Chapter 14 – Lance
Chapter Fourteen
Desperation Has a Name
Lance
It had been four hours since I last heard from Morgan.
Four hours of hell.
My office at Pendragon felt like a cage, the walls closing in with every minute that passed. I kept replaying that morning in my head—her in my bed, the taste of her skin against my lips when I touched her neck, the way she'd shivered despite trying to hide it.
And now she was gone. Vanished . Off the fucking grid.
The security feeds I’d hacked into on the garment district filled one of my monitors, cycling through empty corridors, busy sidewalks, crowded streets. No sign of her.
Maybe I’d gone a little far hacking into the city video’s streams.
Not if was to protect her.
You should have gone with her yourself, asshole.
But like a fool, I thought giving her space from me for a few hours would help her breathe and ease some of the frustration.
I trusted the men I’d assigned to protect her.
I checked my phone for the hundredth time.
Nothing. The locator app showed her last known position in the garment district, but the little red dot hadn't moved in hours. Either her phone was dead, or...
I wouldn't let my mind go there.
Atticus's voice thundered from his office, the sound carrying through the normally quiet executive floor.
"What do you mean you lost her? How the fuck do you lose a five-foot-two woman in bright yellow jeans?"
It felt like a fucking hammer slammed against my chest. I blew out a sharp breath and strode to his doorway just as Rowan's voice crackled over the speakerphone.
"Some old lady started a scene—claimed Morgan was trying to steal fabric. It escalated fast. The crowd separated us."
"And you let that happen?" Atticus's knuckles were white around his phone, his CEO mask slipping to reveal the furious man beneath.
Pierce was already at the standing desk, pulling up street camera footage. His fingers flew across the keyboard, face set in that concentrated scowl that meant he was buried in intel. Gavin worked the phone, calling contacts at NYPD.
"She had a panic attack," Rowan continued, voice strained. "By the time we fought our way through the crowd, she was gone."
My stomach dropped. I knew how Morgan got during panic attacks—disoriented, desperate for air, unable to think clearly. Made her the perfect target.
"Find her," Atticus growled. "I don't care what it takes. Find her now."
When he hung up, his eyes locked with mine. Deep worry lines etched his forehead as he ran a hand through his hair.
"This situation keeps getting worse," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "We need to find her before?—"
"We will," I cut him off, unable to hear the rest, the scenarios too horrific to contemplate.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. The weight of responsibility—for his sister-in-law, for his team's failure—was evident in the rigid set of his shoulders. He turned to Pierce. "What do we have?"
"Nothing useful yet. Last visual was here—" Pierce pointed to a grainy image on his screen, Morgan's bright yellow pants just visible at the edge of the frame. "Forty-two minutes ago. After that, she disappears down this alley, but there's no coverage."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting—hoping—it was Morgan.
It wasn't.
Hector: Need to see you. Parking garage. Pendragon building. Level three. Come alone.
My blood turned to ice, then fire. If he'd touched her—if he'd hurt her?—
"Lance?" Atticus noticed my expression. "What is it?"
I shoved the phone in my pocket. "I need to go."
"Lance—"
"I think I know where she is."
Pierce's head snapped up. "Where?"
"I'll handle it."
"The hell you will," Atticus said, stepping in front of me. "This isn't a one-man show anymore. This is my sister-in-law we're talking about."
"Trust me." I met his gaze, letting him see everything—the fear, the rage, the deadly promise I was about to fulfill. "I need to do this alone."
Something in my expression must have convinced him, because his stance shifted, marginally relaxing. "You have fifteen minutes. Then we come in hard."
I nodded once, already moving.
I yanked open the bottom drawer, fingers finding the hidden seam. One lift, and the Glock 19 was in my hand. The weight was familiar in my hand, comforting in its deadly precision. I slid it into my shoulder holster, grabbed my jacket, and headed for the stairs.
Racing down twenty-three flights was nothing when adrenaline was pumping through my veins. My mind cycled through possible scenarios, each worse than the last. Morgan hurt. Morgan bleeding. Morgan?—
No. Focus.
The parking garage was quiet at that hour, just the distant echo of cars on the street above, the hum of fluorescent lights. Level three was reserved for executives, half-empty most days. Perfect for an ambush.
I ghosted through the concrete space, gun drawn but held low against my thigh. Every sense was heightened, tuned to danger. The faint scent of expensive cologne. The subtle shift in air pressure. The feeling of eyes watching from shadows.
"Hello, little brother."
Hector emerged from behind a concrete pillar, his hands raised in mock surrender. "Now, is that any way to greet family?"
But my eyes weren't on him. They were on Morgan, standing to his left.
She was alive. Unhurt, at least physically. But the vacant look in her eyes chilled me to the bone. She was there but not there, staring past me at something I couldn't see.
"Morgan," I said her name softly, like a prayer. She didn't respond, just kept staring.
"Your little bird had quite the adventure today," Hector said casually, as if we were discussing the weather. "Wandered right into a situation she wasn't meant to see."
"What did you do to her?" The words came out as a growl, primitive and raw.
Hector's smirk widened. "Me? Nothing. Can't say the same for Grandfather, though." He guided Morgan forward gently. "I found her, kept her hidden and brought her to you. You're welcome."
I caught her, my free hand wrapping around her waist to steady her. Her body was rigid, trembling slightly beneath my touch. She still wouldn't meet my eyes.
Something inside me snapped. Pure, unadulterated rage flooded every cell, a familiar darkness I'd spent years fighting. The DuLac in me—the monster I was trained to be—surged to the surface, screaming for blood.
My gun was up and pointed at Hector's head before conscious thought. "She's not a toy," I snarled, every word dripping venom. My finger caressed the trigger with deadly intent. "She's my fiancée."
Hector's eyes widened, genuine surprise replacing the sardonic amusement. "Fiancée?" he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue like he was tasting something unexpected. He looked between us, calculation replacing shock. "Well, well. That changes things, doesn't it?"
"What happened?" I demanded, gun still trained on him, though I knew I wouldn't pull the trigger. Not with Morgan like this. Not until I understood what was wrong.
"She saw Grandfather handling a... business matter," Hector said, carefully choosing his words. "Nothing personal. Just someone who failed to deliver."
My stomach clenched. I knew exactly what "handling a business matter" meant in DuLac terms.
Death .
Blood .
Violence without remorse or hesitation.
And Morgan had seen it.
"What's your game, Hector?" I pulled Morgan closer, shielding her with my body. She was so cold, like all the warmth had been leached from her. "Why are you really here? Why help her?"
"No game," he said, and for once, his voice lacked its usual mocking edge. "Just family business."
"Bullshit. Since when do you give a damn about anyone but yourself?"
His expression shifted, something calculating replacing the mask of indifference. "He's coming for you, Lance. For all of you. Things are in motion that can't be stopped unless you do what needs to be done."
"Why tell me this? Why not just let him take her?" I pressed. "Why do you care?"
The door to the stairwell burst open before I could respond. Atticus and Pierce emerged, weapons drawn, moving with the synchronized precision of men who'd trained together for years.
"Stand down," I called to them, not lowering my own weapon. "We're good here."
"The hell we are," Atticus growled, taking in the scene—Morgan's shell-shocked state, my gun aimed at Hector's head.
Pierce moved to flank us, his stance protective. "Morgan, you okay?"
She didn't respond. Didn't even seem to register his presence.
Hector raised his hands again, this time in genuine surrender. "Protect what's yours," he said quietly. "I'll be seeing you soon." He backed away, eyes never leaving mine. "You know what you have to do now."
Those words hung in the air as he disappeared into the shadows of the garage, leaving us with their ominous weight.
I knew exactly what he meant. I had to present her to our grandfather as my future wife.
The gun felt impossibly heavy as I lowered it, sliding it back into its holster. My attention shifted fully to Morgan, who was still staring at nothing, caught in whatever nightmare she witnessed.
"Morgan," I said softly, cupping her face in my hands. "Spitfire. Look at me."
Slowly, achingly slowly, her eyes focused on mine. The vacant look receded slightly, recognition dawning through the fog of shock.
"Lance?" Her voice was small, fragile in a way I'd never heard before.
"I'm here," I promised, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "I've got you. You're safe."
"He killed him," she whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Your grandfather. He shot that man. He was so calm about it. Like it was nothing."
My gut twisted. Of course he did. The old man had always believed himself untouchable. And in many ways, he was.
"I know," I said, because there was no point denying what she saw. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
Atticus approached cautiously, holstering his weapon. "Morgan?" he said gently. "Hey. You with us?"
She blinked, focusing on him with visible effort. "Atticus. I—he—there was so much blood."
"Okay," he soothed, though his eyes met mine over her head, hard with questions and concern. "Let's get you somewhere safe. Can you walk?"
She nodded, but her legs gave out the moment she tried to step away from me. I caught her easily, scooping her into my arms. She was so light—had she lost weight in the month we were apart? The thought sent another spike of guilt through me.
"I've got you," I murmured against her hair as she buried her face in my neck, her tears hot against my skin.
Pierce was already on the radio, alerting the security team upstairs. Atticus led the way back toward the elevators, his gaze constantly scanning for threats.
But they didn't understand what was truly coming. What Hector's parting words really meant.
I did.
As I carried Morgan to the elevator, cradling her against my chest like something precious, I made a silent vow.
There was no more running from what had to be done.
I had to take her to my grandfather. Had to complete the charade of our engagement, make it real in the eyes of the DuLac family. Only then would she be truly protected.
She would hate it. Hate me for forcing her further into this world. But she'd be alive to hate me.
And that was all that mattered now.