Chapter 7
As I stand at the edge of the circular drive, the iron gates grind shut behind us with a hydraulic groan that vibrates through the night.
I glance up at the residence, the white stone walls glowing beneath manicured landscape lighting and sprawling windows, gleaming gold against the night as a fountain whispers softly from the center of the drive.
The ambassador’s residence was designed by architects who cared about prestige, not tactical defense.
It’s a shortcoming that we’ll have to compensate for.
Security lights flare to life, sweeping across the perimeter walls in slow, methodical arcs as cameras pivot overhead.
The armed embassy security has doubled the number of posted sentries at our insistence.
This house is no longer a home; it needs to be a bunker.
As my gaze sweeps over the property, I can’t help but catalog the weaknesses still to be addressed.
The front gate is the only gate, leaving us no alternative exit strategy.
There are too many trees outside the perimeter along the north wall.
The windows, while beautiful and expensive, leave the ambassador and his daughter vulnerable.
The slam of a door echoes all the way down to the foyer. And Mackenzi descends the staircase inside. Her spine is rigid, her long dark waves swing behind her with every heated step, and her round cheeks are flushed with fury.
She’s actually a little adorable.
Jagger stretches lazily beside me like we’re standing at a fucking vacation resort instead of the middle of a live cartel threat. “Well,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his tactical pants. “She seems… pleasant.”
“She’s scared,” Hawk states flatly.
“She’s pissed,” Gunnar corrects.
“Both,” I mutter. Fear and rage look almost identical, and right now she’s wearing both like a tailored suit.
Hawk glances past me, his dark eyes sweeping over the estate with cold calculation.
The ambassador’s residence sprawls behind him, wealth, prestige, and catastrophic security vulnerabilities.
“The primary threat remains external kidnapping attempts. Secondary concern is infiltration through staff or diplomatic channels for an assassination attempt,” he shares.
“Until we know how much intelligence the cartel has, we assume worst-case capability.”
Cartels have money, reach, and patience. I’ve seen firsthand what organizations like that do. They don’t rush. They erode, bribe, and manipulate. They wait for exhaustion and routing to soften their target, then they strike. Violently.
“Rotations,” Hawk adds. “Two-man active patrol at all times. One interior. One exterior. Eight-hour cycles.”
He points at Gunnar first. “You’ll take the overnight perimeter.”
Gunnar nods once. “Copy.”
“Jagger, surveillance and tech.”
Jagger presses a hand dramatically to his chest. “Finally. A job that appreciates my many talents.”
Hawk ignores him entirely before his gaze shifts to me. “And Damon”—I already know what’s coming before he says it—“Close protection.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re assigning me to babysit?”
“I’m assigning you to the highest probability contact point.”
So… yes.
Jagger smirks. “I heard you two already bonded on the plane.”
“We didn’t bond.”
“Hawk said the two of you argued like divorced parents for three hours.”
“More like she threatened to stab me.”
“Exactly.” He chuckles. “Chemistry. And as feisty as she is, I don’t think she actually has it in her.”
I flip him off without looking up.
Hawk exhales a deep breath, like he’s bracing to explain the logic behind his decision. “You’re the best fit.”
He’s right…
Mackenzi doesn’t trust any of us, but she reacts differently to me. I’m blessed with less polished hostility and more honesty. She pushes because she expects a reaction from me specifically.
And worse… I understand her.
I understand the fury of losing control of your own life, confinement, and being forced into survival mode before you’re ready because I grew up with it being the only thing that mattered.
My parents were barely there, even when they were physically in the house.
Both of them were too wrapped up in their own problems to notice whether the lights stayed on or if I’d eaten that day.
The neighborhood raised me more than they did, and I joined a gang before I was old enough to understand what it would cost me because survival felt more important than morality when you’re a kid with empty pockets and no one coming to save you.
I did things I’m not proud of. A lot of things.
So when I look at her struggling against confinement and fear, against having her freedom ripped away before she’s ready, I understand that fury in a way most people never could.
And maybe that’s exactly why I can’t stand watching it happen to her.
Still, something about the assignment sits wrong in my chest. “She hates me.”
“No. She hates the situation. You just happen to be a big part of it,” Hawk replies calmly. “You’ll stay primary on her movements, escort protocols, and room security. If she moves, you’ll know where she is.”
“Meaning I’m her babysitter. Her shadow.”
“Meaning, if someone gets through our perimeter, they go through you first.”
Fair enough.
I nod once. “Understood.”
When we finish discussing our plan, Gunnar peels off to the perimeter, with one of the embassy guards at his side, already barking out patrol rotations and telling them about blind spots I also clocked earlier as we drove onto the property.
Jagger swings open the back of the SUV and begins hauling out hard cases packed with additional surveillance gear, grumbling dramatically under his breath about how elite operatives shouldn’t double as movers.
Hawk stays near the entrance long enough to issue a few clipped orders into his comms before heading deeper into the house to tear apart existing security protocols with the embassy’s regional security officer.
Which leaves me—lucky fucking me—heading inside to be the poor bastard responsible for keeping the furious diplomat’s daughter alive.
The mansion is colossal—three floors, east and west wings, staff corridors, service entrances, a wine cellar, and an underground panic room.
I push open a set of double doors and step into the study that has been converted into our command center.
Monitors already glow across the massive mahogany desk, with camera feeds populating across multiple screens.
Front gate. Perimeter walls. Interior hallways.
Nearly every inch of this place that isn’t a bedroom.
After patrolling the main floor, checking the windows, I make my way upstairs. My boots slap against the marble floor as I approach Mackenzi’s room, light spilling from the crack of her slightly ajar door. I stop outside and listen, surprised when I find silence. No crying. No grumbling. No music.
Nothing.
I knock twice, garnering no response. When my knuckles rap on the door again, Mackenzi snaps from the other side, “What?”
“Security check.”
“Go away.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Can’t.”
“You absolutely can.”
“Coming in,” I warn before pushing the door open to find her sitting on the window seat. “You thinking about climbing out?”
“Maybe,” she sasses.
I lean against doorframe. “The drop would break your ankle.”
“Well, at least then I’d get to leave.”
Despite myself, the corners of my lips twitch. Christ, I shouldn’t find her funny. Or sharp-witted. Or intriguing. This time, the silence that follows feels different. Less explosive. Ever-so-slightly less explosive.
When she finally speaks again, her voice is quieter and has a slight tremble to it. “I heard everything downstairs.” I straighten slightly. “The cartel stuff,” she clarifies. “I heard Hawk talking to my father.”
My jaw tightens automatically. “You shouldn’t worry about operational details.”
“That’s impossible considering apparently I’m an operational detail.”
I glance toward the dark hallway before lowering my voice. “We’re handling it.”
Another bitter laugh echoes in the room. “You guys keep saying that like it’s supposed to make me feel better.”
“It should.”
“Well, it doesn’t.”
“I know.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
She shifts uncomfortably as she stares at her pink-polished toes. Barely managing to lift her eyes to meet mine she asks, “You really think they’d come after me?”
I stare back at her chocolate pools, hating the answer resting on the tip of my tongue. “Yes.”
No point in lying.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Awesome.”
I close my eyes briefly. This is why close protection assignments suck. You either stay detached and become cold enough to stop caring, or you let someone get under your skin, and it eats at you piece by piece. And Mackenzi gets under my skin far too easily.
“I have midterms next week,” she says suddenly.
The random normalcy of her statement catches me off guard.
“I was supposed to be starting a new lab project tomorrow.” She laughs once, and it’s completely devoid of humor.
“I’m worried about a biology project, while a cartel threatens to kidnap me. That’s insane.”
“No,” I breathe. “It’s normal.”
Because routine things matter most when your life is spiraling out of your control. I learned that the hard way. She stares back at me, her eyes asking a thousand questions that her mouth isn’t, while simultaneously looking at me with understanding as silence settles between us.
After pushing off the doorframe, I rake my fingers through my hair until they hit the bun at my crown. “You should try to sleep.”
“Hard to sleep with everything going on,” she says on a huff that isn’t quite a laugh. The tiny sound punches me in the gut. Or is it my chest?
With my hand on the knob, I slowly pull the door shut and step into the hallway. “Get some rest, Mackenzi.”
“You, too…”
I head down the hallway before I can say anything else I shouldn’t, but halfway to the staircase, I stop.
She’s moving around inside the room restlessly.
Instead of walking away like I should, I stand rooted in the dim embassy hallway listening for a minute—or three—longer than necessary.
Long enough to realize that her feisty attitude isn’t going to be the only problem with this assignment.