22. Chapter 22
Caroline
Colt and Ghost showed up at my apartment at midnight with evidence that rewrote my entire understanding of my own safety.
I'd been working late, reviewing patient files and notes, when Colt arrived with an expression that made my entire nervous system fire warning signals.
He wasn't the man who'd held me that morning.
He was the Sergeant at Arms. The protector.
The person who shut down emotion and went into tactical mode.
Ghost was with him, and Ghost was carrying a folder.
"We need to talk," Colt said, and the formality of his tone told me that whatever this was, it was serious.
They laid out the evidence on my coffee table methodically. At first, I thought they were overreacting. Photographs that could have been coincidence. Background checks that could have been routine. Financial records that could mean anything to anyone analyzing them without context.
Then I saw a name that stopped my entire world.
Marcus.
The folder contained evidence of his connection to individuals involved in Don's black-site operation.
Evidence that he'd been feeding information to people who wanted to use me as leverage against Colt.
Evidence that my carefully constructed escape, my professional reinvention, my entire strategy of disappearing and rebuilding myself—all of it had been a temporary reprieve, not permanent safety.
He'd found me.
After six years of careful distance. Six years of changed names and professional boundaries and the construction of a life so orderly and controlled that nothing could touch me. He'd found me.
The panic came in waves. I couldn't breathe properly.
My hands went cold. The room felt too small and too bright simultaneously.
I was back in his apartment, feeling his hand around my arm, hearing him tell me that I wasn't allowed to leave.
That nobody else would want me. That my only option was to stay and accept what he'd decided was best for me.
"I'm not going to be a victim," I said out loud, and I hated the way my voice shook. "I'm not going back to being afraid. I'm not going to hide while men figure out how to use me as a chess piece."
"Nobody's asking you to hide," Colt said, and his voice was different. Harder. The Sergeant at Arms version of him that existed to protect his family. "We're asking you to let us implement security measures while we handle the threat."
"How long?" I asked.
"As long as it takes."
I looked at the photographs and the background checks and the evidence that the past I'd tried so hard to escape had tracked me down. Every part of me wanted to collapse. To let Colt take over. To retreat into the safety of letting someone else make the decisions.
But I'd spent three years doing exactly that with Marcus. Had spent six years building a life specifically designed to prevent ever being that helpless again.
"Okay," I said. "Tell me what we need to do."
Over the next hours, Colt and Ghost outlined the security measures. Safe houses. Rotating security details. Protocols for daily activities. Surveillance detection methods. Everything designed to minimize vulnerability and maximize response time if an actual threat materialized.
I listened and I tried not to feel like I was being controlled again. But the old patterns were strong. The part of me that had learned in Marcus's apartment that protection and control were often the same thing. The part of me that believed safety meant surrendering all agency.
"I'll do whatever you need," I told Colt, and I meant it. "But I need to know that I'm part of the solution. That I'm not just being kept safe like I'm breakable. Like I'm someone who needs to be protected from reality."
"You're not breakable," he said. His hand came up to my face, and he looked at me with an intensity that suggested he understood exactly what I was feeling.
"You survived your father. You escaped Marcus.
You built a life from nothing. You're one of the strongest people I know.
That's exactly why Xtinction identified you as a target. "
STEAMY SCENE HERE
That night, I lay in Colt's arms while he slept, and I let myself feel the full weight of what had happened.
Marcus was out there. Connected to people who wanted to hurt me specifically to get at Colt.
The sanctuary I'd built over years of careful boundary-setting and control had been breached by the past I'd tried to leave behind.
But I was different now. I had Colt. I had the Serpent Sinners. I had people who cared about my survival. I had a support system that didn't depend on isolation and distance.
And I was never going to be that frightened woman again. No matter what came next. No matter how scared the trauma made me. No matter how much my instinct screamed at me to run.
I'd spent six years running. Now it was time to stand and fight.
The next morning, I called Dr. Patricia.
"Something's happened," I said when she answered. "And I need guidance on how to process it without spiraling into my trauma patterns."
We talked for an hour. She helped me identify which responses were based on my current reality and which were based on my old trauma.
Helped me develop strategies for managing the fear without letting it control my decisions.
Helped me understand that choosing to stay and fight didn't mean I was choosing to be controlled.
By the time we finished, I had a plan. Not just for safety. But for agency. For being part of the solution instead of waiting to be rescued.