Page 15

I gunned my Harley down the highway, the wind tearing at my face. Thor and Tyson flanked me, five more Heavy Kings trailing behind in perfect formation. My mind kept drifting back to Mia's signature on our contract, still fresh on the page I'd left behind in my apartment. But club business demanded focus, especially when Serpents slithered into my territory uninvited.

The formation wasn't accidental. Three up front—me centered between my most senior members—with the others fanned out behind. A show of strength without appearing threatening. The message was clear to anyone with eyes: this was Heavy Kings territory, and we moved through it like we owned every inch of asphalt.

My knuckles went white against the handlebars. One minute signing a DDlg contract with Mia, promising to be her protector, her Daddy, her safe harbor; the next, speeding toward a potential bloodbath with Jesse Malone. I pushed the conflict aside. Presidents didn't have the luxury of divided attention.

"Two miles," Tyson shouted over the roar of engines, gesturing ahead to where the northern checkpoint—a run-down gas station marking the edge of our territory—would be visible around the next bend.

I nodded once, sharp and certain. Thor caught my eye from my right, a savage grin splitting his beard as he revved his engine. The crazy Viking lived for confrontation. I didn't. But I wouldn't shy from it either, not when it came to protecting what was mine.

We rounded the bend in tight formation, the gas station coming into view. Three bikes sat parked alongside a beat-up Ford pickup—all sporting the venomous green and black colors of the Iron Serpents. My jaw clenched at the blatant disrespect. Serpents didn't "accidentally" wander into Kings territory. This was deliberate provocation.

We pulled into the lot in perfect synchronization, cutting our engines simultaneously. The sudden silence hung heavy, broken only by the distant ping of the gas station's bell as some poor civilian fled the premises. Smart move.

Jesse Malone lounged against his truck, trying for casual but achieving only anxious. His too-wide smile and fidgeting hands betrayed him. Two heavyset enforcers flanked him—Axel Navarro and Decker, both known for more muscle than brains. They postured with crossed arms and hard stares, but their eyes darted nervously between us.

"Formation three," I murmured to Thor and Tyson as I swung my leg over my bike.

Thor nodded, the signal passing silently through our ranks. We'd run this drill countless times. I dismounted first, removing my helmet with deliberate calm, shaking out my hair before hanging the helmet on my handlebar. Behind me, my brothers fanned out in a loose semicircle—not surrounding the Serpents, but making escape difficult.

"You're a long way from home, Jesse," I called, pitching my voice to carry across the lot without shouting.

Jesse straightened, his nervous smile flashing too many teeth. Despite the Vice President patch on his cut—a position he'd never earned through merit—Jesse had always been visibly uncomfortable around me. Maybe it was the six inches I had on him in height. Maybe it was knowing I could snap him like kindling if I chose.

"Duke Carson," Jesse responded, aiming for friendly but landing somewhere around constipated. "Just passing through. No trouble."

Behind me, Thor snorted loudly. The sound perfectly conveyed what we all thought of that bullshit claim.

I approached slowly, deliberately, each step measured. I didn't rush. Men who rushed betrayed their uncertainty. My path forced Jesse to make a choice—back up against his truck like a cornered animal, or hold his ground uncomfortably close to me. A simple tactic, but effective at establishing dominance without throwing a single punch.

Jesse chose to stand his ground, but couldn't quite manage to look me in the eye. His gaze darted between my face and the Heavy Kings gathering behind me, sweat beading on his upper lip despite the cool mountain air.

"What are you really doing in my territory, Jesse?" I asked, keeping my voice quiet. I'd learned long ago that softness could be more threatening than shouting. "You know the boundaries. You know the rules."

The nervous tap of Jesse's boot against asphalt filled the silence. Twenty feet away, the gas station attendant peered anxiously through the window, phone clutched in his hand. Probably debating whether to call the cops. I caught his eye, gave him a slight nod of reassurance. We'd never brought violence to civilians. That wasn't our way.

Jesse's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Behind him, Axel shifted his weight from foot to foot, hand twitching toward the waistband of his jeans. Thor noticed too, a low growl building in his chest as he stepped slightly forward.

The tension stretched between us like a rubber band pulled to breaking. I didn't move, didn't speak, didn't give Jesse the relief of knowing what I might do next. Silence was its own form of power.

A bead of sweat traced down Jesse's temple as the silence stretched uncomfortably. I could almost smell his fear cutting through the gasoline fumes and mountain air. Good. Fear meant respect, and respect meant we might get through this without blood.

"Look," Jesse finally cracked, shifting his weight. "We're just—"

"Trespassing," I finished for him, my voice flat. "That's what you're doing. The question is why."

"Just looking for something that belongs to us," he finally admitted, forcing an unconvincing laugh that sounded like a dog choking on a bone. "Nothing that concerns you Kings." I stared him down, letting the silence work for me. Years of high-stakes negotiations had taught me that uncomfortable people fill silence with confessions.

The tactic worked. Jesse fidgeted under my gaze, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his thigh. Seconds stretched like taffy until he cracked.

"Missing property," he continued, words tumbling out faster now. "Girl took off with some club items. Venom wants them back." His eyes darted to his companions, seeking reassurance. Found none. "We got a tip she might be in this area. Thought we'd take a quick look around, then be on our way."

I noted his careful language—"items," not "her"—a transparent attempt to downplay what they were really hunting. As if Mia were just another piece of property the Serpents had misplaced. My stomach clenched, but I kept my expression neutral. Years of poker games in smoky back rooms had given me a face that betrayed nothing.

Behind me, I felt rather than saw Tyson shift slightly. Our brotherhood ran deep enough that we could communicate without words. He'd caught the same bullshit I had.

My eyes swept the gas station. None of the Serpents' vehicles were fueling up, despite Jesse's claim they were "just passing through." The pickup's bed contained duffel bags—not overnight bags, but the heavy-duty kind used for weapons or cash runs. They weren't prepared for a brief stop; they were equipped for a hunt.

"Whatever—or whoever—you're looking for isn't here. Turn around, head back to Coldwater."

A muscle twitched in Jesse's jaw.

"No can do, Carson," Jesse said, false bravado creeping back into his voice. "My brother was clear. We don't come back without her."

The slip revealed more than he intended. Venom must be applying serious pressure for his younger brother to push boundaries this boldly. Jesse had always been a coward at heart, hiding behind his brother's reputation.

Tyson stepped forward, his movements precise and controlled. His time in the military had given him an economy of motion that made even his smallest gestures seem calculated. "Sounds like," he said quietly, "the lady chose to leave you. Maybe respect that decision."

Jesse's face twisted into an ugly sneer. "That bitch doesn't get to make choices!" he snarled, then immediately realized his mistake as my expression darkened. The air around us shifted instantly—territorial dispute transforming into something personal.

My shoulders squared, hands uncurling from loose fists to open, ready position. Behind me, my brothers mirrored the stance. We hadn't moved, yet suddenly the space between us and the Serpents seemed charged with lethal potential.

Jesse read the change, fear flashing across his face. He backpedaled verbally, forcing a laugh that sounded like gravel in a blender. "Look, we don't want trouble. Just information."

My silence pushed him to continue, desperation evident in his rapid-fire delivery.

"Anyone seen a dark-haired woman, mid-twenties, traveling with a German Shepherd mix? Probably looking scared, maybe using the name Mia Delgado?"

The description hit me like a physical blow. Dark hair that fell in waves when I'd untied it from her messy ponytail. Wide eyes that had gazed up at me with a mix of fear and hope when I'd offered protection.

I kept my face expressionless, years of negotiating with rival clubs serving me well. Inside, protective rage burned like acid. This pathetic excuse for a man had put his hands on Mia. Had threatened her, tracked her, forced her to flee with nothing but her dog and the clothes on her back.

"Haven't seen anyone fitting that description," I lied smoothly, voice level and bored. "Now get on your bikes and get out of my territory."

Jesse's eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with fear on his face. "You're sure about that? She's not exactly forgettable." His gaze dropped to his boots, then back to my face. "Medium height, big brown eyes, has a scar here." He gestured to his collarbone.

The intimate knowledge of Mia's body made my fists clench involuntarily. I forced them to relax before anyone noticed. "Do I look like I keep tabs on every piece of ass that passes through Ironridge?" I kept my tone dismissive, bored.

"Wouldn't put it past you," Jesse muttered, then raised his hands placatingly when Thor took a menacing step forward. "Just saying, we got solid intel she's around here somewhere."

"Your intel is wrong," I said flatly. "And your welcome is worn out."

Jesse glanced at his companions, clearly weighing options. The math wasn't in their favor—three Serpents against eight Kings, on Kings territory. But desperation makes men stupid.

"Look, Carson," Jesse tried again, switching tactics. "This doesn't have to be difficult. We're not looking to start trouble between our clubs."

"Too late," Thor rumbled behind me. "Crossing our borders without permission is trouble."

I kept my eyes locked on Jesse, noting how his gaze kept sliding away from mine. Guilty men couldn't maintain eye contact. Whatever Mia had seen or heard, it was significant enough to make the Serpents risk breaking territorial agreements that had kept peace between our clubs for years.

"Mia Delgado is bad news," Jesse continued, a desperate edge creeping into his voice. "She's not what she seems. Plays innocent, but she's manipulative. Steals, lies."

Each word stoked the cold rage building in my chest. I'd spent enough time with Mia to see through Jesse's pathetic attempt to paint her as the villain. The woman who carefully saved half her dinner for her dog, who apologized for taking up space, who flinched at sudden movements—she wasn't the monster in this story.

"I don’t give a shit whether she’s an angel or a devil, she’s not here. And she’s not my problem," I said, my tone final. "My problem is Serpents in Kings territory without permission. That ends now."

Jesse hesitated for a moment. Cornered animals are dangerous, and Jesse's eyes had the wild look of a coyote in a trap. "We can make it worth your while," he said, desperation edging into his voice. "Venom authorized a finder's fee. Five grand just for information." The offer hung between us, pathetic and insulting. As if I could be bought for the price of a shitty used motorcycle.

I stepped closer, deliberately invading his space until he was forced to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. The height difference between us became more pronounced.

"I'm not interested in blood money," I said, keeping my voice deadly quiet, forcing him to strain to hear me. "What I am interested in is you respecting boundaries. You're in Kings territory without permission. That ends now."

The parking lot had emptied completely. Even the gas station attendant had retreated to the back room, leaving us alone in the gravel lot. Smart man. Witnesses tended to have short life expectancies where MC business was concerned.

Jesse's attempt at diplomacy collapsed like a house of cards in a hurricane. His face contorted, the facade of reasonableness replaced by the petulant aggression that made him dangerous despite his smaller stature.

"We received reliable information she's here," he insisted, voice rising in pitch. "We're not leaving until we find her."

The naked desperation in his tone told me everything I needed to know.

Thor moved forward to stand beside me, his massive presence like a physical wall. Six-foot-four of solid muscle, with a blond beard and cold eyes that lived up to his Norse namesake. His hands—capable of bending metal and breaking bones with equal ease—flexed unconsciously.

"That sounded like a threat, little man," he rumbled, his deep voice seeming to vibrate the very air around us. Jesse's two companions shifted uneasily, one taking a half-step back.

"Not a threat," Jesse backpedaled slightly, glancing nervously at Thor's hands. "Just telling you how it is. Venom wants her found."

My patience, already stretched thin by concern for Mia, finally snapped. I could almost hear it breaking, like a guitar string pulled too tight. "Let me tell you how it really is," I growled, letting some of my rage show through the cracks in my control. "You've got exactly thirty seconds to get on your bikes and ride out of my territory, or we'll escort you out in pieces."

Jesse made a critical error then, the kind of mistake men make when fear overrides their survival instinct. He reached inside his cut—likely for a phone rather than a weapon, but the motion was ambiguous enough to justify what happened next.

Thor moved with the surprising speed that always caught newcomers off guard. For a man his size, his reflexes were unnervingly quick. One moment he stood beside me; the next, he had Jesse's wrist in his grip, twisting until the smaller man yelped in pain.

Chaos erupted like oil hitting a hot pan.

Jesse's companions surged forward, Axel reaching for something in his waistband while Decker lowered his shoulder to barrel into Thor. Neither made it three steps.

Tyson intercepted Decker with the clinical precision of his military training—a quick strike to the solar plexus that doubled the bigger man over, followed by a sharp knee that sent him crashing to the gravel. No wasted movement, no showy techniques. Just brutal efficiency.

Thor, meanwhile, simply lifted Jesse off his feet, dangling him like a misbehaving child while Axel found himself face-down on the asphalt with two Kings keeping him pinned, arms wrenched behind his back.

I watched the skirmish with cold detachment, allowing it to play out just long enough to make my point. A president doesn't need to throw punches to demonstrate power. True authority lies in having others willing to bleed for you.

Jesse flailed uselessly in Thor's grip, his face purpling with a combination of restricted airflow and rage. "Put me down, you fucking animal!" he wheezed, kicking at air.

Thor chuckled, the sound like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. "You hear something, Duke? Sounds like a little bitch whining."

Decker tried to rise from his knees only to be met with Tyson's boot on his shoulder, pressing him back down with just enough force to make the point without causing serious injury. Tyson had always been the most controlled of us, capable of calculated violence that never exceeded what was necessary.

Axel had given up struggling entirely, lying still with his cheek pressed to the gravel, blood trickling from his nose. Smart man. The only one of the three with functioning survival instincts.

The fight had lasted less than thirty seconds—quick, efficient, and with minimal damage. Exactly how I preferred to handle problems. Violence was sometimes necessary, but excessive force created more problems than it solved.

I raised my hand, a simple gesture that my brothers recognized immediately. "That's enough," I commanded, and the Kings stepped back with military precision—a demonstration of discipline that made Jesse's humiliation more complete.

Thor released Jesse, who stumbled as his feet hit the ground, gasping and clutching his throat. A thin line of blood trickled from his lip where he'd bitten it during the struggle.

"Get up," I told the other two Serpents, my tone making it clear this wasn't a request. Decker struggled to his feet, wincing and holding his ribs where Tyson had struck him. Axel rose more slowly, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.

The three stood in a ragged line before us, looking significantly less confident than they had upon arrival. Jesse's eyes burned with humiliation and rage, but beneath that was the fear he couldn't quite hide. He'd come looking for a missing woman and found himself outmatched and outplayed.

"Next time you cross into my territory without permission," I said calmly, as if we'd been having a civilized conversation all along, "you won't leave under your own power. Understand?"

Jesse's face flushed an ugly red, a vein pulsing at his temple. "You're making a mistake, Carson," he spat, blood and saliva flecking his lips. "Venom won't stop looking for her. This isn't over."

Jesse limped to his bike, hands visibly shaking with rage as he fumbled with his keys. His companions followed, moving stiffly from their brief but effective lesson in territorial respect.

I watched them mount up, the sound of their engines cutting through the mountain silence like chainsaws. Jesse's gaze met mine one last time before he lowered his visor—a look that promised retribution. I'd seen that look before, from better men than Jesse Malone. I was still standing. They weren't.

We maintained our positions, a wall of Heavy Kings leather, as the Serpents rode away. Only when they'd disappeared around the bend, the sound of their engines fading into the distance, did I allow my shoulders to relax slightly.

"Well," Thor said, cracking his knuckles with a grin that would make lesser men piss themselves, "that was fun. Been a while since I got to hang a Serpent by his collar."

A ripple of tense laughter moved through our ranks, the release of adrenaline manifesting as dark humor. I didn't join in. The confrontation might be over, but what it represented was just beginning. Jesse wouldn't let this humiliation stand. And Venom was nothing if not calculating—he'd see our protection of Mia as a deliberate challenge, whether she was actually with us or not.

I turned to scan the faces of my brothers. No injuries, not even scuffed knuckles. A clean win. But the cost might come later, when the Serpents regrouped with greater numbers and sharper intent.

Tyson rubbed his knuckles absently. "They're getting desperate," he corrected, his voice low enough that only Thor and I could hear. The other Kings had moved back to their bikes, giving us space for the conversation that couldn't happen in front of the ranks. "Serpents don't risk open conflict unless the stakes are high."

Thor spat on the ground where Jesse had stood, a Viking's curse on enemy soil. "Venom must want this girl bad if he's willing to send his own brother into our territory." He squinted at the horizon where the Serpents had disappeared. "Blood-relative patch carriers don't get thrown away easily."

I nodded, mentally cataloging what we knew against what we needed to find out. Jesse's desperation had been palpable—the kind that comes from pressure applied from above. Pressure from Venom himself.

Thor cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the mountain quiet. "Whatever is going on with her, it's big. Venom doesn't break rules for small shit."

I glanced toward the mountains that separated our territory from the Serpents'. Somewhere beyond those peaks, Venom was waiting for Jesse's report. Planning his next move. The thought sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the mountain air.

"We need to do something about this, brother," Thor said, voicing what we were all thinking. His expression had shifted from battle-ready to grimly pragmatic. "A girl isn't worth starting a war over."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My jaw tightened, teeth grinding together. "Mia isn't just 'a girl,'" I responded, more sharply than intended. The memory of her signature on our contract, the trust in her eyes when she'd called me "Daddy" for the first time—it burned in my chest, a fierce protectiveness I hadn't felt in years.

Thor raised his eyebrows, hearing more in my tone than I'd meant to reveal.

“We’re together now,” I said, simply.

Thor looked stunned, his expression a complex mix of frustration and loyalty. "Jesus, Duke. You've put us all at risk for what—a piece of ass? Some damsel in distress?" His words were harsh but his tone wasn't. He was stating facts as he saw them.

My fists clenched involuntarily. "It's not like that."

Tyson stepped between us, ever the mediator. "What Thor means," he said carefully, his calm voice diffusing the tension, "is that we need to consider all angles. Maybe we find a way to neutralize the threat without open conflict."

I knew they were right. The logical, strategic part of my brain—the part that had kept the Heavy Kings prosperous and safe for years—agreed completely. But the part of me that had just signed a contract with Mia, promising to keep her safe, to be her protector, her Daddy—that part rejected any solution that might put her at risk.

"She's been through enough," I said finally. "Beaten, terrorized, hunted. I won't turn her over to save our asses."

Thor's expression softened slightly. "No one's saying hand her over, brother. But we need a plan that doesn't end with us in body bags."

The pragmatism in his voice grounded me. This wasn't just about Mia and me. It was about every man who wore our patch, their families, our community. The weight of presidency settled back on my shoulders, heavy but familiar.

"We'll discuss options at the next meeting," I decided, my tone making it clear the current conversation was over. "For now, double the border patrols. No Serpent crosses into our territory without my knowing about it."

Tyson nodded, already mentally adjusting rosters and schedules. "I'll rearrange the shifts, put our most experienced guys on rotation."

"And I'll make some calls," Thor added, tension draining from his massive frame now that we had a direction. "See what our allies know about the Serpents' recent activities. Try to work out just why she’s so important."

I nodded, grateful for their quick pivot from questioning to supporting my decision, however questionable they might find it. That was brotherhood—you didn't always agree, but you always had each other's backs.

The other Kings had maintained a respectful distance during our conversation, but I could feel their curious glances. They'd witnessed the confrontation with the Serpents and knew something significant had transpired. They deserved to know what risks we were facing.

"Full meeting tomorrow night," I announced as we walked back to our bikes. "Nine o'clock at the clubhouse. Mandatory attendance."

Murmurs of acknowledgment rippled through the group. A mandatory meeting meant serious business, but none questioned it. That was the benefit of earned respect—men followed without requiring constant explanation.

As I swung my leg over my Harley, my mind was already racing ahead to the conversation I'd need to have with Mia. She deserved to know the Serpents were still actively hunting her in Ironridge. That her presence put the club at risk. That I'd defended her anyway.

The engines roared to life in unison, a sound that had always settled my mind. Today it couldn't quiet the war between duty and desire raging inside me. For the first time in years, I wasn't certain which would win.

***

I rode back to King's Tavern with something cold and heavy lodged behind my ribs. My mind cycled through impossible scenarios—ways to protect both Mia and the club without sacrificing either. The weight of presidency had never felt heavier. For the first time in years, I questioned whether I could separate personal feelings from club business.

By the time I parked my bike behind the tavern, I'd run through dozens of options, each more problematic than the last. Thor and Tyson followed me inside without being asked, the three of us moving wordlessly through the main bar toward my office. The afternoon crowd parted for us instinctively, conversations pausing as we passed. The regulars knew that look—the tight jaws and focused eyes that meant Heavy Kings business was afoot.

I closed the office door behind us, the familiar space suddenly feeling too small for the conversation we needed to have. Tyson took his usual chair by the window while Thor remained standing, too restless to sit. I paced the worn path in the carpet that had tracked my concerns for years.

"We need to be realistic about this," Tyson began once the door was closed, his military precision extending to his thinking. "If Jesse told the truth about having a tip-off that Mia's in Ironridge, they'll be back with more men."

Thor nodded grimly, his massive arms crossed over his chest. "Or they'll send scouts we won't recognize," he added. "Hang around town asking questions, showing her picture. Fucking strangers we can't immediately identify as Serpents."

I continued pacing, the leader in me calculating risks and resources while the man in me—the man who had promised to be Mia's Daddy and protector—rebelled against cold strategy. The cognitive dissonance was like having two separate people inside my skin, fighting for control.

"I'm not handing her over," I stated flatly, stopping to face them both.

Tyson nodded, understanding in his eyes. "No one's suggesting that," he assured me. "But we need contingencies. The club has to come first—you've always said that yourself."

His words hit like a punch to the gut, precisely because they were true. I had always put the club first, made decisions based on what would protect the greatest number of my brothers. The Heavy Kings had been my life, my family, my responsibility since I took the president's patch after my father's death.

"We'll increase security," I decided, my tone brooking no argument. "Move her to the safehouse outside town if necessary."

Thor and Tyson exchanged a look I pretended not to notice—concern, perhaps, or resignation at their president's uncharacteristic stubbornness. But they didn't challenge me directly. That was the benefit of earned respect—even when they questioned my judgment, they trusted my leadership.

"The cabin would be safer," Thor admitted reluctantly. "Isolated, defensible, only one road in or out. We could post a rotating watch without stretching our manpower too thin."

Tyson nodded, already thinking through logistics. "We should move her tonight, after dark. Less chance of being spotted."

I shook my head. "Not yet. Moving her now might confirm suspicions if they're watching the tavern. We wait, see if they make another move, then respond accordingly."

The strategy made sense, but I knew part of my reluctance was selfish. Moving Mia to the safehouse would mean separation—no more waking to find her curled against me, no more shared meals in my kitchen, no more watching her eyes light up when I praised her. The thought left an emptiness I wasn't prepared to face.

The club always comes first. The mantra I'd lived by since taking the president's patch now felt like a betrayal of the promise I'd made to Mia. How could I protect both without sacrificing either?

I had no answer as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, each step heavier than the last. The wood creaked beneath my boots, marking my ascent like a countdown to a conversation I dreaded having. Mia had just begun to feel safe. Now I had to tell her that safety was an illusion—that the monsters she'd fled had tracked her to my doorstep.

When I opened the door, she was waiting, tension evident in every line of her body. Diesel stood alert beside her, sensing her anxiety. The German Shepherd mix had become an uncannily accurate barometer for Mia's emotional state—calm when she was calm, vigilant when she was afraid.

"They were looking for you," I confirmed without preamble. Mia deserved the unvarnished truth, not comforting lies. "Jesse and two others. They claim they got a tip that you're in Ironridge."

Her face paled, fingers instinctively reaching for Diesel's fur—an anchoring gesture I'd noticed she used when overwhelmed. The dog pressed against her leg, solid and steady.

"Did they—" she began, voice cracking.

"They're gone," I assured her, crossing the room to take her trembling hands in mine. Her fingers felt small and cold, bird-like against my calloused palms. "We made it clear they weren't welcome. But they'll be back, Mia. We need to be prepared for that."

She nodded, eyes wide but remarkably dry—no tears, just the steely determination that had first drawn me to her. This wasn't a woman who collapsed under pressure. She bent, adapted, endured. It made me want to protect her all the more.

"What happens now?" she asked, her voice steadier than I'd expected.

I pulled her against my chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. Her hair smelled like my shampoo—the coconut stuff she'd found in my shower and asked permission to use. The small intimacy struck me harder than it should have.

"Now I keep my promise," I said firmly, willing her to believe it. "You're safe here. I'm doubling security around the club, putting extra patrols on all borders."

I didn't mention the possibility of moving her to the safehouse—not yet. Not when she'd just started to settle in, to trust that my apartment was a sanctuary rather than just another temporary refuge.

“I’m scared, Duke. Really scared. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

The apology sliced through me. Of course she would blame herself—people who've been victimized often do. "Hey," I said, tilting her chin up to meet my eyes. "You didn't bring trouble. Trouble was already following you. All you did was find someone willing to face it with you."

Her eyes searched mine, looking for deception or resentment and finding neither. Something shifted in her expression—fear giving way to tentative hope. "You're not . . . you don't regret our contract?"

The question struck at the heart of my earlier doubts. As I looked down at her upturned face, the answer crystallized with perfect clarity. "Not for a second," I said, meaning it completely. "A promise is a promise, little one. Especially one I signed my name to."

Relief washed over her features. She pushed up on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my jaw—a gesture of gratitude and trust that tightened something in my chest.

As I held her, my gaze drifted to the signed contract still visible on the table where we'd left it just hours ago. The timing couldn't be worse for the commitment we'd made to each other, yet I couldn't bring myself to regret it. The weight of presidency, the responsibility to my brothers, the strategic complexities of territorial disputes—none of it diminished the certainty I felt holding Mia in my arms.

“Don’t worry, Baby. I know what to do. Daddy can make you feel better."