Page 8

FINN

“ I t’s not over,” she'd said, her voice stripped of anything but truth. Not panic. Not bravado. Just the bleak certainty of a woman who’d heard the devil on the line and knew he wasn’t bluffing.

The second her expression changed, he knew.

Her control was ironclad, surgically honed.

So when that split-second falter passed through her, the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, the hard swallow she didn’t quite suppress—he saw it all—and he knew exactly what it meant.

Her lips parted slightly, breath catching in her throat.

It was instinct, maybe, or memory—something primal flickering through those stormy eyes.

But Finn saw it. Felt it like a tremor in the earth.

Something was very, very wrong.

Keira didn’t scare easy. At least, not before. Back then, nothing could rattle her for long—she’d face off with cartel muscle or black hat hackers and still crack a joke.

But now? She hadn’t moved from her chair. The half-eaten toast sat cold beside her.

Something had changed in the time they'd been apart—something that had worn her thinner, made her shoulders tighter and her silences sharper. And that look in her eyes? That was someone hearing the door creak open on a nightmare she thought she'd locked away.

Finn's eyes locked on her face as she stared at the screen. Her knuckles whitened around the phone, tension rippling through her shoulders. But it wasn’t just a reaction to danger—it was habit. Muscle memory born from too many close calls.

This was a woman recalculating her odds like they were stacked against her.

There was a wariness now—tight, restrained—like she didn’t know who to trust, including herself.

He didn’t know everything that had happened after she left, but whatever it was had etched itself into her bones—carved in like a scar no one could see but him.

It was in the stiffness of her posture, the way her eyes scanned for exits even when she pretended not to, how she held her breath just a second too long when silence settled.

Whatever had happened, it had marked her—permanently.

And it lit something dangerous in him. Not just protectiveness—possession.

He would find out who had carved that look into her. And he’d make them bleed for it.

“Who was it?” he asked, voice low, even.

Keira didn’t answer.

Her fingers twitched—just barely, a tremor running from her wrist to the tips like the phone weighed a hundred pounds.

He remembered how steady those hands used to be—back when she could dismantle a hard drive or shut down a surveillance feed with steady hands and sharp precision.

But now? That slight shake was a red flag.

And it lit something savage in his chest. One breath.

Then another. Shallow, calculated. She wasn’t panicking, not exactly—but she was choosing every movement like it might set off a mine.

He didn’t wait. “Keira.”

Finn hadn’t heard the voice, hadn’t needed to.

He’d been watching her the whole time, close enough to see the blood drain from her face and the tremor she tried to still in her hand.

The room felt colder now, like the call had opened a window to something foul.

Keira met his gaze, and the look in her eyes—flat, shuttered, bracing—hit him harder than any bullet ever had.

Something cold unfurled in Finn’s chest. Riordan. It had to be. And if that bastard was calling now, it wasn’t a threat—it was a warning shot. A signal that blood was about to spill, and Keira was at the center of the target.

She hadn’t put the call on speaker, and he hadn’t heard the voice himself, but he didn’t need to. He knew the look she gave him wasn’t for effect. With her father dead, it could only be one person. “That was Riordan, wasn’t it?”

Keira nodded. Finn’s blood turned to ice.

Riordan—a mercenary ghost connected to the Dubai fallout.

A mercenary with too many identities and not enough conscience.

Finn hadn’t dealt with him directly, but he’d tracked the man’s trail after Keira’s job went sideways.

Riordan was the type who didn’t issue warnings.

If he was calling now, it meant the kill order was already in motion.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t confirm or deny. But she didn’t have to. He knew. That voice had haunted their briefings for weeks after the Dubai job exploded. The kind of man who enjoyed leverage—especially when it came in soft, stubborn, female form.

Finn’s voice dropped an octave. “How did he get your number?”

“I don’t know.”

“That was a secure line, wasn't it?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently not.”

“Don’t get cute with me, Keira.”

Her arms crossed. “You already got me out of a jam, remember? I don't need to rack up any more interest on that debt. Or is there a new clause I missed?”

He took a deep breath, slow and measured.

His instincts were clawing at the surface, snarling for control.

Every muscle in his body tensed with the urge to drag her into the safest corner he could find and bar the world from touching her again.

He wanted to cage her. Lock every door and weld it shut.

Chain her to him if he had to. But she wouldn’t take that well—and she wasn’t someone who responded to chains unless she chose them herself.

“I’m increasing security,” he said, stepping back. “No more going out alone. Donal will double the shadows. You don’t leave this building without my say-so.”

“You don’t own me.”

He rounded on her. “Want to bet? I protect what's mine, especially if you have a target on your back.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed, voice like gravel. “It’s not. But neither is having to watch your reaction to that bastard’s voice come through your phone like he’s whispering death in your ear.”

She blinked. Just once. That was her tell—when she was thrown but didn’t want to show it.

No flinch, no gasp. Just that tiny pause, barely more than a muscle twitch.

But to Finn, it was as loud as a scream.

Her guard was up, but the crack had shown.

And he felt the urge to tear down the world until it went away.

“You think I don’t know what this is?” he asked, stepping closer again. “You think I don’t know what he wants?”

“And what’s that, O’Neill? A second date?”

He didn’t laugh.

Her smile faltered.

“Men like Riordan don’t waste time on warnings,” he said, voice low.

“Then tell me why I’m still breathing.”

Finn’s eyes darkened. “That was him pulling the pin before tossing the grenade. You know it. I know it.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Maybe. But not alone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because clearly, being locked in a brownstone in the Back Bay with a broody Irish control freak is the height of strategic planning.”

Finn stepped into her space again, watching the quick hitch of her breath. “You’d rather I be soft? Lie? Let you pretend everything's fine?”

“I’d rather you weren't involved at all.”

“You want to die? I'll treat you how you need to be treated,” he said, voice rougher now, “like a target."

The words tasted like ash even as he said them. It wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew it—but admitting more felt too dangerous. Not yet. "One I plan to protect," he continued. "Whether you like my methods or not.”

Keira exhaled sharply. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“The hell I don’t.”

Silence stretched between them like a tripwire—tight, waiting, ready to detonate with the slightest misstep. The kind of silence that crackled with everything they weren’t saying. With fury, with fear. With history that refused to stay buried.

Finally, she sighed, breaking eye contact. “Fine. Ramp up your security. Play your war games. Just don’t expect me to start curtsying.”

Finn gave her a ghost of a smile. “I won't. Besides, it wouldn’t suit you anyway.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Damn right it wouldn’t.”

He let it drop. For now.

“I think I heard Donal bring up your backpack. Go change,” he said, nodding toward the hallway. “You’re still in my shirt.”

She didn’t move. “I kind of like it.”

Finn’s nostrils flared, heat punching low in his gut.

His shirt clung to her body like it had been made for her, the hem barely grazing the curve of her ass.

Bare legs. Damp hair curling at her shoulders.

She looked like a siren, dropped right into his war zone.

She had to know—had to see the way his hands flexed at his sides, the way he fought not to grab her and show her exactly what she was tempting.

His pulse pounded in his ears, louder than the conversation they’d just had.

She was fire in his territory, and he was seconds from burning.

“Go,” he said, voice ragged, not trusting himself to say more.

She turned—too slow, hips swaying like she knew exactly what kind of test she was putting him through—and disappeared into the hall.

The second she was out of sight, he grabbed his phone. “Donal,” he barked when the line picked up.

“Aye.”

“She just got a call. Riordan. Full voice transmission. It means he knows where she is.”

Donal swore. “Do we need to sweep again?”

“Yes. I want a firewall double-checked, signal triangulation cross-referenced, and every shadow doubled. No one breathes near this brownstone without my clearance.”

“And if Riordan makes a move?”

Finn’s voice dropped into the dangerous calm that always came before blood. “Then we cut him down.”

“Aye.”

Finn ended the call and stared out the window.

Morning light spilled through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors of the brownstone.

Outside, the neighborhood moved with quiet, oblivious normalcy—dog walkers, coffee seekers, the steady rhythm of commuter foot traffic—all unaware of the predator drawing his net tighter.

But Finn felt it. The air was heavy, charged, stretched to a breaking point.

This wasn’t just instinct—it was prophecy, humming beneath his skin like static before a lightning strike.

Riordan didn’t issue warnings. He hunted.

He toyed. And that call? It meant the game was already underway.

Finn clenched his fists. His beast stirred beneath the surface, restless.

Keira wasn’t just some ex or former lover.

She was his. Always had been—even if she’d run, even if she denied it now.

And the threat against her wasn’t just business.

It was a blade pointed at something vital inside him, something feral and sacred he wasn’t ready to name.

Every instinct screamed to lock her down, keep her close, and hunt whatever dared to breathe in her direction.

He wouldn’t lose her again—not to fear—not to a bastard like Riordan.

Losing her once had gutted him, ripped out something vital and left it bleeding for years.

He'd buried it under work, violence, control. But now that she was back, breathing the same air, looking at him like he might still matter? No. He wasn’t going through that again.

Definitely not to her own damn stubbornness.

She returned a moment later in jeans and a black tank top, barefoot, hair pulled up into a loose knot. “You done barking orders?” she asked, arms folded.

“Not even close.”

“Great. Can’t wait for my all-access babysitter pass and bulletproof corset.”

Finn’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite land. “You in black leather and attitude? Might actually make this tolerable.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the flicker of amusement she tried to hide.

It twisted something in his chest—something old and reckless and aching.

For a second, just one, she looked like the Keira who used to make him laugh right in the middle of chaos.

And damn if that didn’t make it harder to remember why keeping his distance was supposed to be smart—especially when one look from her could crack through years of practiced control.

It twisted something in his chest—something old and reckless and aching.

“You’ll get a panic button and a new phone.”

She paused. “Actually, the panic button sounds kind of cool.”

He cracked a real smile this time. “Knew I’d win you over.”

“You haven’t yet.”

Finn stepped toward her again. He didn’t touch her—barely even moved close enough to breathe her in—but the shift in the air between them was instant. Charged.

“You’re still here,” he said softly.

Keira swallowed. “For now.”

“That’s enough for now.”

Her gaze flicked to his mouth and back. “Cocky much?”

“Always.”

She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer. “I’m not yours to protect, Finn. Not anymore.”

He nodded once. “You keep saying that and yet here you are.”

Before she could reply, a buzz cut through the room—his private line. Donal. Again. Finn froze mid-step, spine locking, hand curling into a fist at his side. The vibration seemed to echo louder than it should have, humming against the hardwood like a warning shot.

Finn answered. “Talk.”

“We’ve got movement. Someone tried to ghost through the secondary access. Didn’t get far, but it’s coordinated. Could be a probe.”

Finn’s blood went ice cold.

“Triple lockdown,” he ordered. “No one in. No one out. I want eyes everywhere. And prep the tracker drones.”

Donal’s voice was tight. “Already done.”

The line went dead.

Keira’s face had lost its color. “They’re here?”

“Not yet.” He turned to her, voice absolute. “But they’re coming.”

And this time, if they got close—he’d show them exactly who they were fucking with.