Page 25 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

SLOANE

T he air was thick with heat and secrets.

I stayed under the willow, the leaves swaying above me, trying to steady the pulse that had no intention of calming down. My phone remained stubbornly silent, and I hated how many times I’d checked it. Nine missed calls to Charlie. And still, nothing back.

Until headlights broke through the trees.

I froze, breath hitching. A truck. Not a town car. Not a delivery van. Not Marshall Preston’s sleek sedan.

Charlie.

I didn’t need to see the license plate to know it was him. The rumble of the engine, the confident way it took the bend in the driveway, like it belonged here—even though he didn’t. Not really.

The truck slowed near the house, parking just shy of the front steps. My bare feet moved before my mind caught up. I stepped out from the shadows and onto the lawn, breath tangled somewhere between relief and terror.

He climbed out slowly, eyes finding me in the dark like a heat-seeking missile. His jaw was tight, his posture tenser, but his gaze landed on me like a lifeline. Like I was the thing keeping him tethered.

“You came,” I said, voice quieter than I intended.

His reply was just as low. “I had to.”

I took a step toward him, then another, until we were standing in the middle of the lawn, the porch light throwing long shadows behind us. He was close enough now that I could see the redness in his eyes, the flush high on his cheeks. He smelled like whiskey and salt air. Trouble and home.

“I thought you were done with me,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Never.”

My breath hitched again, sharper this time.

He took a step closer. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. The space between us crackled, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. His gaze dipped to my mouth, lingered. My whole body tightened in response.

“You miss me?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Not even a little,” I lied, pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.

“Liar,” he said, fingers brushing mine. Just a graze, but it lit me up from the inside out.

I tilted my head. “You think I’m that easy to read?”

He leaned in slightly, lips a breath from my ear. “I think you’re not nearly as composed as you want to be.”

I exhaled shakily, every nerve ending on alert. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you composed?”

His eyes met mine again, molten. “Not even close.”

From the corner of my vision, movement—Quentin, stepping silently out of the shadows beneath the portico, arms folded, watchful but not intervening.

Charlie clocked him with a single glance and nodded once, acknowledging the silent sentinel before turning fully back to me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You didn’t just leave,” I said. “You vanished.”

“I needed time to think,” he said. “To keep from doing something reckless.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing my arm, then sliding down to take my hand. The contact was electricity. It melted every defense I’d rebuilt in his absence.

“I saw Marshall tonight,” he said quietly.

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“He followed me,” he said. “To a bar on Shem Creek. Walked in like he owned the place.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted me to back off. Said you were his. Said some dangerous people have a special interest in your mother.”

The blood drained from my face. “He threatened you?”

Charlie’s mouth twitched. “He threatened everyone. You. Me. Your whole goddamn family. All while acting like he was too good for the place.”

I swayed slightly. He caught me.

“He said something about a marriage of convenience. You and him. Like you’re part of some deal.”

I stiffened, bile rising. “That’s insane.”

“He spelled your name out, Sloane,” Charlie said, jaw tight. “Like he was branding it. Like it already belonged to him. It doesn’t.”

I pulled back slightly, heat rising in my chest. “I don’t even live in Charleston.

I have my own life. My own business. My own place in Palm Beach with a view of the damn ocean and a staff I hired myself.

I didn’t claw my way out of this city just to be pulled back in like some pawn in a deal I never agreed to. ”

Charlie’s eyes didn’t waver. “I know. That’s why this pisses me off so much.”

“Look,” I said, shaking my head. “My parents wouldn’t?—”

Charlie pulled me in then, arms firm around my waist, grounding me against his chest. “Something’s not right here. Something big. I think it goes way beyond what your mother told you.”

I buried my face in his shirt, his heartbeat thundering against my cheek.

“I believe you,” I said. “I do. But if what you’re saying is true—then my whole life, my family—it’s not what I thought.”

Charlie leaned back just enough to look me in the eyes. “That’s why I need to talk to her. Your mother.”

I tensed. “Charlie?—”

“I need to know the truth,” he said, voice steel. “About her and my father. About why they think they can trade you like property.”

I nodded slowly, heart pounding. “She’s in the solarium. Drinking gin like it’s 1952.”

His lips curved, barely. “Of course, she is.”

We stood there a beat longer. His hand came up, fingers threading into my hair, eyes burning into mine.

“I meant what I said, Sloane. I’m not walking away.”

My lips parted, the ache in my chest almost unbearable. “Then go get the truth.”

I hesitated, fingers curling against his chest. “Just—go easy on them, okay? I know they’re hiding something.

I know it’s bad. But they’re still my parents.

I love them. And I really do believe they love me.

If they’re tangled up in something … maybe they didn’t have a choice.

Maybe they’ve been trying to protect me in the only way they knew how. ”

Charlie studied me for a long beat, something soft flickering behind the heat in his eyes.

His mouth brushed mine—not a kiss, not yet. Just a promise.

Then he turned and walked toward the house, Quentin stepping aside to let him pass, silent as stone.

I stood frozen in the moonlight, heart in my throat, the weight of everything pressing down. I didn’t know what Charlie was about to find. But I knew one thing for sure. Whatever came next, nothing would ever be the same.

Charlie disappeared into the house like a man marching into a battlefield, and for a long moment, I didn’t move.

The air was too heavy, too still—like the night was holding its breath.

I stood rooted beneath the willow, watching as the front door shut behind him.

Watching as Quentin melted into the shadows again, ever the watchman.

I should’ve followed. Should’ve barged in, demanded answers of my own.

But something told me this wasn’t my battle—not yet. Not until Charlie unearthed whatever had been buried for decades. Whatever had made my mother’s face go so pale when she said I should have .

The minutes dragged.

I stared up at the stars until my neck ached, trying to anchor myself in something ancient and unmoving. But even the sky felt different. Tilted. Compromised.

Then the door opened again.

Charlie stepped back outside, the screen door snapping shut behind him. His face was shadowed, unreadable. He didn’t speak right away—just looked at me like he wasn’t sure I could handle what he was about to say.

“She knew I was coming,” he said finally.

I blinked. “What?”

“She was ready for me. Almost like she’d rehearsed it. And she said something ...”

I took a cautious step forward. “What did she say?”

“That if I want answers, I should start with Department 77.”

I stilled. “What is that?”

Charlie gave a bitter laugh. “I asked her what it meant. She said it’s not my business. That it never was. That my father made sure of that.”

“Charlie—”

“Then she told me if I want to stay alive, I should leave the past where it belongs.”

A chill sliced down my spine. “Did she threaten you?”

“No,” he said. “She begged me.”

Something in my chest cracked. My mother didn’t beg. Not for anything. Not ever.

“What is Department 77?” I asked again, louder this time. “Is it military? Government?”

Charlie didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed as he stared out into the dark.

“It’s real,” he said finally. “They’re bad people. Technically U.S. intelligence, but so far off the books most people in D.C. don’t even know it exists.”

I stared at him. “And you do?”

“I’ve heard things,” he said. “They’ve been after my brothers and me. Something connected to our dad. We’re not clear on the specifics.”

My stomach twisted. “So why did my mother bring them up?”

“Because she knows exactly what they’re capable of,” Charlie said, voice low. “And because she knows I rattled something. She told me we’re on their radar now. That what I’ve stirred up won’t go unnoticed.”

I swallowed, throat dry. “How do they watch?”

His gaze flicked to me. “However they want.”

I stared at him. “Then we need to leave.”

His brow lifted slightly. “You sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to spend another minute under this roof if someone thinks I belong to them.” My voice was shaking now, but I didn’t care. “I’ll pack a bag.”

Charlie looked relieved and devastated all at once. “There’s no time.”

I blinked. “What?”

“We need to go. Now. Before anyone changes their mind about letting you walk out.”

My stomach flipped. “Charlie?—”

“I’ll buy you whatever you need,” he said softly, then took my hand. “Come with me. Please.”

I did. Without another word. Without another glance over my shoulder. I followed him across the lawn, past Quentin’s solemn gaze, and climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. My pulse was a drumline in my ears. I didn’t know what I was walking toward, only what I was walking away from.

We didn’t speak as the truck rumbled back down the driveway. The shadows of moss-draped oaks stretched across the road like ghostly fingers, and I kept my hand curled tight in my lap, trying not to think about what I was leaving behind.

About halfway down the drive, Charlie finally broke the silence. “I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

I looked at him, voice barely audible. “Where?”

His jaw clenched. “Dominion Hall.”

The name echoed in my chest like a warning bell.

I’d heard of it in hushed whispers—some kind of private estate, part fortress, part legend, perched along the Charleston harbor.

No photos. No address. Just rumors. Some said it was owned by ex-military billionaires who operated outside the law. I thought maybe it was a myth.

“It’s real?” I asked.

His eyes didn’t leave the road. “Very.”

“Who else is there?”

He glanced at me then, something unreadable in his expression. “My brothers. The men I grew up with. Served with. Bled with. We built that place together.”

“You live there?”

“I own it,” he said, voice like steel. “We all do. It’s not just a house—it’s our fortress. A safe zone. Dominion Hall was designed to keep things out.”

I nodded, even as a chill settled deep in my bones. I didn’t know what Dominion Hall really was. I didn’t know who or what Department 77 was. But I knew I trusted the man driving this truck more than I trusted anyone else. For now, that would have to be enough.