Chapter 38 Keira
KEIRA
“Final eight count!” I call out to my dancers as they nail the sequence. “Good work tonight, everyone. That’s a wrap.”
My dancers file out, sweaty and exhausted but satisfied. Marco lingers by the door, hesitating.
“You want me to wait until you lock up?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Go home, Marco.”
Since Idaho, I’ve felt stronger and steadier. The twins helped me reclaim a part of me I didn’t even know was missing. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped paying attention to my surroundings.
As I gather my things, I catch movement through the studio’s front windows. A man in a dark jacket stands across the street, partially concealed by a parked van. My pulse quickens. Same build, same stance, same spot—third night in a row.
I turn away casually and continue organizing my bag, positioning myself so I can watch him in the mirror’s reflection. He has broad shoulders, a military posture, and close-cropped hair. Not someone from the dance community. Not someone who belongs.
I pull my phone from my bag without looking at it, muscle memory guiding my fingers to the camera app. I pretend to check my messages, angling the phone toward the window.
Click.
I verify that the image clearly captures him, then open my text thread with Ace.
My fingers type a message.
A guy I’ve spotted for the third night in a row outside the studio.
I attach the photo and hit send before resuming my unhurried packing. I don’t want him to know I’ve noticed him. My phone vibrates almost immediately with Ace’s response.
Stay inside. Eight minutes.
Relief floods through me, followed by resolve. I’m not the same frightened girl from those foster homes anymore. I’m not alone.
I pace the studio floor, checking the window occasionally while trying to appear casual. Seven minutes later, the door bursts open. Ace enters first, his eyes immediately scanning the room for threats, followed by Cyrus, who locks the door behind them.
“Where?” Ace demands, moving to my side.
“He was across the street,” I say, pointing. “By that gray van.”
Cyrus crosses to the window, staying to the side as he checks. “Clear now.”
“How long was he there?” Ace asks, his hand resting at the small of my back, warm and steady.
“At least twenty minutes that I noticed. Third night in a row, same spot.”
The twins exchange a look loaded with meaning. “The photo you sent us of him. He looks professional,” Ace says. “Military stance, tactical positioning, earpiece.”
Cyrus nods. “The way he was angled gives him a full view of both exits.”
“You’re sure it’s three nights straight?” Ace asks me.
“Positive. Same build, same spot, same time each night.”
Ace pulls out his phone to study the image once more before looking up at me with cold certainty.
“Volkov’s men,” he confirms. “Most likely Russian special ops trained. They’re establishing your patterns.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask.
“We’ve been watching for them,” Cyrus says, moving closer. “And now they’re watching you.”
My stomach lurches as reality sinks in. The violation cuts deep—reminding me of basements with cameras, of being preyed on when I thought I was safe.
“What do they want?” I ask.
“Leverage,” Cyrus says grimly. “You’re our weakness, and they know it.”
“How long have they—” I start, but my voice catches.
“We suspected they might come for you,” Ace admits, his jaw tight. “Felix has been monitoring the studio, but they must have identified his surveillance.”
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the studio.
The twins move simultaneously, positioning themselves on either side of me. A perfect, practiced formation—not touching me, but close enough that I feel the heat radiating from their bodies. A human shield.
“We’re not letting you out of our sight,” Ace says, his voice low and dangerous.
Cyrus nods, eyes scanning the windows. “We’ll handle this.”
I look between them, these deadly men who kill and who now stand as my protectors. The irony isn’t lost on me—that the men who once hunted me now shield me from hunters.
“I won’t be trapped,” I tell them, forcing strength into my voice. “I won’t live in fear again.”
Their bodies shift infinitesimally closer to mine, a synchronized movement so subtle I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t spent so much time with them. Even in crisis, they move as one entity, different halves of the same lethal whole.
“You won’t have to,” Cyrus promises, his hand hovering near the small of my back without quite touching.
“Because we’re going to find them,” Ace finishes, his eyes meeting his brother’s over my head. “Anyone who comes near you,” Ace says, his voice dropping to that deadly calm I’ve come to recognize, “won’t live to regret it.”
Cyrus nods, his eyes darkening. “We’ll tear apart anyone who even thinks of using you against us. Everyone who’s been watching you. Everyone who reports back about your movements.” His fingers brush against my hip. “They’re already dead. They just don’t know it yet.”
A forbidden heat blooms low in my belly at their words. There’s something darkly thrilling about being the center of such lethal devotion—knowing these men would kill without hesitation to keep me safe.
“We protect what’s ours,” Ace adds, his gaze intense on my face. “Always.”
I reach for Cyrus first, pulling him down until our lips meet. His kiss is hungry, possessive, his hands curving around my waist to draw me closer. When we break apart, I turn to Ace, whose mouth captures mine with equal intensity, his palm warm against my cheek.
They take turns claiming my mouth, each kiss bleeding into the next until I can barely tell where one ends and the other begins. I taste their shared determination, their promise of violence transformed into this physical connection.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Cyrus murmurs against my neck. “To fight back. To eliminate threats. To protect what matters.”
I nod, no longer ashamed of the dark symmetry we’ve discovered together. “Yes.”
“We understand,” Ace says, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “After Idaho... we know you understand too.”
The memory of Henderson’s basement flashes between us—how natural it felt to reclaim my power through his pain. How right it felt to protect potential future victims by eliminating him.
Cyrus’s hand slides down my arm. “We should get back to the penthouse. We’ve prepared dinner for you—had it ready before your text came through.”
“Dinner?” I ask.
“We have plans for tonight,” Ace says. “Important ones.”
Dinner. They had prepared dinner for me. Something about the way Ace says important plans makes my curiosity spike. These men—assassins who kill without hesitation, who had helped me exact my revenge—had been cooking while I was at rehearsal.
“What kind of plans?” I ask, gathering my dance bag and slipping on my jacket.
Cyrus’s eyes meet Ace’s over my head, that silent communication passing between them. “Let’s say we have something to discuss with you. His hand settles protectively at the small of my back.
Ace takes my bag from me, slinging it over his shoulder without comment. “Not here,” he says, glancing toward the window where the stranger had been watching. “At home.”
Home. It’s still strange how naturally that word fits now—their penthouse becoming my sanctuary rather than my cage.
As we move toward the exit, I find myself nestled between them in their practiced formation. Ace is ahead, constantly scanning, while Cyrus flanks my other side, his body angled to shield mine.
“We’ll take the service entrance,” Ace decides, redirecting us toward the back of the studio.
I should be terrified. There are Russian criminals watching me, using me as a way to get to the twins.
But walking between these two lethal men, I feel oddly calm. The twins radiate deadly focus; they’re hyperaware of every shadow, every sound—as they guide me through the darkened hallway toward the back door.
“Car’s waiting,” Cyrus says. “Felix confirmed the perimeter is clear.”
I nod, trusting them completely. Whatever they’ve planned for tonight, whatever threat lurks in the shadows, I know with bone-deep certainty they’ll protect me. Not because I’m weak, but because I’m theirs.
And they are mine.