Chapter 37 #2
Because Arden wasn’t a liability.
She was the line in the sand.
And he’d burn every name on the Blackwell ledger before he let anyone cross it.
The lounge hushed the moment Gideon stepped inside.
Not because he demanded attention, but because he didn’t have to.
Real power didn’t need to announce itself. It walked in, and made the room forget what it was saying.
He didn’t scan the crowd. Didn’t hesitate.
He knew who he was looking for.
His gaze found Alex first.
Seated near the bar like he owned it, arrogance coiled around him. But Gideon didn’t stop for him. Not yet.
His eyes found Arden next, and the world narrowed to her.
She noticed him instantly.
No flinch, no double take.
Just a shift in her posture.
A spark in her gaze—relief, recognition, and something deeper.
Connection. It settled between them like a current.
And then Alex turned too, tracking Gideon’s line of sight.
His posture shifted, not much. But enough.
The smirk faltered. Barely. Briefly.
Then returned, smooth and deliberate, like it had never left.
Gideon moved forward, every step measured. Controlled. But his intent pulsed through the room.
He didn’t look at anyone else. Didn’t break stride.
Just closed the space between them with surgical precision.
“Alex.” His voice was calm. Even. But it held weight. “I wasn’t aware you were still in the building.”
Alex turned fully, lifting his glass with lazy arrogance. “Just catching up with your staff,” he said, his smile easy. “Miss Rivers is quite the conversationalist. Smart. Interesting. Very… compelling.”
His eyes dragged toward Arden again, blatant and assessing.
Gideon stepped between them, silent and absolute.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t showy. It was final.
His presence a wall of silent fury. Impenetrable.
“She is,” Gideon said, his voice perfectly level. “And she has work to do.”
He didn’t look at Arden, but the message was clear.
Not a command—a lifeline.
She caught it instantly.
“Always,” she replied, cool as glass, her voice level despite the clear discomfort.
But when her gaze flicked toward him; it said everything she couldn’t out loud.
She turned and walked away without looking back, each step deliberate, composed. She didn’t rush. She didn’t stumble.
But she didn’t spare Alex another glance.
And that was what made Gideon’s blood run colder than anything else.
Because Alex had seen it, too.
The way she looked at Gideon. Their connection didn’t need words.
As soon as she was gone, Gideon leaned in, just slightly. Just enough.
“Stay away from her.” His voice was calm, but held a whisper of violence.
Alex chuckled low in his throat, swirling his drink. “Awfully protective of a bartender, little brother.”
Gideon didn’t blink. “You know damn well she’s not just a bartender.”
A pause stretched between them.
Alex’s smile didn’t fade, but it turned colder. Sharper.
“No,” he said. “She’s not.”
And that was the problem.
A flicker of awareness. The calculation behind his eyes.
Alex wasn’t just intrigued. He saw Arden now.
Saw her as useful. Dangerous. Valuable.
Gideon stepped in closer, voice dropping lower, cutting sharper.
“She’s not yours to watch. Not yours to provoke. Not yours. Period.”
Alex held his gaze, a glint of calculation behind the smirk.
A warning, returned in kind.
“Relax, Gideon,” he drawled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not making a move. I’m… observing.”
Gideon didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
Because the silence that followed said it all.
Don’t. Not her.
Alex finally pushed off from the bar, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like he had all the time in the world.
“Good chat,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s do this again sometime.”
Then he was gone—casual, composed, calculated.
The lounge slowly eased back to life around them—a spell breaking. Laughter resumed. Glasses clinked.
The world moved on.
But Gideon didn’t.
Not yet.
He stood rooted to the floor, jaw tight, hands fisted at his sides.
Because Alex wasn’t just sniffing around.
Gideon had seen Arden’s car. The smashed windows. The petals scattered across the dashboard like a message someone meant him to find.
Not a threat.
A declaration.
And Arden hadn’t told him everything. But there’d been a look in her eye that night. A flash of knowledge she didn’t share.
Whether it was family or someone else…
Someone had made her a target.
And now?
Now, Gideon wasn’t just protecting her from the people outside the circle. He was protecting her from the ones within it.
?
The loud buzz of his phone cut through the silence.
Gideon didn’t check the screen; he knew who it was.
“Talk to me,” he answered, his voice flat.
Leo didn’t waste time. “It’s escalating. Alex isn’t even trying to be subtle. My team’s trailing one of his guys. He’s been shadowing Arden. No direct contact yet, but it’s deliberate. He’s testing boundaries. Watching her. Watching you.”
Gideon’s grip on the phone tightened. His pulse thudded slow and dangerous. “And Sebastian?”
“Digging,” Leo said. “He’s been reaching out to people from her past. Nursing school contacts, old employers, even neighbors from Morgantown. He’s hunting for leverage, anything that’ll give him a crack to pry open.”
Gideon stood, tension rolling through his frame as he crossed to the security monitor. The feed showed Arden behind the bar, sharp and composed. Untouched by the storm she didn’t yet realize was closing in.
“What about Evelyn?” he asked, lower now, but no less dangerous.
Leo’s voice darkened. “Same tactics. She’s casting lines. Seeing what bites. Corporate records, off-the-books firms. Requests for old HR files, employment history, sealed background checks. Someone at her old law firm tipped us off.”
Gideon’s jaw locked. “She’s fishing. Quietly.”
“She’s good at it,” Leo admitted. “Knows how to keep her fingerprints off the file.”
“Then don’t just watch her,” Gideon said, pacing slowly behind his desk. “Watch Colton.”
Leo’s voice sharpened. “You think he’s the one on point?”
“I don’t think—I know. Evelyn doesn’t make moves herself. She keeps people like Julia whispering and people like Colton enforcing. If there’s pressure to apply—if it gets physical—it’ll come from him.”
Leo didn’t argue. “Then I’ll have a second team follow him directly. He’s not in any of the usual surveillance networks, but I’ve got a guy who can get inside that orbit.”
“Do it quietly. If Colton suspects he’s being followed, he’ll vanish.”
Leo’s voice came back crisp. “Understood. We’ll keep eyes close.”
Gideon let the information settle for a minute. The fury had chilled into something worse—measured, merciless. Ice that burned only once it was too deep to stop.
“And the car?”
Leo hesitated. “No movement from the precinct yet. No leads on the vandalism. Whoever did it—no prints, no cameras. Too clean. But you know the rose petals… that wasn’t random.”
“I do,” Gideon muttered. “Christian’s had her covered since the report came in. Soft shadow. She doesn’t know.”
Leo’s tone shifted. “You trust him to keep her close?”
“He’s not just good,” Gideon said. “He’s mine. Former military. Loyal. The second anything looks off, he’ll move.”
“Good,” Leo replied. “Because this isn’t about surveillance anymore. It’s a warning.”
“No,” Gideon said coldly, watching the screen where Arden moved behind the bar, oblivious to the storm circling her. “It was a mistake. And they’re going to learn the hard way.”
“I want Alex and Sebastian tracked. Every move. Every call. If they so much as breathe in her direction, I want to know.”
“Already done. But Gideon…” Leo’s voice lowered. “You can’t protect her from all of it. Not without her knowing the full picture.”
“I’m not… I’m buying time.”
A pause.
“Time for what?”
Gideon looked at the screen again. Arden’s silhouette was framed by the soft overhead light.
Glowing. Beautiful. Defiant.
He didn’t look away. “To burn it all down.”
Leo didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, there was no doubt in his voice.
“Then we’ll be ready.”
Gideon ended the call and dropped the phone on the desk with hushed finality. His hand moved to the rotation schedule Christian had updated earlier. Without hesitation, he crossed out two names and scribbled in replacements—his best, sharpest detail.
Unseen. Unrelenting.
Let them come.
Let them believe Arden was unprotected.
Let them underestimate the one thing he would kill to defend.
The rules had changed.
And so had the battlefield.
?
Christian Sampson didn’t move, not until she disappeared down the subway steps.
Her gait was steady, her chin lifted, the set of her shoulders told him the pressure had returned.
The same weight she’d carried that night—shattered glass, red petals, and no clear answers.
She didn’t have her car anymore. No repair orders. No update to management. No mention at all.
Which meant one thing:
She didn’t feel safe enough to ask.
Christian exhaled through his nose, the cold biting against his skin. At this point, she didn’t know she was being followed, for protection or otherwise.
And that was a problem.
Because she was.
Gideon had given the order the minute the car was hit. Christian and his team shadowed her now.
Not always visible.
Not always near.
But constant.
And he wasn’t alone.
Another agent waited near her apartment, ready to track her walk from the subway entrance. They rotated, shifting posts and methods, always close enough to intervene, never close enough to be seen.
A parked car.
A bench.
A camera feed from the corner bodega.
Quiet. Efficient. Unrelenting.
He tapped his earpiece, checking in with the night detail. Routine coverage. No activity. Yet.
Even so, he didn’t like the vulnerability in this new pattern.
The subway created gaps. Gaps bred risks.
And right now, Arden Rivers needed a fortress, not vulnerabilities.
Christian’s gaze lingered on the dark horizon, his instincts gnawing at him. He made a mental note to tighten the coverage. Add another post near her apartment.
Because whatever was coming for her?
It wouldn’t arrive with a bang.
It would slip in like smoke.