Page 56 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

The phone buzzes against the desk, dragging me out of a page I haven’t really been reading.

The numbers, the names, the contracts—all of it is stacked neat in front of me, and none of it has landed.

My mind refuses precision, the way it usually cuts clean through problems. It keeps circling back, not to the work, but to the weak link I should never have let form.

Her.

I should be tightening lines, closing deals, fixing what clients pay me to fix. Instead, I’m caught on the fact that Mara walked out and I didn’t stop her. Not because I respected her choice—but because I thought distance might discipline me. It hasn’t. It’s made me restless. Unmoored.

The phone won’t stop buzzing. Lydia.

I drag it across the desk and answer. “What?”

Her voice slides through, edged with mockery. “You’re welcome. I just saw your woman saved from being cornered in broad daylight.”

The chair creaks under me as I straighten. Every muscle locks. “What happened?”

“She was at the clinic, head down in her papers. Caleb strolled in, tried to play nice. Didn’t last long. He showed his teeth. She showed hers. Pepper spray to the face. Dropped him cold in front of staff and security.”

For a moment, heat flares under my ribs—not anger, not yet. Satisfaction. She fought. She didn’t fold. But it doesn’t erase the fact that he was close enough to try.

“Where is he?”

“Escorted out. He’ll crawl off, plot his next entrance. You know this isn’t finished.”

My hand curls against the desk until the wood protests. Caleb’s persistence doesn’t surprise me. What sticks, sharp as glass, is the thought of Mara standing there—alone, cornered, forced to defend herself while I was sitting here pretending I could focus on balance sheets.

“Keep your eyes on him,” I say. “I’m going to her.”

“You don’t even want the rest?” Lydia needles.

“There’s nothing else I need to hear.”

I hang up before she can savor the last word.

The file slips from the desk as I stand, ignored. The only thing that matters now is Mara.

And if she thinks I’m leaving her in reach of Caleb again, she’s mistaken.

The door to my office slams behind me, echoing too loud against the glass halls. I don’t slow. The elevator is waiting, doors reflecting my face back at me—calm on the surface, teeth grinding underneath. The descent is fast, my reflection twitching as the floor numbers blink past.

The garage smells of oil and heat. My car waits where I left it, black paint shining under overhead lights. The engine ignites with a rumble that settles through my chest, steadying me more than any deep breath ever could.

I take the turn hard out of the garage, tires hissing against the ramp.

The city unfolds in front of me, sun pinned high over glass towers, streets brimming with the rhythm of lives too blind to notice what moves under their feet.

I weave through them, each block collapsing under speed until the waterline creeps into view.

The clinic sits against the coast, framed by gulls and salt air.

Polished windows. Whitewashed stone. From a distance, it looks like a sanctuary, all clean edges and careful lines.

But I know better. Inside, scars walk the halls.

Fear hides in the corners. And now Caleb has brought rot to its doorstep.

I cut the engine in front of the main entrance, not bothering with the lot. The guard stationed near the doors notices me instantly. His spine straightens, eyes flicking from my car to my face. He doesn’t know my name, but he recognizes weight when it steps out of a vehicle.

Inside, the reception hums with restrained order. Phones ringing, the faint hiss of machines, shoes crossing the floor. But beneath it, something fractured lingers—eyes turning too fast, a nervous pause in movements. They’ve already felt what happened here.

She’s here. I know it without seeing her.

Then my gaze locks.

Mara is near the desk, papers still clutched in her hand like she couldn’t decide whether to drop them or keep pretending nothing happened. Her hair is braided tight, face pale but carved sharp with defiance. She’s standing too still, though. A stillness that reads like glass stretched thin.

Our eyes meet. The paper slips from her grip, scattering across the counter.

Celeste is beside her, speaking in a tone too measured to be casual. Alec hovers behind the desk, eyes narrowing as he tracks me. Both of them shift without moving, their postures screaming what they don’t voice: You’re not welcome here.

I don’t break stride.

Mara’s lips part, a protest building, but I cut it off before it forms. “You’re coming with me.”

The reception freezes. Celeste’s expression hardens, but she doesn’t speak yet. Alec does. “Not your call.”

I shift my attention to him, then back to Mara. “He was here. Caleb. You think I’m leaving you standing in the open for him to circle back?”

Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter, whitening her knuckles. “I can handle myself.”

“You proved that once,” I answer. “Once isn’t enough.”

Celeste finally cuts in, voice even but sharp. “Mara is safe here. We upgraded our systems. Security is doubled. You should know that.”

I take a step closer, narrowing the space between Mara and me. Her pulse flickers at her throat, too fast for the mask she’s trying to hold. I lower my voice, pitched only for her. “You really believe cameras and guards will stop him? You think locks keep out men like him?”

Her eyes falter, just for a second. That’s all I need.

“I’m not asking, Mara. You’re leaving with me.”

Celeste tilts her head slightly, studying me like I’m another case file. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already did,” I answer.

Alec moves from behind the desk, blocking half the space between us. His shoulders are squared, a surgeon’s precision in the way he plants his stance. He’s not a fighter, but he’d play one if he thought it would stop me.

“This is her place of work,” he says, clipped. “She belongs here. With people who actually respect her boundaries.”

Mara doesn’t move. Her silence is worse than their resistance. She’s gripping the counter like it’s the only anchor left.

I close the final steps until I’m at her side. She breathes in sharp when I brush the edge of her hand with mine. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for me.

“You can stay here,” I murmur, low enough to stay between us, “and wait for him to come again. Or you can walk out now, with me, and know he’ll never get that close a second time.”

Her chest rises too fast. She wants to argue—her mouth even opens—but Celeste cuts across the moment.

“You think possession equals protection,” she says. “It doesn’t.”

That word—possession—makes Mara shift like it stung her.

I look at Celeste. “It’s not possession when the threat is real. It’s survival.”

Alec exhales, sharp through his nose. “You’re twisting it.”

The words hang heavy. Everyone hears them, but it’s only Mara who reacts.

She finally finds her voice, fragile but edged. “I told you before, Elias. You don’t get to take my choice.”

I turn fully to her. My hand lifts, not touching, but close enough she feels it. “You think choice matters to men like Caleb? You think he’ll stop because you told him no in front of a lobby full of witnesses? He doesn’t hear you, Mara. He never did.”

Her eyes flicker, and I know I’ve hit the fracture. The part of her that remembers the locked doors, the silenced protests, the way he smothered her life piece by piece.

I don’t let up. “You walked out once. You thought that meant he was gone. He’s back, and he’s circling. And if you keep standing here, pretending this building makes you untouchable, you’ll hand him the second chance he’s been waiting for.”

The silence that follows is jagged.

Mara’s grip loosens on the counter. One paper drifts from her hand to the floor. She doesn’t pick it up.

Celeste watches her, something unreadable passing across her face, but she doesn’t stop her. Alec starts to take a half-step forward, but Mara shakes her head. A tiny movement. Enough to halt him.

Her gaze locks on me again. “You’re not giving me much of a choice at all.”

I lean closer, my voice a cut between us. “I’m giving you the only one that keeps you alive.”

And that’s it. She lets the rest of the papers fall.

I take her arm—not harsh, but firm enough that everyone understands. Celeste’s jaw tightens, but she stays still. Alec’s fists flex, but he doesn’t move. They know they’ve lost this round.

I guide Mara toward the doors, her steps uneven but moving. Security glances up, unsure whether to intervene. They don’t. The weight in my stride tells them better.

The air outside slams colder. The SUV waits at the curb, engine still ticking from when I pulled up. I open the passenger door, positioning her in.

Her eyes flash up at me one more time, raw and accusing. “You don’t even see how much you’re taking from me.”

I lean down, caging her with one arm against the doorframe. “You think I’m taking. But one day you’ll understand. I’m the only thing standing between you and the dark. And I don’t lose.”

She swallows hard, but she gets in.

I close the door.

I move back to the driver’s side, scanning the street the way I always do—angles, corners, reflections in glass. I wait for a twitch, a shadow that doesn’t belong. Nothing. Too neat. Too quiet.

I drop into the seat, grip the wheel, and turn the key. The engine growls to life, steady and obedient, the way I expect everything to be.

The engine growls as I pull away from the curb. My hand grips the wheel, steady, while my other rests near the gearshift—close enough to her thigh that the space feels claimed even if I don’t touch her.

She presses herself against the door, chin lifted, eyes fixed on the blur of storefronts passing by. Her defiance is all surface. Underneath, she’s trembling; I can see it in the small tremors where her fingers twist the silver ring on her hand.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says without turning.