Chapter 58 Fallon
Fallon
Iwake up to a pleasant silence. No drip of IV fluid. No rattle of the cell door. No Kosta breathing too close. No woozy fog crawling through my veins.
I’m in Rhys’s bed. The bed he made me feel like the most precious thing in the world to him. And the dirtiest. In a good way.
I glance down and smile. I’m wearing my set of the matching pajamas I bought for us. My heart hitches. I don’t remember changing out of my clothes yesterday. But that awful dress had blood and glass on it. I never want to see it again.
I don’t remember much else from last night beyond the car crash, the fire, the smoke, and the roar of a helicopter.
Safe. I’m safe.
I push back the covers and sit up. Everything is sore, my throat raw, but my head is clear. No meds.
Closing my eyes, I feel the whirring of my brain going a little crazy. But that’s how I want it. That’s how Rhys loves me.
Voices break the silence beyond the bedroom door. It’s not shouting or the sharp bark of orders. Just gentle murmuring of conversation.
If someone was here who shouldn’t be, Rhys would’ve already put a bullet in their head.
I pad barefoot across the bedroom and pull open the door. The hallway smells faintly of like the tea shop, steeped Earl Grey and something sweet. I follow the sound of voices until a scene I don’t expect unfolds before me.
Jett paces in front of the windows with an assault rifle, and Blade guards the front door with the same gun.
In the open kitchen, Rhys stands there shirtless, wearing only the matching pajama bottoms. He’s got his assault rifle strapped across his chest like he’ll never put it down again if I’m around.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. Because he’s mine.
It was never about how gorgeous he was. Yes, his height, his broad shoulders, his sculpted cheekbones didn’t hurt, but it’s how he has always treated me.
With respect. And though he can be utterly terrifying, killing people for a living, and yet, I always knew deep inside he would never hurt me.
Movement behind a column between the kitchen and the living room startles me. But I see Griffin is here, too. He’s talking to Rhys, his face even. His brother Trace stands at Rhys’s side.
“Fallon!” A female voice pulls my attention sideways.
I smile, seeing Raina leap from an armchair. Her long blonde braid swings as she crosses the room. I admire her toned arms, and black cargo pants filled with knives strapped to her thighs and a gun on her hip.
A pang of jealousy pierces me hard and fast. I’ll never look like her. I’ll never move like her.
But I don’t have to. That’s not who I am. And Rhys loves me for being gentle and soft. And he doesn’t mind when I get dirty in the garden or run out into the rain to save a drowning plant. He even loves my whiteboard full of ideas.
Rhys doesn’t need me to carry guns. That’s his job. He just needs me. And he needs me to love him for who he is. An assassin for Quinlan Empire and a boyfriend who will murder anyone who tries to hurt me.
“I’m so happy you’re back with us.” Raina wraps me in a hug, surprisingly warm for all the steel she carries.
“Me, too.” I have a few inches on the princess.
“She’s not just back.” Rhys breaks away from Griffin mid-sentence and strides across the living room to get to me. Tucking me tight against his chest, he says, “She’s home.”
Home.
Folded into Rhys’s arms is also my home. And my plants. My eyes flick to the repaired metal stand. Basil will want the prime sun spot. He’s the alpha plant. And Fern needs a swing bolted to the ceiling. I’ll need another stand if I’m moving everyone in.
Concern shadows Rhys’s eyes when he looks down at me. “You all right, love?”
“Yeah.” My throat is still raw, but the word comes out steady. “My head is clear of those meds. Finally.”
“It will always be clear.” He brings our mouths together.
I let him kiss me, but stop, hearing a sigh behind us. Glancing at the wall of muscle and steel, I say, “Why are there guards here?”
“They’re here to protect us.” His hand smooths down my hair, reassuring me, but I don’t miss the edge in his tone.
His touch holds the promise of violence if anyone dares to take me away from him again.
Trace appears at his side. “We’re working twenty-four seven to identify every man who worked for your father.”
“My father…” That part rushes back to me. The moment I saw his car explode didn’t seem real.
My stomach twists, but before I can process any questions, Griffin swaggers over in a tailored suit, every inch the head of Quinlan Empire. Ridiculously handsome, polished, but still very lethal.
“I’m glad you’re back with us, too, Fallon,” he says, his accent curling around the words. “But I’m sorry. Your father didn’t make it. He was killed in the explosion.”
“We killed him, Fallon,” Rhys takes responsibility. “He was in the lead car of a caravan that was taking you away from me forever. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
My father. Killed.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Rage? Relief? Nothing fits, nothing feels right.
“What about Roxy? His wife?” I ask.
“She’s in hiding. With your father’s lawyer, apparently.” Rhys’s arm tightens around me. “Don’t worry. Our lawyer is working to find your father’s will. I’ll make sure you get every penny from his estate.”
“I don’t want that dirty money,” I hiss.
“One step at a time,” Rhys says and kisses my forehead.
But Griffin cuts in. “And that first step is I insist you and Rhys get married. It’s for your protection, Fallon.”
“From who? If my father is dead…” I stare at Rhys. “Kosta? He’s dead too, right?”
Worried looks fly around the room. “Kosta’s last name was Orlov. But he was really a Volkov. He’s a son of the head of the New York City Bratva. An old man with not many years left.”
Heat soars through me. “And you killed him.”
“Shane made the entire ordeal look like a horrible accident,” Rhys says.
“Your marriage to Kosta was supposed to bring your father into the Bratva. Your father was staying independent to secure an exclusive contract with the Volkovs. But they won’t retaliate.
Not over a man who failed. The Bratva buries its mistakes. ”
“And you still want to marry me, Rhys?” I ask, heart stuttering.
He hates being told what to do. He hates being cornered. Instead, he smiles. His arms hold me closer, his breath brushes my ear.
“It’s what I want, Fallon, because I love you.” He squeezes my hand and smiles. “Will you marry me? We can get rings later. I’ll ask you at the ice rink, the ornament store, your garden, anywhere. I’m sorry this isn’t—”
“Yes.” The word bursts out of me, wild and bright. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”
His grin is slow and soft and dangerous all at once.
“Today?” I ask, worried because a wedding is not on the calendar.
But I have to learn to be spontaneous. Go with the flow.
Rhys shakes his head, then brushes a kiss against my hair. “No. I want you to put it on your whiteboard and plan a nice wedding for us.” A maddening smile tugs at his mouth. “Do you have any ideas of what you’d like?”
A flurry of ideas bombards me. My brain cranks ahead, already racing through dresses and flowers and table settings. It all pours in faster than I can catch them. My palms itch for my markers and glitter tabs.
“I sure do.”
He laughs under his breath and hugs me tighter. “I have a feeling a very chaotic whiteboard is in my future.”
“Let’s leave them alone,” Trace says, steering Raina and Griffin out the front door.
Except, the guards have to stay. It’s for my protection.
It all fades away until there’s only Rhys, his sexy accent, and his golden eyes locked with mine.
“I can’t wait for that future to start, Fallon,” he whispers. “With you. Only you.”
Just like that, the panic, the drugs, the cold cells, and the silence of poinsettias all vanish.
No one will ever silence or hurt me again.