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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE WAR ROOM was alive with the murmur of voices as the brothers settled in. The heavy oak table was scratched and worn, but solid, much like the men sitting around it. I leaned back in my chair, watching Devil at the head of the table, his fingers drumming against the wood as he scanned the room. The second he spoke, all noise died.

“Alright, let’s get this handled. First up, business. Chain, how’s High Voltage?”

Chain leaned back, arms crossed. “Steady flow. Crowds have been decent, and we pulled in good numbers over the weekend. Had some dipshits tryin’ to stir shit up Friday night, but we handled it. Nothin’ major.”

Devil nodded. “Good. Keep it locked down. We don’t need heat right now. Spinner, what about Devil’s Ink?”

Spinner leaned forward, that toy spinning in his hand when he was thinking. “Solid. Shop’s booked out for the next few months. Been gettin’ a lot of club referrals. Ink work is bringin’ in steady cash. No complaints.”

“Gearhead, how’s Jaybird’s?”

Gearhead cracked his knuckles. “Picked up some new contracts, which is keepin’ us busy. Had a couple of custom jobs come in that’ll rake in extra cash. Crew’s workin’ hard. No problems.”

Devil nodded, then turned his attention to me. “Gambling house?”

I rubbed a hand over my jaw, feeling the weight of their stares. “Thunder’s been coverin’ for me. I haven’t been around as much.”

“We noticed,” Devil said, his voice unreadable. “What’s the situation?”

I clenched my jaw. “I’m handlin’ it.”

Before Devil could say more, Thunder cut in. “House is still runnin’ fine. No major issues. Had a high roller come through last night, made the pot bigger than usual. We’re in the green.”

Gatsby looked up from his ever present notebook. “I’ll get the final numbers together for you, Devil. Should have everything sorted by tomorrow.”

Devil nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now onto bigger problems—Dragon Fire.”

The shift in the room was instant. The easy air from talking business vanished, replaced with tension thick enough to cut. Chain leaned forward, brows drawn tight. “They still circlin’ our territory?”

“They’re not just circling,” Devil said, his voice dark. “They’re pushing in. And I don’t like it.”

Gatsby cleared his throat. “We’ve been tracking their movement. They’ve got extra muscle rolling through—more than usual. They’re stacking up for something, we just don’t know what yet.”

“That means we need to be ready,” Bolt said, his tone sharp. “We can’t wait for them to make the first move.”

“No,” Devil agreed. “But we also can’t jump unless we know exactly what we’re dealing with. That’s where Lucy comes in.”

I stiffened at the mention of her name. My gut twisted, knowing what was coming.

“She gave us solid intel on Drago’s obsession with Zeynep,” Devil continued. “And that means he’s going to come looking. If he’s as fixated on her as Lucy says, then he won’t stop until he gets her back. That puts us in the middle of a more personal war.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw. “He can’t have her back.”

The words hung in the air, final.

Devil met my gaze, holding it for a long moment before nodding and looking at his watch. “That’s right. We’ll pick up again on this later I forgot I had to do something. Meeting adjourned. Everyone stay sharp.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as the men got up, but I stayed where I was, gripping the edge of the table as the fire inside me burned hotter.

“You know what you’re getting into?” Devil asked from where he still at watching me.

“I will die before letting Drago have her back,” I replied, my gaze burning into Devil.

“I believe you,” Devil replied. “Maybe now you’ll finally wake up.”

“I’m not goin’ there right now,” I snapped, rising out of my chair. “Zeynep needs takin’ care of and I’m goin’ do it.”

Devil gave me a nod in reply, but his eyes said a whole different story. Sometimes it was a bitch having him and Chain around, two men who knew me inside and out. Knew my past, present and apparently my future. But no matter what it took, Drago was never touching Zeynep again.

By the time I made it back to her room, my pulse was still pounding from the meeting. From hearing Drago’s name over and over. From knowing the bastard was out there, already looking for her.

I had told Devil I’d make sure Drago never got her back. But the only way to do that was to make sure she was here —safe, protected. Where she belonged.

I pushed open the door quietly, stepping inside. The glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft light over her, shadows curling at the edges of the room. She was curled under the blankets, but her eyes weren’t closed. She wasn’t asleep.

She was waiting.

Her gaze flicked up, landing on me, searching my face. My jaw tightened as I forced myself to breathe. She doesn’t need to see your anger. Your frustration. Keep it together.

I dragged a hand through my hair, stepping closer. “You need somethin’?”

She hesitated, then gave a small nod. But her fingers gripped the edge of the blanket a little too tightly, like she was holding something back.

I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand. “You drink anythin’ while I was gone?”

Her lips parted slightly, then pressed together. A small shake of her head.

I exhaled through my nose and twisted the cap off, holding it to her mouth. “Drink.”

She hesitated, brushing her fingers against mine, a soft whisper of warmth against my rough skin.

I didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and I watched, feeling something I couldn’t name twist inside me. When she was done, our fingers brushed again. Lingered.

“Good girl,” I murmured without thinking.

She stilled. Just for a second. Then, slowly, her grip relaxed, and she settled back against the pillows.

Something in my chest eased.

She lifted a brow, tilting her head slightly, questioning. Where were you?

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Club business.”

She studied me for a beat, like she could see the weight I was carrying. Like she knew what was sitting at the back of my mind. Her expression shifted, eyes darkening, a question forming in the way her lips parted slightly before pressing together again. Dragon Fire?

My jaw ticked. I didn’t want to bring that shit into this room. Not now. Not when she was healing. But I couldn’t lie to her either.

I nodded once.

She inhaled sharply, her gaze flickering away. Like she already knew what that meant.

I reached out before I could stop myself, my hand resting lightly on her bandaged fingers. Gentle. Always gentle with her. “They’re not gettin’ to you,” I said, my voice coming out rough, final. “Not while I’m breathin’.”

Her breath caught, her gaze snapping back to mine. Wide. Searching.

Trusting.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling slightly around hers. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t doubt me.

The tension in my shoulders didn’t ease, but it shifted. Less rage, more purpose. I pulled the blanket up around her, tucking it in like she needed it. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here.”

She hesitated. Then, slowly, her bandaged hand turned under mine, her fingers weakly curling around my wrist. Holding onto me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then she closed her eyes, her grip not loosening.

I stayed.

I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

My gaze traced over her face, the bruises that once swallowed her delicate features now fading into soft shadows. Underneath the damage, she was beautiful . Not just in the way a woman is beautiful—but in a way that made something inside me ache. Made me want to touch, to protect, to keep .

Her breathing was steadier now—slow, even. Peaceful, if you didn’t know better. She looked almost untouched by the shit that brought her here.

Almost.

I should’ve felt calm. Relieved. But there was this itch crawling under my skin. A tension that didn’t belong.

I shifted in the chair, listening.

Something was off.

The hallway had gone still. Too still.

This place was never quiet. Not completely. Even in the dead of night, you could hear the low thrum of voices, footsteps, laughter echoing from the common room, someone rummaging for a drink at the bar. But now?

Nothing.

I stood slow, careful not to wake her. My hand went to the gun tucked at my lower back—instinct, not panic. The kind of instinct the Corps beat into you until it lived in your bones. I moved to the side of the door, ears sharp, body still.

And then I heard it.

A breath. Soft. Shaky. Held too long. Someone was outside.

They weren’t moving. Just… standing there. Listening. My jaw clenched.

You didn’t loiter near this door unless you had a reason. And no one had a good enough reason to be creeping outside Zeynep’s room.

I didn’t open the door. Not yet. Just spoke low, enough that whoever was out there would feel the words more than hear them.

“You’ve got three seconds to walk away. After that, I open this door.”

Silence stretched.

Then I heard it—footsteps. Quick, light, trying too hard not to sound guilty.

I waited, counted off another five in my head, then unlocked the door and stepped into the hall.

Empty.

I scanned the corridor, listening again, but whoever it was had peeled off fast. That didn’t mean they were gone. Just meant they knew how to move quiet.

My eyes drifted down the hallway to the rooms where some of the prospects bunked. One door stood slightly open. The prospects shared that room.

I stared at that door a second too long. I didn’t believe in ghosts. But I believed in spies. And someone sure as hell was watching me.