Page 17 of The Last Morgan

Corey slammed his fist onto the kitchen island.

“Absolutely not.”

Lucy stared him down, unflinching.

“What harm can it do. Let the bitch come and get me.”

Byron stood silently in the corner, jaw clenched so tight Lucy thought his teeth might crack.

Barnaby watched the argument nervously, bouncing his leg under the table.

“You don’t go waltzing into open fire.” Corey said, soft but firm.

Lucy’s voice was quiet.

“I’ve been training for this my whole life. You trained me! If we keep letting her think she’s winning, she’ll just get bolder and make an appearance.”

Lucy turned toward Barnaby.

“Can you make it look like I dropped security on my private server? Like there’s a back door open?”

Barnaby grinned.

“Can I? It’ll be the juiciest target she’s ever seen.”

Lucy nodded.

“Do it.”

Corey swore under his breath but said nothing more. He knew her well enough to know when she wasn’t going to bend. By late afternoon, Barnaby’s trap was set. On the surface, Lucy’s personal server looked like a treasure chest left unattended — open and vulnerable with fake files about her fortune, her plans, even made-up assets overseas.

Byron sat stiffly by the window, arms folded, watching every shadow like it might strike.

“We’ve got movement.”

Barnaby’s fingers danced across the keyboard, sharp and quick.

On the glowing screen, a new signal blinked — not the old offshore server, no this one was local.

Very local.

Lucy leaned over Barnaby’s shoulder, frowning.

"What is she up to?" she asked. Barnaby narrowed his eyes at the screen, adjusting his glasses.

"It’s not totally clear," he said slowly, "but she just tried to access your home security system."

Lucy stiffened.

"Can she get in?"

Barnaby smirked darkly.

"Obviously not. I gave her what she thinks is access — Smoke and mirrors."

Lucy exhaled in relief.

"So, you think she’s going to be bold enough to just... show up. Here. Just like that?"

Before anyone could answer, Corey snatched his phone off the counter, punching in a number with urgency.

"I know you were meant to start at the end of the week," Corey barked into the receiver, "but can you start today? Great. See you soon. I’ll get your room ready."

He hung up and pocketed his phone, turning to Lucy.

"Uh, who was that?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Corey shrugged like it was no big deal.

"Damian," he said simply. "Your extra personal bodyguard. He’s on his way."

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

Byron, who had been perched like a silent shadow against the wall, lifted his head slowly.

His silver eyes — normally so lazy, so unreadable — sharpened like blades.

"Is another guard necessary?" Byron asked.

The tension crackled through the air like static.

Lucy swore the temperature dropped a few degrees as the two men stared each other down — like lions measuring each other across a kill.

Corey, completely unfazed, crossed his arms.

"I don't know who the threat is," he said calmly, "and if I did, sure, I'd be happy taking care of Lucy alone. But we don't know. So until we do—"

He smiled grimly.

"She gets round-the-clock protection."

Lucy could feel Byron vibrating next to her — fury barely held on a leash.

"You both can take shifts," Corey added pointedly, "watching over Lucy."

Byron’s lip curled into a sneer.

"Shifts," he muttered under his breath, like Corey had suggested something vile.

The word dripped with disgust.

Lucy, sensing the weird energy swirling thickly around her, clapped her hands together, forcing brightness into her tone.

"Fantastic," she said. "I’m going to grab some food and change, and then we can discuss a plan."

She turned briskly and left the room.

But Byron…he was right behind her.

She could feel him.

Possessive.

Trailing her like a silent storm as she ascended the staircase.

Lucy opened the door to her bedroom, fully expecting him to turn away — to give her privacy.

He didn’t.

He followed her in.

Closed the door softly behind them.

The click of the latch sounded deafening.

Lucy turned, brows lifted.

"Byron?"

He stood there, broad and immovable, his presence eating up the entire room.

"So," he said, voice deceptively casual, "you’re going to have another man close to you?"

Lucy blinked, surprised by the roughness underneath his words.

"I don’t like that," Byron said darkly.

Lucy couldn’t help herself. A slow, teasing smile curved her lips.

"Are you jealous, Byron?" she teased, crossing the room to her wardrobe, deliberately swaying her hips as she moved.

Byron didn’t answer.

He just watched her.

Watched her like he could strip her down with nothing but his gaze.

Lucy pulled open the wardrobe doors, pretending to be nonchalant.

Pretending she didn’t feel her heart thundering in her chest.

She grabbed a change of clothes and moved toward the bathroom.

But before she could slip away, Byron was there.

Moving faster than she could react.

He reached out, catching her wrist easily, stopping her escape.

His touch was firm but careful, thumb brushing lightly over the inside of her wrist — right where her pulse hammered wildly.

"You can take off your clothes here if you want," Byron murmured, voice dropping into something sinful.

Lucy froze, breathless.

"I won’t bite," he continued, a glint of wickedness flashing in his stormy eyes.

"Maybe just a suck… or a nibble. But I won’t bite."

The world tilted.

Lucy’s whole body went hot, the teasing heat rushing through her veins like wildfire.

Her lips parted, a protest on the tip of her tongue — but no sound came out.

Byron stepped closer, the scent of him — smoke, leather, danger — overwhelming her.

He didn’t touch her anywhere else.

He didn’t have to.

The promise in his voice wrapped around her like chains, anchoring her to the spot.

Lucy swallowed hard, trembling under the weight of his gaze.

His thumb dragged slowly over her wrist, up along her forearm, raising goosebumps in his wake.

For one long, brutal second, she thought he might kiss her again.

She wanted him to.

More than she’d ever wanted anything. But instead, Byron dropped her wrist with a low, reluctant exhale — as if he was letting go of something precious, he knew he shouldn’t have touched.

His jaw tightened. His fists clenched. Without another word, he turned and walked to the far side of the room, his broad shoulders stiff, his back a silent wall between them.

Lucy stood frozen in place, pulse skittering wildly, skin still burning where he had touched her.

She hated how much she wanted him to turn around.

To finish what he started, to stop pretending.

The knock at the bedroom door shattered the moment. Corey’s voice floated through. "Everything good in there? Barnaby says he’s almost traced the new signal."

Lucy inhaled sharply, forcing herself to move.

"Fine!" she called, hating how shaky her voice sounded.

She grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Her back slid down against the door.

She had to survive the next few hours without doing something reckless.

But with Byron watching her like that — burning with something he refused to name —

Lucy wasn’t sure she could.