Chapter 33
The house smells faintly like smoke and gunpowder beneath the expensive wood polish. The security team moves through the compound in clipped voices over the comms, trying to restore order. Upstairs, the staff are still cleaning the blood from her bedroom floor.
On the couch, Mackenzi trembles against me as she falls in and out of sleep, curled so tightly into my chest, I can barely separate where she ends and I begin.
One of her fists is tangled in my shirt, hard enough to wrinkle the fabric beneath her knuckles, and the other presses flat against my ribs like she needs to physically reassure herself I’m with her.
I keep one arm wrapped firmly around her as my free hand rakes through her slightly tangled hair. “It’s over,” I murmur quietly, the words feeling useless as they leave my mouth.
Because it isn’t over. Not even close.
Mackenzi presses her face harder into my chest. Her breathing uneven, and the warm dampness of her silent tears soaking through my shirt.
I’ve seen this woman furious, sarcastic, defiant, and reckless as hell. I’ve seen her slam doors, scream at her father, and smart off to men nearly double her size without blinking. But until tonight, I have never seen this shattered, terrified version of my girl. And I fucking hate it.
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache.
“They’re gone,” I tell her again, softer this time. “Nobody’s getting near you. I swear.”
Her fingers twitch against my chest. “You promise?”
“I promise.” And I mean it with every savage piece of me.
I hold her tighter than I probably should.
The terrified shriek she made when I opened that closet door keeps replaying in my head.
Over and over. And every single time it does, something violent twists deeper inside my chest. Because now I know exactly what it feels like to think I’ve lost her, and I’ll slaughter armies of men before I ever feel that desperation again.
I rest my chin lightly on the top of Mackenzi’s head, staring out the darkened windows lining the sitting room. Floodlights illuminate the grounds outside as the sun fights its way over the horizon. Guards patrol at double-time, rifles strapped across their chests.
All this security… All this power… All these resources…
And they still almost got to her.
Rage simmers low and poisonous in my stomach. Not at the intruders, but at him. At the man currently racing back here, pretending to be a concerned father. My fingers flex against Mackenzi’s shoulder.
“What is it?” she asks, worried, as I try to comfort her. Before I can answer, headlights sweep across the front windows, and engines rumble through the circular drive.
Mackenzi lifts her head slightly, eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “Are they back?”
I don’t answer right away because suddenly all I can hear is my pulse pounding in my ears.
Gunnar called them—Hawk, Jagger, and the ambassador—the second the threat was neutralized. They left immediately.
Rage is no longer simmering beneath my skin; it’s boiling. I carefully loosen my hold on her, and her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“Daddy…”
“I’ll be right back, trouble,” I insist quietly. “I promise.”
Hesitation flickers across her face. Is she scared of being left alone?
The realization guts me for half a second, because she shouldn’t feel like this.
She shouldn’t feel unsafe in her own home.
She shouldn’t look at me like I’m the only thing standing between her and her entire world collapsing.
But she does. Reluctantly, she lets go of my shirt.
As I stand, fiery rage floods every inch of me, violence barely leashed beneath my skin. I stride out of the sitting room toward the foyer, and my boots thud against the marble floors. Every step feeds the anger burning hotter in my chest.
The front doors swing open when I reach them. The ambassador steps in first, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, looking composed despite the urgency of his return. Hawk follows behind him, with Jagger bringing up the rear. The ambassador calls out, “Mackenzi?”
Hawk stares at me as I approach, quickly registering the look on my face. One he has seen too many times. “Dam?—”
My fist slams into the ambassador’s jaw with enough force to snap his head sideways before Hawk can finish.
The crack of impact echoes through the grand foyer as the pathetic excuse of a man stumbles backward and collapses to the marble floor.
For one savage second, satisfaction tears through me so hard it nearly snuffs out my anger.
Almost.
“You fucking son of a bitch!” I explode through the house.
It’s not enough. Not even fucking close.
I lunge before anyone can react, grabbing a fistful of his suit jacket and driving him onto his back, straddling his waist, and slamming another punch across his face. Blood splatters across his lip.
Years of combat training make every hit precise, brutal, and efficient. I want to break him. I want him to feel even a fraction of the terror Mackenzi went through tonight.
He grunts and throws a punch back at me, unexpectedly.
The unexpected hit lands against my cheekbone, pain flashing bright and instant.
“Daddy!” Mackenzi’s horrified gasp slices through the foyer.
I turn sharply, snapping my head over my shoulder. She stands, frozen, near the entryway to the foyer, her eyes wide with shock. The momentary distraction costs me. Hawk and Jagger grab me, hauling me off the ambassador before I can land another punch.
I fight them out of pure instinct, seeing red so completely I barely register Hawk barking, “Damon! Easy!”
“Get the fuck off me!”
The ambassador slowly pushes himself up from the floor, breathing hard. Blood stains his mouth as he smooths one trembling hand down the front of his ruined suit jacket. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” he says toward Mackenzi.
“She’s not fucking talking to you,” I snarl.
Silence detonates across the foyer, and I watch the realization dawn on him in real time. The ambassador’s eyes shift abruptly toward me, then Mackenzi, before landing back on me again. The gears turn visibly, and I can’t help the smirk that curves across my lips.
His face turns red, his anger suddenly matching mine. He surges forward. “You’re old enough to be her fucking father.”
Jagger catches him, locking an arm across his chest before he can get to me. “Trust me,” Jagger deadpans, holding the ambassador firmly, “that’s not a good idea. First off, he’s a trained killer. Second, he’s really fucking pissed you put his girl in danger.”
The ambassador tenses at the words his girl.
Gunnar steps between everyone like the exhausted voice of reason. “Everybody, calm the fuck down.”
“I’m fucking calm,” I snarl, shrugging out of Hawk’s hold.
Mackenzi rushes to me before anyone can stop her.
The second she is close enough, her arms fly around me.
She looks at the bruise already forming on my cheekbone, and concern floods her expression despite everything.
She lifts her hand, and her fingers delicately touch my tender cheek.
I soften instantly, placing my hand gently over hers. “I’m okay.”
Jagger is still restraining the ambassador, who looks one second away from trying to kill me. “I’m going to let you go,” Jagger speaks slowly, annunciating every word like he’s talking to an idiot, “But again, trained killer.”
There’s a war raging behind the ambassador’s eyes. He wants to come at me. I know he does. But he also knows there’s a very real possibility I’ll put him in the fucking ground if he touches me again.
The ambassador straightens, adjusting his tie. “You’re all fucking fired the second I get another team on the ground.”
I laugh, fury crashing over me again before I roar, “We’ve been taking men out of here in fucking body bags. One who was seconds from getting to Mackenzi”—I pull her tighter against my side—“because they came for her.”
The ambassador wipes a trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Convenient target,” he mutters. “Opportunity?—”
Enraged, I cross the foyer in two strides, fist the front of his expensive shirt, and slam him backward against the wall hard enough to rattle a painting beside his head. “No,” I hiss. “You fucking piece of shit. They came for her. Not you. Her.”
The ambassador’s face hardens beneath my grip. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” My hand tightens in his shirt. “You fucking lied to us. You aren’t the target. She is.”
Behind me, Mackenzi’s breathing hitches, and I feel a tinge of guilt that this is how she’s finding out.
“Damon,” Hawk warns, but I ignore him.
“They weren’t after you,” I spit. “They didn’t come for you in your cushy penthouse hotel room. Those men waited until you were gone. Then they went straight upstairs. Straight to her.”
Dad…” Mackenzi whispers, her fingers curling into the back of my shirt, silently asking me to release him. “What did you do?”
Her question lands harder than any punch I threw.
“Kenzi—”
“What did you do?” Her voice cracks as she shouts over him, and the sound tears through me.
Abruptly, I release his shirt and step toward her, cocooning her in my arms. The ambassador watches our embrace, a raw and ugly expression carving into his features.
“You don’t understand the situation,” he states finally.
“Then explain it,” Gunnar barks.
The ambassador glares at him. “This is classified.”
“Like hell it is,” Hawk cuts in. “Not after tonight. Not after putting my men at risk.”
The ambassador looks cornered like a wounded animal. A guilty fucking animal.
Mackenzi lifts her head off my chest, shaking it at her father. “You knew?” Not a word passes over his lips, but the silence from him speaks volumes. Her body goes rigid against mine. “Oh my God. You fucking knew?”
The ambassador exhales slowly. “They were never supposed to reach the compound.”
Rage explodes through me so violently, I almost go for him again. “Answer her fucking question!”
“Yes!” His shout echoes through the foyer. The ambassador drags a hand through his hair roughly, his composure finally cracking, before muttering, “I knew. I knew the threats were aimed at Mackenzi.”
Her breath catches so painfully, I feel it against my chest.
“Why wouldn’t you tell us that?” Gunnar asks carefully.
The ambassador looks at his daughter, and for the first time tonight, guilt flickers across his face. Real guilt. “I made decisions.” He forces the words over his lips. “Years ago. Decisions that created enemies.”
Bad ones.
The kind who don’t forget.
The kind willing to storm a fortified compound to get what they want.
Mackenzi pulls back from me slightly, staring at her father like she doesn’t recognize him anymore.
“You lied to me.”
“No. I?—”
“Yes, you did.” Tears shine in her eyes again. “You knew I was in danger, and you didn’t tell me!”
“Kenzi—”
“You didn’t tell anyone!” Her voice breaks completely, and somehow it hurts worse than seeing her terrified earlier. Because eventually fear fades. Betrayal doesn’t.
The ambassador steps toward her instinctively, and she recoils. The movement is small, but devastating. Anguish immediately fractures his expression.
“They were never supposed to get to you—” he mutters.
“Well, they did,” I cut in, coldly. “And the next time you decide to hide the fact she’s in danger, you’d better ask yourself one question first.” His eyes lift to mine cautiously. “What happens when I find out?”