Chapter 27
twenty-seven
Dom gritted his teeth as the physical therapist stretched his arm past the point of comfort into the realm of genuine pain.
Sweat beaded on his forehead while the man pushed his shoulder through its limited range of motion, fighting scar tissue that seemed determined to lock the joint permanently in place.
Three weeks since the bullet tore through muscle and bone, and his recovery was nowhere near where he needed it to be—especially not if he wanted back in the field anytime soon.
“Two more,” the therapist said, unmoved by Dom’s grimace.
“You said that three reps ago,” he grumbled, but submitted to the torture anyway. His left arm trembled with the effort of holding position, the muscles still weak from disuse and trauma.
The therapy room door swung open with enough force to bounce off the wall, and every head turned.
Davey stood in the doorway, his expression a complicated mix of resignation and what might have been amusement.
Behind him loomed a mountain of a man with long blond hair tied back and shoulders that damn near filled the frame.
For a moment, Dom forgot the pain in his shoulder.
The man’s resemblance to Sabin was uncanny—same strong jawline, same high cheekbones, same confident stance.
But where Sabin’s hair was a sandy blond, this man’s was several shades darker, and his eyes were a deep gunmetal blue rather than the bright blue of Sabin’s.
The family resemblance was unmistakable.
Jean-Luc Cavalier. Vivi and Sabin’s father.
“Mr. Cavalier,” Dom said, unable to hide his surprise. The physical therapist was still holding his arm at an awkward angle, and Dom winced as he tried to pull away. “Let me go, man.”
The therapist released his grip with obvious reluctance. “We’re not finished with your session.”
“Yeah, we are.” Dom reached for the towel draped over the nearby chair and wiped the sweat from his face.
His shoulder throbbed, but he wasn’t about to show weakness in front of Vivi’s father.
He’d only met the man once before, years ago, and that meeting had been brief and unremarkable.
This was different. The intensity radiating from Jean-Luc filled the room like a physical presence.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Davey said to the therapist, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “Dom, you’re needed back in the war room.”
“What’s going on?” He knew whatever it was, it wasn’t about Brennan. Davey was acting like the particular convo never happened, which was a standard Davey Wilde deflection tactic.
“Raines,” Davey said simply.
“Well, shit.” Dom dropped the towel and reached for his shirt, trying not to wince as he worked his bad arm through the sleeve. Once he was dressed and on his feet, Jean-Luc crossed the room and extended a hand.
“Dominic.” His accent was thick, pure Cajun, as rich as the New Orleans coffee. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Likewise.” Dom clasped his hand, half expecting to be crushed in the grip, but Jean-Luc’s handshake was firm without being aggressive. There was no posturing, no silent alpha male challenges. This was a man who knew he didn’t need to prove himself.
“Let’s go,” Davey said, already turning toward the door. “The others are waiting.”
The briefing room fell silent as they entered. Bridger and Weston stopped their low conversation by the coffee machine. Liam and Griffin paused in their discussion over the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Elliot was back on his laptop, but looked up when the door opened. He glanced between Davey and Dom, no doubt weighing whether or not he’d be breaking up a fight in the next ten minutes. He must have decided not, because he turned his attention back to his laptop.
“This is Jean-Luc Cavalier,” Davey introduced, motioning to the man. “Sabin and Vivi’s dad. He has some intel for us.”
Jean-Luc took up a position at the head of the table as if he’d been running meetings in this room for years. No one, not even Davey, seemed inclined to stop him.
“I found Malcolm Raines,” he said without preamble.
The surge of adrenaline momentarily dulled the throb in Dom’s shoulder. He moved to the table and pulled out a chair with his good arm. “Where?”
“Montenegro. On a hundred and forty-foot motor yacht anchored about two miles offshore.” Jean-Luc nodded to Elliot, who typed a command on his laptop, and a satellite image appeared on the main screen.
“He’s running with a skeleton crew and four Praetorian operatives for personal security,” Elliot said. “Thinks he’s invisible.”
A mean grin spread across Jean-Luc’s face. “He’s not.”
“How did you find him?” Griffin asked.
“Ah, I got plenty friends, mon ami. And most of ‘em still owe me favors.”
Dom studied the satellite image. The location looked accessible. The opposition was minimal. It was almost too easy. Wilde Security had taken down more dangerous individuals than Raines under more difficult circumstances, so this should be a cakewalk.
But something felt off.
He caught himself rubbing his injured shoulder absently and forced his hand back to the table.
“When do we move?” he asked.
“We?” Davey raised an eyebrow. “You’re not cleared for field work, Dom. Not even close.”
“I’m going.”
“You can barely get your shirt on without wincing,” Davey countered. “Doc hasn’t cleared you for anything more strenuous than light duty.”
“I don’t need two arms to pull a trigger.” Dom sat forward, locking eyes with his brother. “This is Raines. The man who took Vivi and me. Who tortured Sabin. Who fucked with our family. I’m not sitting this out.”
Davey opened his mouth to argue, but Jean-Luc’s soft, “He goes,” silenced him.
“Et moi aussi,” Jean-Luc added, easier now. “I got a score to settle with Raines, me. Worth comin’ out of retirement for, yeah?”
The team settled into planning mode. Elliot brought up detailed schematics of the yacht model, and Liam began marking entry points.
Bridger outlined the security systems they’d likely encounter.
Griffin and Weston debated extraction options.
Throughout it all, Jean-Luc offered quiet insights that revealed his deep experience—things no civilian would know, things only someone who’d spent years in covert operations could contribute.
After twenty minutes, they had a solid plan.
“My daughter, she tells me you took a bullet for her,” Jean-Luc said suddenly, turning to face Dom. The sudden shift made Dom feel like a spotlight had been thrown on him.
“Uh, yeah. I did. And would again.”
“Vivi been takin’ care of herself since she was barely tall enough to reach the countertop. Never needed nobody standin’ between her and trouble.” He paused. “Makes me wonder why she let you do it.”
“I didn’t ask permission.”
“Non, I expect you didn’t.” Jean-Luc grinned. “She also tells me you reckless. Bad judgment. Got a habit of actin’ before you think, you.”
Weston snickered at that. Griffin thumped the back of his head with an open palm, but was also smirking.
Jesus. Nothing like being interrogated by your lover’s father in front of your nosy family.
Heat crawled up Dom’s neck, and he reached for the bottle of water on the table in front of him in an attempt to cool off. “Yeah, that’s… all accurate.”
“She said it like it’s a criticism, mais her maman used to say the same ‘bout me ‘fore she married me.”
Dom wasn’t sure what to do with that.
“Vivi, she got terrible taste in men, historically speakin’. I was startin’ to worry, me. But I like you. You got a good face. You and Vivi gonna make my Claire some beautiful petits-enfants.” He clapped Dom on his good shoulder. “So when you gonna marry my girl, hein?”
Dom choked on the sip of water he’d just taken. “We’re not—I mean, we haven’t even—”
“Son, I knew you was in love with my daughter from the first time she said your name.” Jean-Luc’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “And I knew she was in love with you when she couldn’t stop complainin’ ‘bout how much she hated you.”
“It’s... complicated.”
“Always is, cher.” Jean-Luc gathered his gear and headed for the door, then paused. “Mais, Dom? You ever hurt her again, bullet or no bullet, I’m gonna introduce you to my pet gator, ouais?”
The threat was delivered with such pleasant cheerfulness that it took Dom a moment to register that it was, in fact, a threat. By the time he did, Jean-Luc was already moving down the hallway, calling out, “What y’all waitin’ for? Let’s move. Bad guys ain’t gonna kill themselves.”
Weston leaned in over the table. “Do you think he actually has a pet gator?”