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Each suggestion got weighed, measured, filed away or discarded. The debate flowed back and forth, violence dressed up in strategic terms.

Then a younger voice piped up—Eddie, one of the older members. He was large, with a heavy gray beard.

"What if we use Lena as bait?"

The room went silent. Not quiet—silent. Like all the air had been sucked out at once.

Eddie continued, oblivious to the danger. "I mean, if they want her so bad, we could set up a trap. Make it look like she's vulnerable, then when they come—"

The sound Tyson made wasn't human. Before anyone could react, he was across the room, hand around Eddie's throat, slamming him back against the wall. Chairs scraped as members jumped up, but no one intervened.

"Tyson!" I gasped, but he didn't hear me.

"Say that again." His voice was death itself, cold and final. "Suggest using her as bait one more time."

Eddie's eyes bulged, feet scrabbling for purchase. His hands clawed at Tyson's grip, but it was like trying to move iron.

"I'm just—just saying—" Eddie wheezed, "if they want—"

"Touch her and I'll break every bone in your body." Each word was precisely enunciated, a promise carved in stone. "Look at her wrong, and I'll remove your eyes. Suggest putting her in danger again, and they'll never find enough of you to bury. We clear?"

"Crystal," Eddie squeaked, face turning purple.

"Tyson." Duke's voice cut through the violence, calm but commanding. "Let him go."

For a moment, I thought Tyson might not listen. His whole body vibrated with barely leashed violence, tendons standing out in his neck. I’d never seen him like this before—not even close. Then, slowly, he released Eddie, who slumped gasping against the wall.

"Anyone else want to suggest using a civilian as bait?" Tyson asked the room at large. "Anyone else think her life is worth risking for a tactical advantage?"

Silence.

"Didn't think so." He returned to his position behind my chair, but I could feel the violence still radiating off him like heat.

Duke studied his sergeant with interest, head tilted slightly. "We’ll talk more about our plans, but for now, meeting's adjourned. Church convenes tomorrow night to make some decisions. Tyson, brief me on security protocols once you're settled."

Members started filing out, Eddie scrambling away while rubbing his throat. Before long, it was just me and Tyson in the empty bar, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down like lead.

I turned to look at him, finding his expression completely shuttered. Whatever had driven him to nearly strangle Eddie was locked away again, hidden behind that tactical mask.

"We should go," he said, voice flat. "Need to secure your apartment before dawn."

Right. The mission. The protection detail. The job he didn't want but couldn't refuse.

Myapartmenthadneverfelt smaller. Tyson filled the doorway like he was built for bigger spaces, broader skies, somewhere that didn't smell like vanilla candles and acrylic paint. I fumbled with my keys, hyperaware of everything wrong with my space—the dishes in the sink, the bra draped over the couch arm, the half-finished canvas propped against the wall depicting what might generously be called abstract fury.

"Sorry about the mess," I muttered, pushing inside and immediately wanting to hide everything.

"It's fine." His voice was all business, already scanning the room with those tactical eyes. "I need to do a security assessment. Check all entry points."

Right. Security. The job. I dumped my coloring book on the coffee table, adding to the chaos of adult coloring books scattered across the surface. If he noticed the titles—"Fucking Adorable Kittens" and "Zen as Shit"—he didn't comment.

He moved through my space with methodical precision, checking windows, testing locks, examining sight lines. Professional. Detached. Like I was just another asset to secure, not the woman he'd kissed like he was drowning just hours ago.

"Locks need reinforcing," he said, fingering the deadbolt. "Windows too. I'll handle it tomorrow."

"Today," I corrected automatically. "It's already tomorrow."

He didn't smile. Hadn't really looked at me since we'd left the bar. Just kept cataloging vulnerabilities like my life was a problem to solve. Door frame—insufficient. Window latches—substandard. Fire escape—security risk. Each assessment another reminder that I was a job, a duty, an obligation he couldn't refuse.