Chapter 41
Jaxon
The feel of Conor’s hand wrapped around mine grounds me. The steady pressure gives me something to focus on besides the knot tightening in my stomach. I’ve been in dangerous situations before. More than I care to remember.
My training and years of service prepared me for uncertainty.
For violence. For the possibility that I might not come home.
But this is different. In the military, everyone knew the risks.
We all signed the same contract and accepted the same possibility.
The men surrounding me tonight didn’t. They are here in this mess because of me.
Conor keeps reminding me that he won’t let anything happen to me. That he’ll protect me. That everything will be okay. I know he means it. My fingers tighten around his hand. If it comes down to his life or mine, there isn’t a choice. Not for me. Mine is forfeit.
The conclusion settles into place with the same certainty I’ve used to make a hundred other difficult decisions. Conor has a family. People who love him. People who need him. An entire future waiting for him.
I have…
My gaze drifts to our joined hands. The thought dies before it can finish.
Because a week ago, that answer would have been easy.
Nothing and no one. Now the word catches in my throat.
And for the first time, I find myself hating the calculation.
Because for the first time in a very long time, I want to survive too.
The warehouse comes into view as we turn through the gates.
The building looks exactly like it did on the blueprint.
Cold. Industrial. The kind of place people pass every day without giving it a second glance.
I find myself counting automatically. Every entrance, window, and potential exit.
Old habits, some things never leave you.
We already know what to expect. Two men outside on patrol.
Four inside the warehouse itself. At least that’s what the latest update reported.
The outbuilding I spotted on the blueprint has already been secured.
Finn couldn’t determine exactly how many people were inside, but when he jammed the door, he heard multiple voices.
If someone decides to use that building as a quick reaction force, they won’t be reacting to much.
The SUV rolls forward. My gaze sweeps the property again. Looking for changes. Looking for something out of place. The thing about plans is that they rarely survive first contact. Something always changes. Someone always misses something. The trick is recognizing it before it gets someone killed.
Beside me, Conor’s hand remains wrapped around mine.
A reminder that despite how familiar all of this feels, I’m not doing it alone this time.
For years, every dangerous situation was mine to navigate on my own.
Mine to survive. Tonight, there are people positioned around the warehouse. Ready to move if things go sideways.
We exit the vehicle without a word and move toward the entrance. Duncan leads the way. Conor and I fall in behind him. His strides are confident, like he’s walking into a board meeting instead of a rundown warehouse to meet with mobsters.
I don’t know why that still surprises me.
I’ve seen enough of the Murphys by now to know this is simply who they are.
Whether they’re negotiating a business deal, planning a family dinner, or dealing with dangerous men, they approach each situation with the same certainty.
The same assumption that they belong exactly where they are.
Duncan reaches the door and doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t check over his shoulder. Doesn’t pause to gather himself.
Just opens it and walks inside. Most people project this type of confidence, but the Murphys seem to genuinely possess it.
If they’re concerned about what happens tonight, they hide it better than anyone I’ve ever met.
Or maybe they simply trust the plan, trust each other.
I take a steady breath and follow them inside.
The dusty, dank smell hits me first. The scent of a building that hasn’t seen proper maintenance in years. My eyes adjust to the harsh overhead lights as we step inside.
Directly in the center of the warehouse stand Manny Deluga and his second, Gabriel Delgado. I haven’t seen Manny since that night at the bar. Gabriel, only once, at the fights, back when all of this started. It feels like a lifetime ago.
They are flanked by two men I can only assume are soldiers.
They are both big, broad-shouldered, with hard eyes.
The kind of men whose job is to stand quietly until violence is required.
My gaze moves automatically. Both are carrying in shoulder rigs.
The outline is obvious once you know what you’re looking for.
I continue my assessment. The information settles into place automatically.
Years of training compressed into instinct.
Beside me, Conor is silent. Ahead of us, Duncan keeps walking.
The atmosphere in the warehouse feels different than it did outside.
Heavier. Like everyone is waiting for someone to make the first move.
I have spent enough time in dangerous situations to recognize the feeling. The calm before everything changes.
“Mr. Murphy, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.” Manny holds out his hand. Duncan doesn’t take it. The rejection is subtle, deliberate, and effective. Manny’s fake smile slips for a fraction of a second before returning. “Alright then. Straight to business.”
His attention shifts to me. Immediately, Conor moves. Only half a step, barely noticeable, yet suddenly he’s positioned slightly in front of me. Partially blocking Manny’s view. My chest tightens. No one has ever stepped in front of me before.
“Jaxon Kane.” Manny’s voice pulls my attention back to him. “You still owe me quite a bit of money.”
I keep my expression neutral. Years of military service taught me that sometimes silence is more useful than words.
“I was gracious enough to let you work that off, but it seems that hasn’t happened yet.” His grin widens. The sight of it turns my stomach. “I should have killed you for putting your hands on me, but I didn’t.” His eyes harden. “I’m thinking now that was a mistake.”
The threat hangs in the air. Beside me, Conor takes a step forward.
The movement is small. But I know him well enough now to recognize it for what it is.
A warning. Before he can say anything, I place a hand on his forearm.
The muscle beneath my palm is rigid. For a second, I think he might ignore me. Then he stills.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Both bodyguards shift immediately. Their hands are moving closer to their weapons. Manny notices it too. He raises a hand. The bodyguards relax.
“By my records, you still owe me thirty grand.” His gaze remains fixed on me. Like the Murphys aren’t standing here at all. “It seems there is a discrepancy with that number. That Henry stole from me. Since we’ve been unable to locate Henry, it seems we have your word against mine.”
The statement settles heavily in the warehouse.
I keep my face neutral. But my mind is already moving ahead.
Because this conversation was never going to be about the money.
Not really. Men like Manny don’t come to meetings like this for thirty thousand dollars.
They come for power. And right now he’s trying to see who has more of it.
“As I told you on the phone, we are willing to settle the debt on Jaxon’s behalf. Yet you called for this meeting. Why?” Duncan speaks for the first time since entering the warehouse. His voice isn’t loud. The question lands with the sharp precision of a knife.
Manny’s attention shifts to him. “I’m interested in why and how someone like him has your backing.” His gaze slides to me. The disgust in it isn’t subtle.
I’ve seen that look before. In foster homes, by Trent when he tore my heart out, and from men who decided they knew exactly who I was before I ever opened my mouth.
The expression doesn’t bother me anymore.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Conor’s jaw tighten.
The muscles in his shoulders bunch beneath his shirt.
For most of my life, insults were something I dealt with alone.
Something I ignored. Something I survived.
Now every slight aimed at me seems to become a personal offense to Conor.
As though Manny didn’t just insult me. He insulted something that belongs to him.
The realization should probably concern me.
Instead, a small part of me finds it reassuring. Dangerous, but reassuring.
Manny continues watching me. Waiting for a reaction.
Waiting for me to get angry. To get defensive.
To prove whatever point he’s trying to make.
I keep my expression neutral. Because one thing the Marines taught me is that some people aren’t looking for answers.
They’re looking for weaknesses. And I’m not interested in giving him one.
“What and who Jaxon is to us is not your concern.” Duncan reaches into his jacket and pulls out a large envelope.
The thing is thick, roughly the size of one of my paperback novels.
Thirty thousand dollars. The number settles heavily in my stomach.
I stare at the envelope. At the tangible proof of what the Murphys are willing to spend to make this problem disappear.
The thought sits wrong with me. My entire life has been built around self-sufficiency.
If I needed something, I found a way to get it myself.
If I had a problem, I solved it myself. Accepting help was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
Yet standing here, watching Duncan prepare to hand over more money than most people make in months, I realize something.