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And I hadn’t missed the way the other two Danes shifted slightly, moving just enough to create a loose perimeter as she walked through them, like it was second nature to close ranks around her. Protecting her.
Interesting.
Marcus was still watching me, though. And he was enjoying this. I could see it in the way his smirk deepened, in the slight head tilt like he was sizing me up, deciding just how much of a problem I was going to be.
“Lucky timing,” he mused. “My brother was comingby anyway, so I thought I’d tag along and pay you a visit.”
His voice was deceptively casual, but something about it put me on edge.
I folded my arms. “Thought you didn’t want to help me.”
“Oh, I don’t.” His smirk sharpened. “Just wanted to see what kind of trouble you’re planning to stir up.”
“Right.” I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “And?”
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I’ll be seeing you, Claire.”
It wasn’t a promise. It was a warning. And as he turned and walked out the door, following his brothers into the Charleston night, I knew?—
Marcus Dane wasn’t done with me yet.
6
MARCUS
Istood outside The Palmetto Rose, salt air thick in my lungs. Ryker paced in front of me, boots scuffing the pavement. Night had settled hard over Charleston—streetlights buzzing, gas lanterns flickering against the hotel’s fancy-ass facade. Claire was up there, in her suite, plotting.
My brother wasn’t happy about how Claire had hit the pier, sniffed too close, and dared me to stop her.
“She’s a fucking problem, Marcus,” Ryker snapped, voice low, sharp—like a blade cutting through static. “You let her walk away?”
I crossed my arms, met his glare. “I warned her. She didn’t blink.”
“She’s a reporter,” he said. “A good one. That’s worse. She’ll dig till she hits bone—ours.”
I didn’t flinch. “I’ll take care of it.”
He stopped pacing, squared up—six-four of pissed-off Dane. “Take care of it how? She’s got a mic and a million ears. One wrong word, and Dominion’s fucked.”
“I said I’ll handle it,” I shotback, voice steady, cold. “She’s on my radar—cameras, tail, the works. She moves, I know.”
“Not good enough. I want her gone—yesterday. No blood, no mess.”
“I’ve got it,” I said, final. “Trust me.”
He stared me down, eyes like black ice. He didn’t trust easy—not after Dad, not after war. But he nodded, short and tight. “Make it quick.”
He turned, then stalked off toward his truck and Izzy. I watched them go, engine growling as he peeled out.
I didn’t drive far.
I swung my Bugatti into the valet line at The Battery Club. The place was private, discreet, and a half-mile from Claire’s hotel. I needed a drink. Needed to think. Away from Ryker, the ops room, the whole damn mess.
I handed the keys to a kid in a crisp vest, and ignored his wide-eyed stare at the car. I stepped inside, taking in the dark wood, leather, and the low hum of old money talking shit over bourbon.
I picked the bar, taking the back corner stool. It offered the best vantage on the room, the exit in sight. It was an old habit. A necessary one. I sat, shrugged off my jacket, and rolled my sleeves. A bartender with gray hair and quick hands nodded my way.
“Whiskey,” I said. “Neat.”