Page 14 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

CHARLIE

T he kitchen at Dominion Hall smelled like seared meat and rosemary, a rare kind of comfort that could almost make me forget the chaos I’d been wading through.

I leaned against the counter, watching Chef Paul work his magic, the sizzle of a twelve-ounce filet hitting the cast-iron pan like a song I didn’t know I needed.

He’d already promised me potatoes—crispy, golden, with just enough garlic to make you forgive the world—and I was half a second from drooling when Elias strolled in, his presence like a cloud over my sunny afternoon.

My brother had a way of doing that, slipping into a room like he owned every byte of data in it, his sharp eyes scanning for secrets.

I knew that look too well, the one that said he’d been digging, and I braced myself for whatever he was about to unload. Being the youngest Dane meant I was used to these ambushes, but that didn’t mean I liked them.

I straightened, wiping my hands on my jeans, and shot him a grin that was more challenge than welcome.

“Smells like a steakhouse in here,” Elias said, leaning against the counter opposite me, his arms crossed, casual but calculated. “What’s got you in such a good mood, Charlie? Been out saving the world again?”

His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, a hook waiting to catch me. I knew better than to bite, but Elias was the computer brain of our operation, the one who could track a ghost through a snowstorm, and if he was asking questions, it meant he’d already found answers.

I flipped him off, keeping my grin in place, and turned to Paul, who was flipping the filet with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“Make it quick, Paul. I’m starving, and Elias is about to ruin my appetite.”

Elias chuckled, but his eyes didn’t leave me, those damn hazel lasers picking me apart.

“Come on, little brother. Humor me. You’ve been out there playing hero, haven’t you? Running around Charleston like some masked avenger.” He paused, tilting his head, and I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. “Or maybe you’re just stirring up trouble. Like, say, at the Langford ball?”

There it was—the real reason he was here. I knew he’d been tracking me, probably had my phone pinging off every tower in the city, and I wasn’t in the mood for his big-brother bullshit.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the counter, and met his gaze head-on.

“You been sniffing my digital trail again, Elias?” I said, my voice low, half-joking but with enough steel to let him know I wasn’t playing. “What’s it this time? Got a satellite trained on my truck? Or are you just hacking traffic cams for fun?”

Paul snorted from the stove, but Elias didn’t flinch, his smirk widening like he’d been waiting for me to call him out.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and swiped to a grainy photo—a masked guy in a tux climbing into a helicopter, the Langford estate’s lawn glowing under floodlights.

My gut twisted, but I kept my face blank, even as I recognized the olive drab green mask and the chopper’s sleek lines.

“Don’t play dumb,” Elias said, holding up the phone. “If I’m reading tail numbers right—and you know I am—that’s one of ours. Mysterious guy in a mask, making a grand exit after crashing Lydia Langford’s ball? Ring any bells?”

His voice was all mock innocence, but I could hear the lecture coming, the one about family security and keeping a low profile.

I shrugged, grabbing a glass of water from the counter and taking a slow sip, letting him stew. “Not a problem,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Just a night out. You know how it is—rich folks, bad champagne, a little fun in the sheets. Nothing to get your panties in a twist over.”

Elias laughed, but it wasn’t friendly—it was the kind of laugh that said he’d already outmaneuvered me.

“Oh, I know it’s not a problem,” he said, pocketing his phone.

“Because I spent half the night scrubbing every speck of ID from that image. Social media, cloud drives, even some dipshit’s blog about Charleston’s elite.

You’re welcome.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping.

“But you’re making my job harder than it needs to be, Charlie.

It’s my ass if one of these stunts blows back on the family. ”

I bristled, the water glass cold in my hand, and set it down harder than I meant to. I hated this—Elias acting like I was some reckless kid who needed babysitting, like my every move was a liability.

“Sounds like a scolding,” I said, my grin gone, my voice flat. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. I don’t need you wiping my ass every time I step out the door.”

Deep down, I was sick of being the youngest, always under the microscope, always the one who had to prove he wasn’t fucking up the Dane legacy.

Ryker got to be the leader, Marcus the charmer, Elias the genius, but me? I was the loose cannon, the one they watched like I might burn the house down. Even though I’d burned in battle like the rest of them, saved more lives than I could count.

Elias raised an eyebrow, unfazed, and I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, brother or not.

He held up his hands, mock surrender, but his eyes were still sharp.

“Easy, tiger. I haven’t even gotten to the punchline.” He paused, letting the moment stretch, and I knew whatever was coming was gonna piss me off more than the photo. “You need to meet with the family attorney tomorrow. At the club, one o’clock. Time to set up your trust.”

My stomach dropped, but I kept my face stone-cold, even as the words hit like a sucker punch.

I was the only brother who’d put this off, dragging my feet for years, and I knew why, even if I didn’t say it out loud.

Setting up the trust meant signing papers that tied me to the Dane fortune, to the empire Dad had built, and that felt like burying his memory for good.

I wasn’t ready to let him go, not like that.

“Fuck the trust,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant, the edge blunted by something heavier. “I don’t need a lawyer to tell me how to handle my money.”

Elias didn’t blink, just leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed again, like he’d expected this.

“Billions just sitting out there makes the paper pushers nervous,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “More than that, it’s a weakness for the family. Loose ends, Charlie. You know how this works.”

He was right, and I hated it. The Danes were a fortress, but every unclosed gap was a crack an enemy like Department 77 could exploit. I’d seen what happened when we weren’t airtight—blood, betrayal, and graves nobody visited.

I ran a hand through my hair, my jaw tight, and glanced at Paul, who was plating my steak like he hadn’t heard a word.

“Fine,” I muttered, the word tasting like ash. “I’ll meet the damn lawyer. But you know I hate the club, hate lawyers, and fucking detest talking about money.”

Elias grinned, the bastard, like he’d won a round I didn’t know we were fighting.

“Noted,” he said, pushing off the counter. “Just don’t punch the guy, all right? He’s old, and we need him.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, a brotherly gesture that felt more like a leash, and strolled out, leaving me with the smell of steak and a knot in my chest.

I sat at the kitchen island, the filet and potatoes steaming in front of me, but my appetite was gone. Paul slid a beer my way, unasked, and I nodded my thanks, cracking it open and taking a long pull.

The trust thing wasn’t just paperwork—it was a door I’d been keeping closed, a way to hold onto Dad’s ghost a little longer.

He’d been the one who taught me to fight, to fix people, to never let the world tell you who you are.

Losing him had gutted me, and every step toward claiming the fortune he’d left felt like letting him slip further away.

I cut into the steak, the knife gliding through like butter, but my mind was elsewhere—on the woman in red, her fire, her moans, the way she’d made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t since those days on Sullivan’s Island, running wild with Marcus and Dad’s laughter in the background.

I took a bite, the meat rich and perfect, but it didn’t fill the hollow.

Elias’s words kept circling—weakness, loose ends, the family.

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easier.

I’d go to the club, sit through the lawyer’s spiel, sign whatever needed signing, but it wouldn’t be for me. It’d be for the Danes, for the brothers who’d bleed for me and I’d bleed for in return. That’s what family meant, even if it came with lectures and trust funds I didn’t want.

I washed down the steak with another gulp of beer, my eyes drifting to the window, where Charleston’s skyline glittered in the distance.

Somewhere out there was the woman in red, and for a second, I let myself imagine finding her again, losing myself in her heat, forgetting the weight of trusts and legacies.

But that was a fantasy, and I was a Dane.

Fantasies were for suckers, and I had work to do.