Chapter 14 #2
He was right, but that didn't make watching these assholes eye-fuck my girl any easier. Lena caught my expression in the mirror, read the barely leashed violence there, and winked. Actually winked, the brat.
"This one's perfect!" she announced loudly to Mia. "My boyfriend will love it."
The way she emphasized 'boyfriend' while looking directly at me nearly broke my control. It was a message, clear as day—she knew exactly what she was doing to me, and she was enjoying it. Duke's grip on my shoulder tightened fractionally.
"Interesting," was all he said, but that single word carried weight.
The rest of the shopping expedition was torture. Lena tried on three more dresses, each one designed to kill me slowly. The backless purple won, which meant I'd be spending Thor's wedding trying not to stare at the expanse of skin I'd mapped with my mouth last night.
"All done!" Mia announced cheerfully, organizing her bridesmaids for payment. "Tyson, Duke, thanks for playing bodyguard. I know it's not your usual scene."
"Happy to help," Duke said smoothly. "Security is security, whether it's the clubhouse or a dress shop."
As we prepared to leave, Lena passed close enough that I caught her scent—that unique mix of ink, vanilla, and something uniquely her that made my head spin. She paused, pretending to adjust her bag.
"See you at the boat party," she said casually, but her fingers brushed mine in passing, a touch so brief anyone watching would think it was accidental.
It wasn't.
Duke waited until we were outside, away from civilian ears, before speaking. "So. You’re getting on well with Lena."
"She's a good artist," I said carefully.
"Mmm." Duke lit a cigarette, took a long drag. "Funny thing about dress shopping. Shows you things you might not notice otherwise."
My jaw clenched. "Such as?"
"Such as how a man looks at a woman when he thinks no one's watching." He blew smoke into the afternoon air. "Or how a woman says 'boyfriend' while making eye contact with someone specific."
The words hung between us, heavy with implication. Duke wasn't stupid—he'd risen to president by reading people, understanding dynamics, seeing what others missed. But he also wasn't pushing, not yet.
"Duke—"
"Right now, everything is about about Thor and Mandy," he interrupted. "Everything else can wait until after." He flicked his cigarette away. "But Tyson? Whatever's going on, it better not compromise security. We clear?"
"Crystal," I said.
He clapped me on the shoulder, the gesture fraternal but edged with warning. "Good. Now let's get back. Got a bachelor party to finalize."
As we headed for our bikes, I caught one last glimpse of Lena through the boutique window. She was laughing at something Mia said, head thrown back, beautiful, vibrant, and completely unaware that our secret was hanging by a thread.
It felt like things were about to get complicated.
C hurch was already in session when I finished setting up my laptop. My brothers sat around the carved wooden table, faces grim as I pulled up the intelligence Tank and I had gathered on Cruz's cartel connections.
"What we've got is worse than expected," I began, clicking through surveillance photos. "Cruz isn't just connected to the Serps and the Las Cruces cartel—he's been actively feeding them information about our operations."
Thor's fist hit the table hard enough to rattle beer bottles. "That fucking weasel. First he threatens Lena, now he's trying to bring cartel heat to my wedding?"
"Not trying," I corrected, pulling up intercepted communications. "Planning. These messages reference a specific date—that of the ceremony. They know our security will be focused on protecting the wedding."
"Making us vulnerable elsewhere," Duke said quietly, studying the intelligence with sharp eyes. "Classic misdirection."
Tank leaned forward, scarred face serious. "How solid is this intel?"
"Solid enough." I switched screens, showing financial records. "Cruz has been moving money through shell companies connected to known cartel operations. Small amounts, but consistent. He's not a major player, but he's useful to them—local knowledge, established business fronts."
"And a grudge against us through Lena," Duke added. "Question is, what's their play?"
I'd been running scenarios all night, war-gaming possibilities while Lena slept. "Best case, they're gathering intelligence, waiting for an opening. Worst case . . ."
"They hit us during the wedding when we're exposed," Thor finished, voice deadly quiet. "Try to take out leadership when we're all in one place."
The room erupted in angry voices—brothers arguing strategy, threats against Cruz, protection protocols for the wedding. Duke let it run for a minute before raising his hand for silence.
"We proceed as planned," he decided. "Double security at all venues, extra eyes on the perimeter. Tank, coordinate with friendly clubs for additional bodies. Thor, I know it's your day, but—"
"I'll be armed," Thor said flatly. "Anyone tries to fuck with my wedding gets put down hard."
We spent another hour finalizing details—shift rotations, weapon placement, emergency protocols.
The kind of planning that had kept us alive through worse threats than Cruz and his cartel friends.
By the time we wrapped up, I'd assigned every brother specific responsibilities, created contingency plans for multiple scenarios, and established communication protocols that would let us respond to any threat without tipping off civilians.
"Good work," Duke said as brothers started filing out. "Tank, Thor, stay close to your phones. Everyone else, get some rest. I want this boat party to be perfect."
I was packing up my laptop when Duke's voice stopped me. "Need you to stay after."
The words hit like ice water. Thor glanced between us, read the tension, and left without comment. Soon it was just Duke and me in the dim light of church, cigarette smoke curling between us like an accusation.
"Got concerns," Duke said finally, lighting another cigarette with deliberate calm.
"About?"
"Security for the party. With Cruz's threats about the wedding, and you being . . . distracted lately."
I kept my expression neutral, closing my laptop with careful precision. "There’s no indication that either the Serps or the Cartel are targeting the party. And I'm not distracted."
"No?" Duke's voice carried that particular tone that had made him president—calm, measured, dangerous. "So you didn't spend three nights this week at Lena's? Your bike wasn't there at dawn yesterday?"
Fuck. I'd been careful, but not careful enough. Duke had eyes everywhere, and nothing happened in his territory without his knowledge.
"I'm protecting a civilian who's been threatened, just like you asked," I said carefully, meeting his gaze. "Cruz is targeting her specifically. She needed security."
"That all you're doing?" Duke took a long drag, studying me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "Because if someone was, say, involved with someone in the wedding party, that could compromise security."
The words hung between us like a challenge. Duke wasn't asking—he knew. This was my chance to come clean, to trust my president with the truth. But the habits of secrecy, of protecting what mattered most, ran too deep.
"It would," I agreed, holding his stare. "Complications compromise operations. That's why we maintain professional boundaries."
We looked at each other for a long moment, a lifetime of brotherhood and shared violence creating a language beyond words. Duke could push this, demand answers, make it an order. I could confess, throw myself on his mercy, hope our friendship outweighed his presidential responsibilities.
Neither of us blinked.
Finally, Duke nodded, a sharp jerk of his head that could mean anything. "After the wedding, we talk. Really talk. For now, keep your head on straight. Both heads."
The crude warning was so typically Duke—brotherhood wrapped in vulgarity. I started to respond, but he was already moving toward the door.
"Duke—"
He paused at the threshold, not turning around. "And Tyson? Tell Lena purple's definitely her color."
The door closed behind him with a decisive click, leaving me alone with the weight of everything unsaid. He knew. Of course he knew.
I sank into my chair, running through implications. Duke was giving me rope—enough to hang myself or prove I could handle this. The upcoming party would be a test, not just of security protocols but of my ability to maintain professional distance while protecting the woman I loved.
The woman whose purple dress had nearly caused me to commit public violence in a bridal boutique.
My phone buzzed. Lena: *Miss you already. Can't wait to ignore you super professionally on Friday. ??*
Despite everything, I smiled. Then typed back: *Practice your poker face, little brat. We're under surveillance.*
*Kinky. Should I wear a wire?*
*You should wear whatever keeps you safe and doesn't give me a heart attack.*
*So . . . you do want me in underwear?*
*You're going to be the death of me.*
*But what a way to go, Soldier Boy.*
I pocketed my phone, gathered my things, and headed out into the night. Tomorrow would bring a boat full of drunk bikers, cartel threats, a president who saw too much, and a girlfriend who delighted in testing my control.
What could possibly go wrong?
I found Lena cross-legged on her living room floor that evening, surrounded by empty juice boxes like she'd robbed a kindergarten. She had three more lined up on the coffee table, studying them with the intensity usually reserved for difficult tattoo designs.
"Should I be concerned?" I asked, closing the door behind me.
She looked up, purple hair falling into her eyes. "I'm conducting a scientific experiment."
"With apple juice?"
"Each box represents one drink." She gestured at her setup with absolute seriousness. "I'm determining my limit for maintaining appropriate behavior on Friday."
I set down the Chinese takeout I'd brought and crouched beside her, taking in the scene. She'd actually made notes—a little chart tracking juice box consumption against decision-making quality. My chest went tight with a mixture of affection and concern.
"You're literally practicing being good?"
"If I get drunk at the party and accidentally call you Daddy in front of everyone . . ." She bit her lip, the gesture achingly familiar. "Or worse, if I forget to maintain distance and just climb you like a tree because you look unfairly hot in your cut . . ."
"Lena." I pulled her against me, abandoning her juice box science. "We'll manage."
"Will we?" She twisted to look up at me. "Because I've been thinking about it all day, and I'm not sure I can pretend you're just some random biker. Not when I know what your hands feel like, what sounds you make when—"
I kissed her to stop that dangerous train of thought, tasting apple juice and anxiety on her lips. When we broke apart, she was flushed but still worried.
"Let's practice," I suggested, shifting back to put distance between us. "Pretend I'm just another King at the party. You don't know me."
"Okay." She straightened, smoothing her expression into something neutral. Then her eyes went heavy-lidded and her voice dropped to a purr. "Hey there, hot stuff. Want to show me your bike?"
"Lena."
"What?" She grinned, unrepentant. "I'm supposed to pretend I don't know you. This is me meeting a sexy stranger."
"Not by hitting on me!"
"How else do I explain staring at your ass all night?" She was fully smiling now, tension melting into mischief. "Come on, it's a valid strategy. If I'm flirting with random bikers, no one will notice I'm actually obsessing over one specific VP."
"No flirting with random bikers," I growled, the thought making my jaw clench even though she was clearly teasing.
"Possessive. Like at the dress shop." She crawled toward me, predatory and playful. "I like it. Makes me want to misbehave just to see what you'd do."
"Try it and find out," I warned, but she was already straddling my lap, arms looped around my neck.
"This is terrible practice," she admitted, pressing closer. "We're supposed to be ignoring each other."
"Right." I didn't move my hands from her hips. "Ignoring. Professional distance."
"Minimal interaction." She shifted, and I bit back a groan. "Polite but distant."
We looked at each other for about three seconds before she was kissing me, desperate and hungry like we hadn't seen each other in weeks instead of hours. My hands tangled in her hair, and any thought of practicing appropriate behavior evaporated.
"This is impossible," she gasped when we broke for air. "How am I supposed to watch you at the party and not touch you?"
"Same way I watch you exist and don't carry you off to the nearest flat surface," I said roughly. "Badly and with great difficulty."
She kissed me quick and light. "We should eat before the food gets cold. Plus I need to finish my juice box experiment."
"The experiment is canceled," I decided, standing with her still wrapped around me. "You're having three drinks maximum tomorrow, and you're staying with the bridal party."
"Sir, yes sir," she said with mock solemnity, then squeaked as I spun her toward the kitchen. "Tyson!"
"Practicing my commanding presence," I said innocently. "Since you find it so distracting."
Her laughter followed us into the kitchen, bright and genuine despite tomorrow's looming challenges. We ate Chinese food straight from the containers, laughing and joking about the upcoming challenge.
But later, curled together on her couch, the reality crept back in. On Friday we'd be surrounded by brothers, gossips and Duke's too-knowing eyes. We'd have to pretend this thing between us didn't exist.
"Hey," she said softly, reading my tension. "We'll be okay. It's just one party."
"Famous last words," I muttered, but pulled her closer.
She tucked her head under my chin, and I breathed in the scent of her, storing it up for Friday when I'd have to keep my distance.
Friday would bring its own challenges. Tonight, she was mine, and that was enough.