inches and Atlas filled the gap.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
He held a steaming mug and a folded sweatshirt in hands that looked capable of gentleness and ruin in equal measure. “Tea. And something warm.”
As he stepped closer, the light caught on a wedding band—new, bright gold, still holding the faint polish of recent vows.
It gleamed against the roughness of his hand, an unexpected softness on a man who looked otherwise carved for battle.
I couldn’t help wondering what kind of woman he’d married—someone strong enough to meet that steadiness head-on, maybe, or someone who’d learned how to calm storms without breaking herself in the process.
“Thank you,” I said.
He crossed the room with quiet precision, set the mug within Hannah’s reach, and nodded toward the sweatshirt. “If you stay here, you won’t be bothered.”
Hannah’s fingers closed around the mug like it was a lifeline. “Is Lucas—?”
Atlas’s gaze flicked to me before returning to Hannah. “He’s with Noah and his team. We’ll brief you when there’s something worth saying.”
It wasn’t evasive so much as merciful. We’ll brief you when there’s something worth saying might as well have been stamped into the marble downstairs. Dominion Hall didn’t gossip. It contained.
“Thank you,” I said again, because it was the only safe sentence in my mouth. Atlas’s eyes—steady, assessing—lingered on my sister’s face a heartbeat longer, as if recording the exact shade of her bruises for later vengeance. Then he stepped back into the hall. The door clicked.
Hannah lifted the mug and hissed when the heat touched her split lip.
I took it, blew across the surface until steam stopped spiraling, then handed it back.
She sipped, eyes shut, and in that moment she looked like she had when we were kids—barely asleep, pretending not to be afraid of thunder while I counted in the dark and tried to decide who to be for both of us.
“You asked what I know.” I tucked the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “Dominion Hall is … complicated. Big money. Ex-military brothers who built something powerful. They have enemies.”
“Do you trust them?” she asked.
“With my life,” I said, and heard how young I sounded.
“And with mine?” She didn’t say it unkindly, but it hit with the precision of a well-thrown dart.
“Yes,” I whispered, because anything else would have been a betrayal I couldn’t live with. “I asked Lucas to keep you safe.”
She nodded. “Then I’m going to ask you to do something for me, too.”
I braced. “Anything.”
“Stop pretending this thing with Lucas is temporary.” Her eyes opened, clear despite the swelling. “Call your life what it is. If you’re in, be in. If you’re out, go. But don’t stand in the doorway. People get crushed there.”
I stared at her, at the woman who’d turned our mother’s chaos into schedules and our childhood panic into lists that saved us a hundred times over.
My throat pulled tight. “I’m sorry,” I said, the two words so small for the weight they had to carry.
“I’ve been … hard on you. Ducking your calls.
Making you the bad guy because it felt useful. ”
Hannah’s mouth softened. “You hate being told what to do.” A beat. “You also hate needing anyone.”
We both looked at the tea because it was easier than looking at each other. The mug trembled once in her hands. I covered them with mine until it stopped.
“I’m going to ask you to stay here,” I said. “Not just tonight. Until this—” I fumbled for a shape and gave up. “Until it’s different. I’m sure they have another guest suite, just for you.”
“You want me to move into a fortress.” She sounded like she was testing the word for splinters.
“I want you where I can find you in five seconds,” I said, too fast. “I want you in a room with a man like Atlas thirty feet away and three more men like him I don’t even know about.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
I swallowed. “Please.”
Hannah leaned back against the headboard, the blanket rustling. “Okay.”
The relief hit so hard I had to close my eyes. “Thank you.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You let me do my job.” She lifted a brow. “You stop going radio silent. You loop me in. You tell me where you’re going and when you’ll be back. You let me build the scaffolding that keeps the dramatic parts from falling on your head. We still have Franklin to answer to.”
I laughed, and the sound wobbled. “Deal.”
“Good.” She sipped again, winced, and set the mug down.
Her voice went small. “He really was in my room, Lexi. I was asleep. I woke up because the air felt different—like the window had opened of its own accord. He stood by the dresser and said your name like he owned it. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared. ”
My hand found hers before the rest of me did. “I’m here,” I said again, without trying to improve it. “I’m here.”