18. Dani
18
DANI
WE ARE FAMILY
T hey've stripped me of everything—my uniform, my weapons, my connection to House. The freezing tile floor bites into my bare feet as I pace my old Alaskan bedroom, ten steps each way. The thin white lingerie they've put me in offers no protection against the cold, but I barely feel it. Rage burns hot enough to keep me warm.
Through the small window, I can see nothing but endless snow and dark pines. The glass is bulletproof, triple-paned. I checked. The door is steel, the hinges welded on the outside. Professional work. They know what I'm capable of.
I've counted three guard rotations, andmemorized their patterns. Four cameras in blind spots I'm meant to think they missed. Two air vents too small for escape. They want me to try. Want to remind me I'm trapped.
The door opens with a whisper of well-oiled hinges. I brace for Omar, but instead, it’s a ghost. My father stands there, looking as confident and powerful as I remember. My heart hammers in relief. But the job, the fifteen years of threat analysis, whispers a warning. A warning I heed. My capture happened because I chose to doubt Xeno, a man who showed me what love is. It does not resemble the parental package regarding me. Steel-gray hair swept back from a face that could have been carved from granite. An expensive suit, and Italian leather shoes that don't quite hide the predator's grace in his movements.
"You disappeared on us, my little star.” His smile doesn't reach those eyes. Never has. Dead eyes that I missed or overlooked in my childhood. “You betrayed your husband. You betrayed me."
"You sold me." The truth crystalizes, as sharp and cold as the Alaskan air. Years of questions finally finding their answers. "To him. For what? More power? More money?”
"Business is business." He shrugs, elegant and dismissive. "Oscar wanted you as a wife who understood discipline. Your bitch of a mother did before she ran off with your sister. And I need someone who understands loyalty. You wanted to work with me,” he pauses, “and you will.”
Omar strolls in with the nurse on his arm, Rhys trails behind, like the dog he is with three other men. Around his neck is a white snake, another constrictor like Friend. I shove down my revulsion and fear.
“Daniella,” Omar says, my name with dramatic flair. “I’m so glad to have you back, la familia. He kisses the nurse, passionately, before making introductions. “You’ve met my Barbie doll, Tiffanie.”
She preens with his approval and praise. Stupid ass pet doesn’t realize he’s a slave master.
“Barbies are toys. Your blonde bimbo, not good enough to marry,” I laugh.
Her smile vanishes. Omar’s lips pull back, he flashes a wicked jackal grin.
“My brother told me you had a smart mouth. After I fuck it, maybe I’ll have my new Buddy,” he kisses the snake’s head, “hold you tight while Tiffanie staples it closed. We’ll see if da’bitch who thought she was tough in her fancy suit, spews the same shit when she’s coiled up without food or water.”
I cross my arms over my chest, making sure to contain the shiver. Fucking sadistic bastard. “I hate TicTacs, so no thanks on your tiny dick mint.”
The look in Omar’s stony eyes radiates pure evil. The tension in the room escalates as my jailer taunts me with his plans. My death will be a slow one. Neither my father nor Rhys, two men I trusted, came to my defense. They will let this monster torture me. I don’t need them. I don’t need House.
Omar shoves Tiffanie in my direction. Then gestures to Rhys. “Get da’bitch on her knees.”
My father turns to exit, leaving me to my fate.
“No,” Omar bellows. “You stay. Take some pointers on how to train your bitches.”
Tiffanie grabs for me. I waste no time, fucking around with her. She’s in front of me. I strike fast and hard, delivering a heel strike, driving her head up and back. Barbie goes down, her knees pop like microwave popcorn on unforgiving tiles. Perfect. Using my toned leg, I bend my knee driving it up under her chin, nail meet hammer. The satisfying sound of teeth shattering fills my ears. “Tap, Tap, Barbie doll.”
Strong arms wrap around, a crushing bear hug. Rhys, strong fucker.
“Gotcha,” he chuckles.
A scream builds in my throat, primal and raw. All these years running, building my strength, creating my fortress of technology and protocols. And in the end, I'm still just property to be traded. I have to get out of position. Bend forward from the waist; making it more difficult for him to lift me off my feet. The lingerie is slippery and it works in my favor.
But before the scream can break free, the lights go out.
Glass shatters somewhere above. The whisper of steel through air—a sound I know from countless training sessions. Then screaming, but not mine. The wet sound of bodies hitting floor.
When emergency lights flicker on, casting everything in blood-red shadows, Xeno stands in the doorway. There’s a gun in one hand and blood drips from his sword, none of it his. His eyes meet mine, wild and fierce and absolutely certain. In the melee, Omar has vanished.
Behind me, Rhys’s head explodes, a juicy melon splattering the walls crimson.
Xeno smiles. “I missed you, ma cherie.”
Tears fill my eyes. Xeno’s here. The dark knight braves the Alaskan tundra for—me. “Yes. my love—”
My father reaches for his gun. Too slow. Xeno moves like lightning, blade singing. But I'm moving too, muscle memory taking over as I slam my elbow into my father's nose. The crack of cartilage is satisfying in a way I'll examine later, in therapy.
He drops, gasping. I grab his gun, pointing it at his head even as Xeno's sword slices threw his right wrist. “X marks the spot, old man bitch.”
"Where's Omar?" I demand.
My father laughs, it’s a cruel sound. "Waiting. Waiting to mow you and this mutt down.”
A woman materializes out of the mist to slam the hilt of her gun into my father’s temple. “You will never find something safe to do, disgusting, perverted bastard.”
The blow echoes off the walls. Xeno and I both stare at…my mom.
“Mom?” The word comes out as a broken whisper, years of longing and loss compressed into a single syllable. My hands shake as I reach for her, afraid she'll disappear like smoke, like all the dreams I’ve had of this moment.
More sounds of fighting from above—Corso's familiar voice calling Javier is dead, Cookie's creative cursing. My father's body slumped at my feet.
“It’s me, baby.” Her eyes, so like mine, fill with tears. "I never stopped looking for you. Not for one day. Fleur is here, too. We have to move." The years of searching, of pain, of never giving up echo in her voice. My chest aches with the weight of understanding—while I thought she'd abandoned me, she'd been fighting to find me, to save me.
Xeno touches my shoulder, gently, despite the blood on his hands. "Ready to finish this?"
I chamber another round. "Born ready."
We move through the compound like death's own shadow. My bare feet leave bloody prints on pristine white tiles—I stepped in Rhys’ and my father's blood. It seems fitting.
We find Omar in the onsite hanger trying to board his private jet. His face lights up when he sees me, that same possessive perversion that chilled me minutes before. Now it just makes me realize he must suffer.
“You think this is over Daniella, I’ll never stop hunting you,” he says, spreading his arms like he expects me to let him live.
“Wrong.” I squeeze the trigger. I put two rounds in him, the first in his dick, the second, in his knee. “Tap. Tap.”
He looks surprised as he falls. They always do.
Later,—Omar and my father will learn exactly what happens when you cage a predator, after Rhys and his conspirators bleed out their betrayals into pristine snow—Xeno pulls me close in the flight home.
"You needed me," he murmurs against my hair. “And I needed to be here for you.”
I think of his sword flashing in the dark, of the perfect synchronicity of our fight. Of trust earned and chosen, not commanded or coded. Of the way he let me take my revenge, standing guard but never stepping in.
"Yeah," I say, letting myself lean into his warmth. For the first time since I lost connection to House, my mind is quiet. Peaceful. "I know." I reach for his hand. "I'm sorry."
"I know." His fingers intertwine with mine. "We've got work to do, you and me. There's still people in you, the organization, who will want you dead.”
"Let them try," I say, and I feel whole for the first time in days. "We'll handle it together."
He tugs me onto his lap, blood be damned until I can feel his breath on my lips. The familiar scent of sandalwood on his skin tickles my nose. I inhale, pulling him deeper into my lungs. Never with this man will be too soon, but I take it. I choose him.
“Together," he agrees. "But first, you’ll make this up to me. Fucking breaking us up, my nuts swinging, that damn tranq gun.”
I kiss him then, gently but thoroughly, tasting promise and possibility. The sun rises over the mountains, painting the snow crimson and gold. Like blood. Like redemption. Like love. I close my eyes and let myself fall, knowing he'll catch me. Some risks are worth taking, after all. Being a protector isn't just about keeping others safe—it's about being brave enough to let someone protect your heart, too.