Chapter 11
SAMUEL
“Iguess we got the war none of us wanted after all.”
She runs her fingers over the silver just above my temple, returning a stray hair where it belongs. “Seems so. I’m sorry.”
I press my lips to the crown of her head and breathe her in. “None of this is your fault.”
The living room stretches silent around us. Floor-to-ceiling glass reflects the sleeping garden and our silhouettes back at us. Landscape lights paint the hedges silver-green beyond the windows. An enforcer's shadow moves along the eastern fence line and disappears.
Everything seems calm and normal.
Cinder shifts against me. Her fingers loosen on my forearm as she pulls away from me and straightens. Cold fills the space she leaves behind, fast and greedy, and I have to stop myself from pulling her back.
"I need to sit down." Her voice is thin. Wrung out.
I guide her to the leather sofa. She lowers herself onto the cushion and tucks her bare feet beneath her, pulling my bloodied shirt tighter around her shoulders. Her hand drifts to the swell of her belly and stays.
I pull my phone from my pocket. The first contact I pull up is my head of security.
Lock it down.
The second text is to my friends.
My friends file in through the side entrance off the kitchen, their energy filling the room like a shift in pressure. Oliver is first, light on his feet, already scanning the grounds through the glass. Bastian follows. Valerian brings up the rear.
Knowing these three, they were off in the kitchen making plans. "Gentlemen, what have you worked up?" I remain standing, positioning myself where I can see both Cinder's face and the door. Edgar will be at my front gate before long and I need to be prepared.
Oliver takes the opposite side of the couch from Cinder.
"Our informants say he's hunkered down in the mansion.
Licking his wounds and making calls. But he won't move tonight.
My guess is he doesn't have the men for it after what we left behind.
But that could change if he is willing to put money on the line. "
Relief loosens the knot at the base of my skull. It buys us hours instead of minutes. Good.
Bastian catches my eye and tips his chin toward the corridor. A conversation for later, away from Cinder. I give a short nod. Whatever they've been assembling while I was talking to her can wait until she's settled.
Cinder's gaze moves between the men. Worry tightens the skin around her eyes and her bottom lip disappears between her teeth. She’s scared and worried.
Her heart is too soft for my world, but there’s no turning back.
Part of my soul screams to save her from the darkness that plagues us, but the selfish side of me refuses to ever let her out of my sight again.
The last five months were torture. No, worse.
I can take waterboarding and getting my nails pulled out.
Fuck, that shit would be like a spa day if they throw in some electric shock therapy to loosen up the muscles.
But a single day without hearing her sweet voice, touching her. Feeling her warmth. It killed me slowly until I was pretty close to wanting death to find me.
So fuck Edgar. My soon-to-be-wife isn’t going anywhere and I will make sure she has the courage to go along with the lifestyle she’s stepped into.
Bastian moves away from the windows and crosses the room. He lowers himself to one knee in front of the sofa, bringing his eyes level with hers. His calloused hand extends, palm up. He waits.
Cinder looks at his hand, then his face. Whatever she finds in his expression softens the rigid line of her shoulders.
She places her fingers in his.
"Trust us." His gold wedding band catches the light as his fingers close around hers.
"Trust?" The word rolls off her tongue, cautious and foreign. "I don't know you, but you put your life on the line to protect mine and that of my child. You have all my trust."
The silence stretches for three beats. Her chin drops a fraction.
Bastian holds her gaze a moment longer, then releases her fingers and straightens. He moves to the armchair near the window, one ankle crossing over his knee.
"You may not know us directly, but your father was a friend of ours." Oliver turns on the couch and faces her. "We were at his funeral. Me, Valerian and Bastian."
“I wasn’t. He was a business acquaintance, but I did send flowers to the family,” I offer when Cinder looks at me for confirmation.
“Ah. Thank you.” She pauses, her breath ragged around the edges. "I didn't see you." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Then again, I had a huge veil over my face. I couldn't stop crying. It was an ugly day for me."
"The three of us were there all the same."
As he speaks, Oliver moves closer and takes her hand. His grip is firm and careful around her smaller fingers, his expression holding nothing but raw sincerity. I've known this man since we were boys bloody-knuckled in back alleys, and he does not give his respect lightly.
"Your father did a lot for this city. We owe him." His charcoal eyes hold hers. "That includes protecting his only child."
Cinder's lashes drop. A breath shudders through her small frame. She nods once. “I can never repay you enough for your kindness. That goes for all of you.” She looks at each of us in turn, holding our gazes for a heartbeat.
Valerian steps forward, his stride carrying the quiet weight of surviving damage most people cannot fathom. Scars cover his hands, his neck, the exposed skin above his collar. Old burns, healed knife wounds. He’s been through hell and yet he found love.
He bends and presses a kiss to Cinder's cheek.
She looks up at him. And in that single glance she tells me everything I need to know about her.
She doesn't see the scars.
Her eyes meet Valerian's and a small, genuine smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. The tension in her face melts and she tilts her head, studying him with grace and gratitude shining in her eyes.
"Under all that cigar smoke, you smell like baby powder and perfume."
Valerian grins. The expression transforms his scarred face, softening the hard lines and deep ridges until he looks exactly like what he is. A teddy bear in love.
"My wife and I just had a baby."
"Awww! Congratulations." The warmth in Cinder's voice is genuine. Then her brow furrows and the worry climbs back into her expression. "All the more reason you don't need to take on my problems. I can't have your death on my conscience."
Valerian steps behind the sofa and places a hand on her shoulder. Reassurance. A decent gesture.
My blood surges to fucking boiling.
My legs carry me across the room before my brain catches up. I drop onto the cushion beside her, my thigh pressing against hers, and my hand settles over the swell of her belly. Crowding her. Every man in this room reads the signal for exactly what it is.
I am acting like an animal. Posturing is beneath me and always has been, but this woman wrecked my thinking abilities long before tonight.
Valerian lifts his hand from her shoulder without comment. His mouth twitches at the corner, the barest flicker of amusement.
I leave my hand where it is. The baby shifts beneath my palm.
Valerian straightens and returns to his seat. The amusement vanishes.
"What I was going to say is, I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but you don't get a say in the matter anymore, sweetheart.
" His tone is direct. He folds his arms and his gaze sweeps from her to me and back.
"We shed blood, his blood, in his territory.
There's no way through this except by eliminating the threat. His retaliation will be severe and we can’t have that.
" He lets her absorb his words. "This is about protecting you as much as it is about protecting ourselves, our families, and our territories. "
Cinder turns her head toward me. Those pale blue eyes search my face for confirmation, for any sign that Valerian is exaggerating.
I give her the truth. A single nod.
"Edgar dies tonight."
Her throat works on a hard swallow. Her fingers find the hem of my shirt and twist the fabric between them. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and her eyes go glassy before she blinks the moisture away.
"I don't have a choice in this, do I?" The crack in her voice drives a blade between my ribs. "I've never had a choice in anything." In other situations those words would sound bratty, but right now they are lined with heartache and her truth.
I wrap my arm around her, my forearm pressing gently over the curve of our child, my hand settling on her hip. Her body trembles against mine. The vibration moves through her ribs and into my arm and the reality of how much fear she's been carrying alone for five months hits me with physical force.
"We all need to go prepare."
That's Oliver. Quiet. Professional. Already moving toward the door. He knows when to clear a room.
Cinder steps out of my reach. The absence of her warmth is instant and jarring. She wraps her arms around herself and moves toward the wall of windows, putting the length of the living room between us.
My friends approach me. Bastian shakes my hand, his grip saying everything.
Valerian claps my shoulder, scarred fingers squeezing once.
Oliver is last. He meets my eye, nods, and the entire conversation happens in the silence between us.
Years of operating together have built a language beyond words.
There’s a trust between us that was forged in blood that lasted through decades of keeping each other alive.
"I'll be with you shortly."
The side door closes. Their footsteps fade against the concrete and the quiet rushes back in.
I am not thinking about my friends. I am not running through the weapons in my safe or Edgar's or the calls I need to make.
Cinder stands at the glass. The sleeping garden stretches into darkness behind her reflection.
My shirt swallows her small frame, the white fabric ghosting over the curve of her belly.
Pale blonde hair spills over one shoulder, catching the faint silver-green glow from the landscape lights.
Her hand rests where it always rests, splayed across the swell where our child grows.
I have added to her pain tonight. Dragged her from one warzone into another. And now she stands in my living room carrying the weight of all of it across shoulders that are far too small for the load.
It is up to me to help her find solace while we sort out the mess. That starts with keeping her safe and giving her a reason to trust that safety isn't temporary.
For the first time in my life, I am afraid.
Edgar doesn't scare me. War doesn't scare me. I've fought wars and won them. Buried men and slept soundly after.
Losing her again. That is the fear gnawing at the frayed ends of my raw nerves.
She walked away from me once and I spent five months with a black hole over my heart. If she walks away a second time, if I fail to keep her safe, if this night takes her from me, no amount of power or violence or territory will matter.
I watch her palm trace slow circles over our child. My hands have ended lives without a second thought. Tonight I stand in the dark and pray to a God I've never spoken to.
Don't take her from me.