Page 25 of Dalla’s Royal Guards (Second Chance #3)

Nasser unlocked the door and stepped inside first, instinct and habit having him scan the suite with a soldier’s efficiency.

Dalla followed, her hands moving to the fastening on her vest as she wandered around the interior.

The room was large and opened into a small living room with a kitchenette.

The living room had two armchairs with a narrow wooden table between them.

Across from it was a long, plush couch. She walked over to the window.

The hotel was fourteen stories, and they were on the top front corner.

She turned to study the kitchenette. Modern kitchens were unfamiliar to her, and she walked over to explore it while Nasser disappeared through a set of frosted double, sliding doors.

She opened a large box with double doors stacked on top of each other and was surprised at how cold both sections were.

Inside the lower half was several bottles of water and some brightly colored cans.

At the top, there were small trays with ice in them.

She closed the doors and opened a smaller square box. Inside were two racks. She pulled them in and out before shrugging and closing it with a snap. There was a large, silver sink. Turning the knob, she trailed her fingers through the water before turning it off.

“Everything looks good. The bed is a king size,” Nasser grunted out with a pleased smile.

“That’s good? A bed made for a king?” she teased.

His eyes moved to her unbuttoned vest. “A bathroom made for one as well. It has a very large shower.”

“I guess it would be good to test this very large shower out. I may need some instructions on how to operate it,” she said, walking toward him.

“It can be very tricky,” he said, meeting her halfway.

“What can be tricky?” she murmured, her eyes locked with his as her hands tugged on his shirt.

“Turning it off,” he replied.

She tilted her head back when he slid his hand around the back of her neck and bent to kiss her throat.

Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt before she gave up and pulled the material free with a jerk.

Several buttons fell to the floor as she greedily slid her hand along his bare chest with a moan of need.

“Who wants to turn it off when it is so pleasurable to have it on?”

He answered her by capturing her lips. A moment later, her shirt and vest fell to the floor beside his.

In the back of her mind, she thought it was a good thing Musad was buying them new clothes because there wasn’t going to be much left of the clothes they were wearing by the time they got to the bathroom.

Detri sat at the table, dressed in black. His shirt was fitted, sleeves rolled to the elbows. A combat knife rested beside his burner phone. Next to it sat a rusted hammer—heavy, balanced. Practical. He liked the weight of it in his hand. The apartment he was staying in was modest—deliberately so.

It sat on the fourth floor of a crumbling pre-war building overlooking a row of shuttered storefronts and a barely functioning streetlamp.

The walls were cracked plaster; the floors were scuffed concrete.

The furniture—if it could be called that—was minimalist: a folding table, a hardback chair, full-size bed with a sleeping bag on it, a countertop with a hotplate, a portable refrigerator that sat on the floor, and a tiny bathroom barely big enough for him to turn around.

There were no photos. No decoration. No history. Just anonymity.

He preferred it that way.

The lights were off, save for a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls.

He looked down at the burner phone when it vibrated. A message blinked onto the screen.

SIMDAN HOTEL. THEY’RE IN. – G

He read the message twice, the glow from the screen illuminating the edge of his jaw. Then he pressed connect .

“They checked into the Simdan Hotel,” Gunther said on the other end. His voice was low, taut.

“Was Kyle able to get their room number?”

“Not yet. He’s leery about poking around too much after what happened earlier,” Gunther replied. “Do you want me to scope it out?”

Detri’s gaze flicked to the wall across from him. A faint crack ran from floor to ceiling. He tapped his thumb against the phone in thought.

“No,” he said at last. “Tell Kyle to pack a bag.”

There was a beat of silence. “Where is he going?” Gunther’s tone sharpened.

Detri smiled slowly, but there was no humor in it. “He’s going on vacation… to Dima.”

A muffled curse. “Kyle knows nothing about surveillance—let alone killing anyone. I want the woman’s head on a platter. She’s mine, Detri. Payback for my brother.”

“You’ll get your chance, Gunther,” Detri said, his voice even. Calculated. “Kyle’s not going alone. He’s got a girlfriend watching over him.”

Gunther’s breath hissed. “Who?”

Detri leaned back in his chair and answered with one word. “Stella.”

The curse that erupted was louder this time. Sharp and vicious.

“You’re insane,” Gunther growled. “You think she’ll take orders?”

“No,” Detri said coolly. “But I think she’ll follow instinct. And hers is lethal.”

He could see it now—Stella’s precision, her cold efficiency.

“Tell Kyle to book a room at the Simdan,” he continued. “And make damn sure he gets access to the hotel’s internal systems. I want eyes at every angle.”

“And Stella? How do you plan on controlling her?” Gunther asked again, hesitating this time.

Detri’s gaze turned to the window. Across from him was another building with no lights. He could see his face reflected in the glass.

The image of Dalla flickered in his mind like a glitch in reality—her face aglow, wings shimmering in a light that didn’t come from the sun.

Who better to fight an angel… than the devil herself?

“Just make sure Kyle’s in place. I’ll handle Stella,” he said, hanging up.

He didn’t hesitate. He opened his contact list and called the only number stored there. It rang once.

“Detri,” came a smooth, female voice. “You haven’t called me in a while. Should I be flattered… or worried that you’re calling me now?”

“I have a job for you,” he said. No preamble.

“Tell me.”

He did. Everything: the woman, the impossible, the erasure of data, the security breach, the hotel.

Stella didn’t interrupt. She was quiet after he finished. The ticking of the clock on the wall grew louder the longer the silence stretched. He was about to ask her if she had any questions when she spoke.

“I’ll be there within three hours.”

He lowered the phone when the line went dead and stared it before he placed it on the floor. Picking up the hammer, he gripped it firmly before he brought it down. Each blow was intentional.

The phone shattered under the blows, its pieces scattering like bones across the floor.

He exhaled slowly and set the hammer aside.

Rising to his feet, he collected the broom and dustbin hanging near the door, swept up the fragmented pieces, and dumped the remains of the phone into the metal trash can beside the table.

Calling in Stella was a risk. Kramer wouldn’t like it. He would call it reckless. Unauthorized. Dangerous.

Detri didn’t care.

This was no longer just about toppling a royal family. Or hoarding a mineral that could take the world’s technology to its knees.

This… was about something bigger.

Immortality.

If he could find the secret—bottle it, replicate it—he wouldn’t just influence space travel or weapons development.

He would own them.

He could bring the most powerful men on the planet to their knees. Rewrite borders. Outlive empires.

Immortality wasn’t a myth. He had seen it now. Tasted it in the image of a woman who wasn’t supposed to exist.

And he would find her.

Whatever she was—angel, demon, alien, god—it didn’t matter.

He would carve the truth from her one layer at a time.

And then… he would take it for himself.