Page 19 of The Last Morgan

The front doors slammed open just as Lucy was finishing her coffee.

The noise startled her — and the tension in the house, already thick, snapped even tighter.

Her uncle stormed into the entrance hall, Aunt Lillian trailing behind him, their two spoiled children dragging their suitcases with dramatic sighs.

"What the hell is going on here?" her uncle barked, taking in the armed Black Doves moving quietly through the corridors, the buzzing radios, the sharp-eyed men at every corner.

Lillian gasped, clutching her pearls.

"This isn’t a home, it’s a military base!" she cried.

Lucy rose calmly from the sofa, setting her cup down.

"If you don’t like it," she said smoothly, "you’re free to leave."

The words echoed through the marble hall, cold and final.

Her uncle opened his mouth to argue — but then his eyes met Byron’s across the room, saw the dead seriousness there, and quickly shut it again.

Lillian huffed but said nothing more.

Corey came strolling in a second later, Damian at his side, looking far too amused for the tension radiating through the room.

"Since the first shift is mine tonight," Damian said casually, ignoring the glares from the family, "I'll go over the new plan with Lucy properly. Make sure she's fully updated."

He flashed Lucy a grin, warm and easy.

"And I hear you have a lunch date with Deza tomorrow?" he added.

Lucy smiled back, feeling lighter already.

"Yeah. Apparently we’re supposed to bond."

"Good," Damian said. "Let’s focus on that."

The rest of the family slunk away upstairs, grumbling under their breath.

Damian led Lucy toward the sitting room, glancing briefly at Byron — who stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather commit murder than let them disappear together.

Lucy deliberately didn’t look back.

‘Let him burn’, she thought, he does this to me all the time.

Inside the sitting room, Damian tossed a folder onto the coffee table and flopped down into one of the leather armchairs.

Lucy perched opposite him, tucking her legs under her.

"You good with the plan so far?" Damian asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

Lucy nodded. "Yeah. Just... a lot to take in."

Damian smiled warmly.

"You’re handling it like a pro."

Lucy shrugged, uncomfortable with praise, but she also didn't like feeling like she was a soft fragile, breakable thing.

There was a beat of silence.

Until Damian’s grin turned playful.

"So... Corey tells me you’ve had some training," he said, leaning forward.

Lucy arched a brow. "Some?",

"Well. Show me what you've got!" Damian said without looking her directly in the eyes.

Lucy grinned, feeling a spark of excitement.

"You're challenging me?"

Damian laughed, standing up and shedding his jacket.

"I just want to see what I'm working with, boss."

Lucy rolled her eyes but stood up, bouncing lightly on her toes.

"Alright, pretty boy. Don’t cry when I break you."

Damian laughed again, hands raised in mock surrender.

"No promises."

They faced off in the middle of the sitting room, the polished wooden floor cool under their feet.

Lucy moved first — fast and low, sweeping for his legs.

Damian barely dodged in time, surprise flashing across his face.

"Damn, you’re quick."

Lucy smirked and came at him again — a flurry of fast jabs and sharp footwork.

Damian blocked her, laughing breathlessly, but he was sweating now, forced to take her seriously.

Lucy moved like a machine — fluid, deadly and precise.

A kick aimed at his ribs — he barely parried.

A punch toward his jaw — he ducked under.

A sweep of her legs — he stumbled, catching himself at the last second.

They circled each other, breathing hard.

"You’re not bad, Morgan," Damian teased, wiping sweat from his brow.

"But are you—"

Lucy lunged, spinning and pinning him against the wall with a loud thud.

She had one arm pressed across his chest, the other ready to strike.

Damian blinked down at her, stunned.

Lucy grinned wickedly.

"Still standing," she said smugly.

Damian stared at her for a long second — and then laughed, throwing his head back.

"Jesus," he said, panting. "You’re a machine."

He raised his hands in surrender.

"I yield."

Lucy stepped back, grinning, exhilarated and buzzing with energy.

Damian chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I’m supposed to protect you," he muttered, half to himself, "not the other way around."

Lucy laughed, cheeks flushed.

"Stick with me, rookie. You’ll learn something."

After the playful fight, Lucy and Damian collapsed onto the sitting room sofas, both breathless and laughing.

Damian leaned his head back, his smile wide and genuine.

"You’re something else, Lucy."

Lucy chuckled, still riding the high of victory.

They talked for hours — about training, life, the madness that had swallowed her world — and for the first time in days, Lucy felt almost normal.

Almost.

Byron’s absence from the room gnawed at the edges of her mind.

Eventually, Lucy yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I think I’m calling it," she said, rising to her feet.

Damian stood too, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

"I’ll walk you to your room." Lucy smiled, feeling a warmth, she didn’t quite know what to do with.

They moved through the dimly lit hallways quietly, the house sleeping around them.

When they reached her door, Damian paused.

"Goodnight, Lucy," he said softly.

His door — just across the hall — was left open, an unspoken promise that he was near if she needed him.

"Goodnight, Damian," she whispered back.

She slipped into her room, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room was cool, washed in moonlight.

Lucy moved automatically toward the window, pulling back the curtain.

And froze.

Byron.

Standing alone in the garden, a cigarette burning between his fingers, his head tilted back as he stared directly at her window.

Lucy’s breath caught painfully in her throat.

Without thinking, without really thinking, she closed the curtain.

Cutting off his view.

Lucy crawled into bed, burying herself under the covers, willing her heart to slow.

But sleep wouldn't come.

She stared at the ceiling, the heat of Byron's gaze still burning into her skin even from a distance.

Outside, Byron watched the curtain fall. Watched her turn away from him. And something inside him snapped.

Without hesitation, without thought, he moved. Inhumanly fast.

He scaled the stone wall of the mansion, If anyone saw him, they'd think he was superhuman. They wouldn’t be wrong.

Byron reached her window and slipped the latch easily.

The window opened with the barest whisper.

He swung one leg over, sliding into the room with the grace of a ghost.

His first thought was how pathetic this security set up was, considering how easily he slipped in.

He peeled off his jacket, dropped it onto the armchair, then kicked off his boots and trousers until he was left in nothing but low-slung black boxers.

His muscles tense, catching the moonlight. He moved to the bed, his bare feet silent against the wood floor.

Slipping under the covers, he pressed himself against her.

Lucy gasped aloud at the sudden shock of cold skin on hers.

She twisted, eyes wide, mouth opening to scream —

A hand clamped gently over her lips.

"Shh," Byron whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

"You closed the curtains without acknowledging me."

Lucy blinked up at him, heart racing wildly.

"How the fuck did you even get in here?" she breathed against his palm.

Byron smirked.

"Should I leave?" he asked, voice low and teasing, taunting her.

Lucy shook her head frantically.

"No," she whispered.

Her body burned under his touch. Desperation. Aching to feel him fully.

"Kiss me," she begged.

Byron didn’t hesitate.

He crushed his mouth to hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.

His hands were everywhere — sliding under her shirt, caressing her breast, fingers rough and calloused yet somehow gentle.

He was losing control.

Fast.

Lucy moaned against his mouth, arching into him, desperate for more.

His lips moved to her jaw, her neck, tasting her skin like he was memorizing her.

Every inch.

Every sound.

Every trembling gasp.

But suddenly, he pulled back, panting hard.

His forehead pressed against hers, fighting himself.

"Sleep," he whispered, voice wrecked with need. "You have a busy day tomorrow."

Lucy whimpered, frustration and longing rolling through her.

"Please," she whispered, barely able to form the word. "I'm ready."

Byron groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw and broken.

"You don't want it like this," he said hoarsely. "Not rushed and angry."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering.

"I’ll give it to you soon," he promised. "And when I do… you’ll never walk the same again."

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh, “you’re so cringe it’s unreal”.

He wrapped her in his arms, his scent filled her lungs, his heartbeat pounding against her back — and just like that she slipped into sleep.

Lucy woke the next morning alone in bed, her body still warm from the memory of last night.

Her hand drifted to the empty side of the mattress.

"When the hell did he slip out?" she whispered to herself, frowning.

Byron must’ve been a ghost — slipping away without waking her once. The thought made her stomach twist in ways she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Maybe it was something she needed to bring up with Corey.

Lucy sighed and dragged herself into the shower.

As the hot water washed over her, she kept thinking about Byron — his kiss, his hands, the way he held back like he was dangerous.

Her skin tingled at the memory.

Fresh from the shower and still towel-drying her hair,

Barnaby’s voice floated through the door, chipper as ever.

"Lucy! Morning! Quick update."

She opened the door, eyebrows raised.

Barnaby stood there, tablet in hand, looking far too awake.

"You need window sensors fitted. Preferably like, today."

Lucy coughed awkwardly, cheeks heating. Of course, after last night’s little invasion, security needed upgrading.

"I'll make sure it gets done," she said quickly.

Barnaby grinned and zipped off down the hallway.

Lucy wandered toward the window, curiosity pulling her.

She pulled back the curtain just a sliver and looked down.

The wall Byron would have had to climb was sheer stone, at least three stories high.

"How the fuck did he do that?" she muttered under her breath.

Breakfast was already in full swing by the time Lucy made it to the dining room.

Her uncle sat stiffly at the table, eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"Who are these people?" he demanded the moment she sat down. "Why are they here, Lucy? Strange men wandering around?"

Lucy buttered a piece of toast slowly, refusing to be baited. "I don’t like these questions," she said coolly. "Especially not in my house."

Her uncle’s face turned a shade darker.

"This is our home too. We should feel safe in it."

Lucy raised her head, eyes sharp as steel.

"With the amount of security you see, you should feel safe," she said pointedly.

"Unless there’s a reason you shouldn’t."

A heavy silence fell.

Her uncle shoved his chair back roughly and left the table without another word.

Lucy took a long sip of her coffee. ‘I need to watch him’, she thought grimly.

"Todays about the lunch," Damian said as he briefed her quickly near the entrance hall. "It should be quite easy."

"Famous last words" Lucy smirked, “What about guards?” she asked.

Damian smiled.

"Me and Byron will be nearby. You won’t even know we’re there."

Lucy smirked. “You think I’m worried?"

Damian chuckled.

"I think you’re hoping the mouse takes the cheese."

Lucy flashed a wicked grin. "I wonder what type of cheese I would be?."

The drive to the restaurant was smooth.

Lucy rested her head against the window, mentally prepping herself.

Her mind wasn’t just on potential threats.

It was also on Rufus.

Davina’s old boss.

The man who had made many women feel unsafe. The one who thought loyalty meant submission.

Lucy’s fingers tapped restlessly against her thigh.

She wasn’t going to let that slide.

Deza was already at the restaurant when Lucy arrived, lounging at a sunny outdoor table with a mimosa in hand.

She stood when she spotted Lucy, waving warmly.

"About time," Deza teased, pulling Lucy into a quick hug.

Lucy laughed. They already knew each other well enough that the tension of business meetings wasn’t there — this was just two women catching up.

They ordered light lunches and leaned in to talk.

Deza filled her in on the lighter side of company life — the best local spots, inside jokes about board members — but Lucy eventually steered the conversation where she wanted it.

"So," Lucy said casually, spearing a piece of grilled chicken with her fork, "what’s the deal with Rufus?"

Deza’s face darkened slightly, the easy humor draining away.

"Rufus Blake?" she said, voice dropping low.

Lucy nodded.

"I heard... stories."

Deza set down her drink.

"They’re not just stories," she said grimly. "He’s a snake. Always has been.

Good at covering it up though. Smart enough to survive by attaching himself to whoever’s in power."

Lucy listened intently.

“He acts like he owns the support staff," Deza continued.

"Abuses the ones he thinks are too scared to fight back. Pretty sure he’s got dirt on some of the board members too, which is why he’s still around."

Lucy’s fingers tightened around her fork.

"And Davina?"

Deza’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"She wasn’t the first. Won’t be the last if someone doesn’t stop him."

Lucy leaned back, processing what Deza had just told her.

Rage simmered quietly beneath her ribs, but she kept her face neutral.

"I’ll deal with it," she said simply.

Deza’s eyebrows were raised slightly.

"You sure you want to stir that pot?"

Lucy smiled. "I didn’t come back to inherit a mess," she said. "I came back to clean house."

Deza clinked her glass lightly against Lucy’s.

"In that case," she said with a grin, "welcome, boss."

The ladies finished lunch on a high. Deza leaned back in her chair, laughing at something Lucy had said, the ice well and truly broken between them now.

"We should definitely do this again," Deza said, raising her glass.

Lucy clinked her own lightly against it. "Absolutely. I’ll set something up soon. We've got a lot more to talk about."

They said their goodbyes outside the restaurant, splitting off into the busy foot traffic.

Lucy slid into the backseat of her car, sighing in contentment. The driver pulled off smoothly.

Finally, she thought. One normal afternoon.

But something felt... off.

Normally, the driver would have opened the car door for her, she only realized after she sat down that she had opened the door herself.

And the driver — who usually greeted her with a small nod or polite smile — had been completely silent.

No words.

Not even a glance.

Lucy frowned, shifting slightly in her seat “Shouldn't of drank all that wine” she giggled to herself.

The road ahead looked oddly empty too.

No familiar black SUVs tailing them.

No glint of tinted windows in the rearview mirror.

She grabbed her phone and dialed Corey.

He picked up almost instantly.

"Hey, where are Byron and Damian?" she asked drunkenly. "And the rest of you?"

Corey's voice was tight. "They got stuck behind the train tracks you just crossed. It was perfect timing— too perfect."

In the background, she heard Byron cursing loudly.

"Give me the phone!" Byron barked.

Corey must've handed it over because suddenly Byron's voice was in her ear, urgent and furious.

"Lucy. Listen to me. Fuck!" He swore again, rough and loud.

"That driver is NOT your driver."

Lucy giggled “I know durr, why do you think I called?”.

"Stay the fuck on the phone," Byron growled. "Do you hear me? Do NOT hang up."

Byron turned to Damian and Corey shouting “She’s fucking drunk”

Lucy clenched the phone tighter. “only a little” she smirked.

She glanced at the locked doors, the driver still completely silent up front.

"Guess I’m getting out before my stop," she muttered.

Without waiting another second, Lucy slammed her hand against the door handle, pushed hard, and rolled herself out onto the dirty side road.

Pain exploded through her body as she hit the gravel, tumbling hard.

"FUCK!" she screamed as her arm scraped painfully across the ground, skin tearing, blood blooming instantly, sobering her up!

She gasped, rolling onto her side.

The car screeched to a halt a few feet ahead.

The driver’s door opened.

A figure stepped out, tugging off a black driving cap.

It was a woman.

Blonde hair, twisted into a tight braid. A cruel smile played across her lips.

"Hello, Lucy," she said casually, tossing the cap aside.

Lucy staggered to her feet, wiping blood off her arm.

"Rebecca, I presume," she said grimly. Over the still-open phone line, Byron, Corey, and Damian could hear every word.

Lucy barely registered the muffled swearing exploding at the other end.

Rebecca walked toward her slowly, like a predator savoring the moment.

"You have something I need," Rebecca said smoothly. "Oh yeah?" Lucy snapped back, adrenaline firing through her veins. "And what’s that?"

"The box" Rebecca said, voice hardening.

She took another slow step forward.

"The reports, everything belongs to us, and we want it back."

Lucy clenched her fists.

Rebecca smirked.

"You’re coming with me. It can be easy."

Lucy tilted her head, watching the woman's every move.

The blood dripping down her arm didn’t faze her now.

Lucy licked her split lip, tasting copper and rage.

"Well," Lucy said, planting her feet firmly on the cracked floor "I never liked anything easy."

And then she moved.

Rebecca lunged first, pulling something shiny and sharp from her belt.

Lucy ducked instinctively, years of training kicking in, and swept her leg low, trying to trip Rebecca.

But Rebecca was fast — faster than Lucy expected — and twisted mid-air to avoid the hit.

They circled each other like wolves.

"You really think you can take me down?" Rebecca sneered.

Lucy smiled back — bloody and defiant.

"I know I can."

Through the open phone, Byron's growl echoed like a low storm.

"Hold on, Lucy. We’re coming. JUST HOLD ON."

She was on the move, dodging Rebecca’s strike, countering with a brutal palm to the chest that made the older woman stumble back.

Rebecca recovered fast.

"This can end easily," she said again.

Lucy shook her head.

"You really don’t get it," she said. "I’m not my parents. I’m not my Brothers. You don't scare me."

Rebecca’s face twisted in fury.

"Then DIE LIKE THEM!"

She said as she lunged forward.

Just as the blade slashed forward — a black SUV came roaring around the corner, tires screaming against the pavement.

Damian and Byron jumped out weapons drawn.

Rebecca faltered.

Lucy ducked again and twisted sharply, wrenching the knife from Rebecca's hand.

A hard punch to Rebecca’s jaw sent her sprawling.

Seconds later, Byron tackled her to the ground, pinning her like an animal.

Lucy stood over them, panting, blood dripping from her elbow.

Byron looked up at her.

"You, okay?" he asked, voice dark and hoarse.

Lucy met his eyes.

And smiled.

"Never better."

Damian took over from Byron without a word. It was almost like a silent handoff. Damian Grabbed Rebecca and placed her in a choke hold, “sleep now you little shit” Lucy giggled.

She stumbled backward, woozy, that not so sober feeling creeping back in.

Only then did she realize — in the heat of the fight, in the adrenaline haze, that she didn’t even notice the blade sink into her side.

Blood bloomed in a dark, sticky patch against her shirt. “Ahh, she said, so it’s not a small boo boo”

Byron swore under his breath.

Lucy blinked down at her side, almost confused.

"I’m fine," she muttered stubbornly.

In truth, she looked worse for wear. But most of the damage wasn’t from Rebecca’s knife it was from throwing herself out of a moving vehicle at high speed.

Cuts.

Scrapes.

A bruised, bloody mess.

Byron moved before she could protest. In one swift, furious motion, he swooped her into his arms, lifting her against his chest like she weighed nothing at all.

His body was trembling — with rage, fear and adrenaline.

Lucy caught a glimpse of Rebecca, slumped unconscious in the dirt.

"Put that bitch in the boot," she drunkenly snarled. Byron took in a deep breath as if to say he was not impressed with her attitude right now. He looked towards Damien and said "Let's get Lucy the fuck back to the mansion."

Damian jogged around to the back of the car and popped the trunk.

And that’s when they found him. The missing Driver

He was crumpled inside, unconscious but breathing. Relief was sharp and immediate — but questions slammed in harder.

How the hell had Rebecca replaced him so cleanly?

And why hadn’t they seen it?

Damian moved quickly, dragging the unconscious guard out and laying him carefully on the ground and then manhandled Rebecca into the trunk, securing her with zip ties and rope.

He slammed the boot closed with a grim satisfaction.

Then he hauled the driver — now dazed but alive — into the front passenger seat, cuffing him to the car frame.

"You even blink wrong, and I’ll rip your tongue out," Damian growled low at him.

The man slumped deeper into unconsciousness. After all, if Rebecca was willing to kill Lucy, why the hell was the driver alive, unrestrained.

Damian slid behind the wheel.

Byron cradled Lucy protectively in the backseat, keeping pressure on her wound.

Lucy was starting to fade a little, the adrenaline crash hitting her hard. Her head lolled against Byron’s chest, but she refused to black out, not yet.

They pulled into the mansion’s long driveway ten minutes later, where Corey stood waiting at the entrance, a medical kit in hand. Whilst Byron and Damian recovered Lucy, Corey had made his way back to the mansion to get prepared for when they had returned.

The second the car skidded to a stop, Corey was barking orders.

"Get her straight the fuck upstairs!" Corey snapped.

He pointed at Damien without even looking.

"Put that bitch in the basement and tie her up. You don't let her out of your sight, not for a second."

Damian yanked open the boot and slung Rebecca over his shoulder like a discarded rag doll.

“ The driver” Corey yelled towards the other doves. “Bring him down too”

Lucy blinked blearily as they rushed inside.

The world was spinning, tilting sideways.

The adrenaline was gone now, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and a roaring pain in her ribs.

Corey was shouting something about stitches. About needing to get her cleaned up.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed," she slurred as she looked in Coreys direction, implying that he was the one to do it.

Byron glared at Corey over her head.

"You stabbed her?" he snapped, voice low and lethal.

Corey, unimpressed, rolled his eyes as they reached the top of the stairs.

"During training," Corey muttered. "Get over it."

Byron clearly didn’t like that answer, but he said nothing.

He hovered as Corey laid Lucy down gently on her bed.

Corey’s fingers were already working fast, ripping open his med kit,

checking the wound, cursing under his breath.

“Good news, No major organs hit. No artery slashed. Bad news: It’s still going to hurt like a bitch.”

Lucy gave a faint thumbs-up.

"But I am going to have to stitch you up," Corey added. "And you’re going to take a nap while I do it. Doctor's orders."

Lucy groaned softly.

"You’re not a doctor dumbass" she mumbled.

"Close enough," Corey said cheerfully, pulling out a syringe.

She rolled her eyes, too tired to argue.

One more thing she needed to make crystal clear before she drifted off:

"Don’t… talk to her," Lucy muttered thickly,

"without me."

Corey squeezed her hand firmly. "Got it, kiddo."

Lucy let herself slide into sleep, Byron’s intense gaze the last thing she saw before the world turned black.