Page 136 of Severed Heart

“Listen up,” I snap as I slow to a stop outside the abandoned warehouse. “In and out, empty every fucking clip you’ve got, and straight back to the van. No variation,” I state as they crack open the back doors, and I turn in my seat to face them. “Keep sharp. Every second counts, and we’re going to be at this all fucking night. You with me?”

I get collective nods and small grunts of confirmation, all of them perked up and ready.

“Go,” I order as Russell leans over with a clap on my shoulder.

“Hang in, man, we’ve got him,” Russell assures in a show of solidarity as the weight tries to settle between my shoulders. Just as quickly, I bat the notion of failure away. I’ve been prepping for this for ten years, and I’ll be fucked if we go out like this.

As I watch Dom’s brothers covertly approach the warehouse, their training evident in their movements—a swell of pride thrums through me. More crashing into me as their collective gunfire lights the building up, making a pathetic mockery out of what’s happening in the sky. Just as quickly, they’re back in the van, the evidence planted for Beekman, as we speed away toward our next stop.

It strikes me then that it’sDelphine’s armymarching tonight. Our strategy playing out so flawlessly because of the way she molded her soldier’s mind. To think and act as a shield to the street soldiers she predestined we would become. Her faith in my competence to guard them unwavering, even in the beginning. Which continues to ring true in my head and heart throughout the night as we fly through our mission in synchronized motion.

It’s when the sun starts to light up the horizon long hours later, and as her exhausted soldiers file out of the van, that the need to go to her starts to overwhelm me. It’s only when I’m behind my own wheel that I allow my eyes to burn with the sting reflecting in my chest.

Running my finger along the ridges of my wheel, I fight myself once more to keep from racing to her door. From telling her that we became the synchronized birds we are now because once upon a time, she took in a lost, mind-fucked teenager beneath her wing and nurtured the soldier within him.

Because of her.

All because of her.

Chapter Thirty-Six

TYLER

BLINK.

The screen door slaps behind me, delivering another brutal nostalgia hit as my eyes easily find and fix on the woman who’s been haunting me for nearly a decade. I blink and blink again at the surrealness of this moment in addition to the soul-searing moments before it—at the reality that it wasn’t Delphine or me that initiated our collision today.

No, the utterly paralyzing face-to-face that took place hours ago was due to the act of a clueless girl with a selfless heart. A girl who, in mere minutes, ripped my mental barrier away, unknowingly forcing me to confront what I’ve been battling for eight long years.

What seems like just a short collection of minutes ago, I was contentedly rolling a shopping cart, with Cecelia teetering on the end as we debated our favorite Kevin Smith movies. The two of us perusing the cleaning aisles as Cecelia dodged my increasingly inquisitive stares.

“Clerks.” I offer my choice as Cecelia lifts and weighs a big and small bottle of Windex in her hands. Making the decision for her, I grab the big bottle, tossing it amongst the growing mix of cleaners she’s already collected in preparation for an errand. One she specifically summoned me for but has yet to clue me in on.

“Of course, you’d choose Clerks,” she snarks as I roll us a few feet, halting me with a jerk of her chin. A movement very Dominic King in nature, and I can’t help but grin at the arrival of it.

“So, what’s yours? Mallrats?”

“No way, Chasing Amy,” she delivers as if it should be obvious while scanning the wall of products.

“That’s because you’re a die-hard romantic,” I quip with an eye roll.

“Proud of it, and toss in a young Ben Affleck to boot,” she fans her face as she coos, “yes, please.”

I quirk a brow, keeping my voice low and free of any condemnation, knowing the topic is still settling within her. “You are aware you have two boyfriends, right, Cee?”

She waggles her brows. “Ain’t it cool?”

“Pulp Fiction,” I retort confidently, continuing our ongoing quote game for all movies nineties, a game we’re evenly matched in with Adam Sandler lines.

“Two points to the Marine.” She winks. As she tosses in more supplies, I study the former bookworm and good girl who has been in a rapid state of metamorphosis since she invaded Triple Falls along with my brothers’ hearts. In discovering the nature of her heart, I’ve recognized why they would risk so much. In living in the townhouse Dom, Sean, and I share, I’ve been forced to witness the three of them falling, in every stage, since day one. At first, I was raging against their coupling in fear for all three of them, despite my stance on the personal, but for the sake of the club.

At this point, there’s no fighting about her presence in any of our lives any longer or denying that Cecelia’s heart is remarkable in a way that few are. Because of that, every bird in our close-knit circle is now smitten with her. Over the course of the summer, Cecelia and I have created a sincere friendship, and I’ve already made the decision to shield her in the future. Whether she chooses the ink or not, I’m grandfathering her under my wing like I have Jane and Charlie. Because, like them, Cecelia is the best of people, admirably having made the most of the shit hand life has dealt her while blindly trusting with her heart.

Which is why protecting her both for and from my brothers is becoming a high priority. Tobias’s imminent homecoming guarantees she’ll need it. It’s the tectonic plates shifting beneath her blind footing—dangerous ground she’s not aware of, that has me keeping close watch.

As I study the girl who’s completely altered our world for better and worse by simply trying to survive her life and the circumstances created by the people in it—something I identify with—she senses my weighted stare. Grinning adorably over at me, she tilts her head with a “What?”

“What?” I parrot, glancing down at the cart loaded with cleaners and TV dinners. “Either you’re prepping for the end of times in the most spotless underground cave, or . . .?”