Page 30 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

CHARLIE

This was the lull before the fight, the quiet before the next punch, and I knew it was coming soon, a gut feeling honed by years of battles.

The meetup seemed to drag, Sloane’s posture tense but composed as she faced Sylvia and Thatcher, their conversation hidden by distance but heavy with the weight of secrets.

My comm crackled, Hal’s voice low. “She’s wrapping up. No threats spotted.”

I nodded to myself, my pulse steady but tight, knowing the real danger was waiting for us at the meeting with Marshall.

Sloane’s phone pinged mine—and when it did, the screen lit up with *Done. Ready.*,

I shifted the Bentley into drive. I wasn’t taking chances anymore, not with her, not with the woman who’d burned herself into my soul. The Bentley roared through the streets, closing the distance to Juneberry in seconds, my focus razor-sharp as I pulled up to the curb.

Sloane stepped out from the cafe’s gate, her blonde hair catching the morning sun, her eyes finding mine with a mix of relief and determination. She climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up, her presence filling the car with a warmth that eased the knot in my chest.

I was about to speak when my phone dinged again, the sound sharp in the quiet. I glanced at the screen—Marshall: *Meeting set. Now. Isle of Palms. Here’s the location.* The pinned location came next.

My jaw clenched, the timing too perfect, too calculated, like he knew exactly when Sloane got in the car.

I cast a glance at Sloane, who was looking out the window at her parents climbing into Quentin’s car, their faces unreadable.

A surge of possessiveness roared through me, primal and fierce, and I gripped the wheel, my voice low. “Maybe you shouldn’t come to this, Sloane. I can handle Marshall alone.”

Her head snapped to me, eyes flashing, and I knew I’d stepped into a fight.

“Are you serious?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You think I’m sitting this out after everything?”

I saw the martyr look in her eyes, like she was ready to throw herself on a grenade, and it set my teeth on edge.

“What do you think’s gonna happen?” I asked, keeping my tone even despite the heat rising in me. “You planning to die for this?”

She didn’t flinch, her gaze fierce. “I’ll do anything to keep my family safe.”

I laughed, a short, harsh sound, shaking my head at her naivety.

“The whole point of a battle is to come out alive, not to plan your funeral. This isn’t one of ‘those’ meetings, understood?

” She held my stare, her jaw tight, but finally nodded, relenting, and I pressed on, softening my voice.

“You’re playing a part, Sloane—tell Marshall you’ll marry him, whatever it takes to buy time.

Elias is close to finding where Department 77’s hiding.

Time’s what we need. Then we can bag up Marshall and the rest of them. ”

She exhaled, her shoulders easing, and I revved the Bentley, the engine purring as we headed toward Isle of Palms, the public park across from the beach our destination.

The drive was quiet, the city giving way to marsh and ocean, but the tension between us simmered, Sloane’s resolve a mirror to my own.

I stole a glance at her, her profile sharp against the window, and felt a surge of pride—she’d changed, her confidence a weapon, and I trusted her to play her role, even if my every instinct screamed to keep her far from Marshall.

The park came into view, its green expanse dotted with picnic tables, the Atlantic glittering beyond, and I spotted him—Marshall, sitting under an umbrella at a table, still dressed like a country club prick, his khakis and blazer a mockery of the danger he posed.

I parked, turning to Sloane, my voice steady. “Ready?” She nodded, her eyes fierce. “Let’s put on an Oscar-worthy show,” I said, and we stepped out, her face already shifting, tears rimming her eyes, her shoulders drooping like a woman defeated.

We walked across the grass, the ocean’s roar a low hum, my boots sinking into the soft earth as I scanned the park for threats—Department 77’s operatives, Marshall’s backup, anything.

Sloane stayed close, her performance flawless, her steps hesitant, her breath hitching just enough to sell the act.

I played my part, my face a mask of fury, the pissed-off lover who didn’t want to lose her, my hand twitching like I might deck Marshall at any moment.

He looked up as we approached, his grin all teeth, like a shark smelling blood, and I wanted nothing more than to beat that smug look off his face. He extended a hand, his voice dripping with false charm.

“Charlie, Sloane, pleasure to see you both.”

Sloane’s voice trembled, perfectly pitched. “Let’s just get this over with. I want my family safe.”

Marshall’s eyes gleamed, and he rubbed his hands together, leaning forward. “Very well. Let’s make a deal.”

I sat rigid, my fists clenched, every muscle coiled as I fought the urge to lunge across the table, to end him right there.

Marshall’s grin widened, like he knew he was pushing my buttons, and I forced myself to stay in character, my voice a growl. “You think you can just take her? You and your Department 77 buddies?”

He chuckled, unfazed, his eyes flicking to Sloane, who kept her gaze down, tears tracking down her cheeks, her performance so convincing it twisted my gut.

“It’s not about taking, Dane,” he said, his tone mockingly reasonable. “It’s about what’s best for everyone—Sloane’s family, your family, the balance of things.”

I leaned in, my voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for her.”

Sloane’s hand brushed mine under the table, a silent signal to keep the act going, and I felt her strength, her fire, grounding me even as I played the role of the desperate lover.

Marshall leaned back, his hands spread like a salesman closing a deal.

“Sloane’s made her choice, haven’t you, darling?”

Sloane’s voice cracked, her words barely audible. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you. Just leave my parents alone.”

The words hit me like a punch, even though I knew they were part of the plan, and I slammed my fist on the table, the wood creaking under the force.

“This is bullshit, Marshall!” I roared, my anger real, fueled by the thought of him anywhere near her.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin never faltering. “Easy, Dane. She’s doing the right thing—saving her family, saving you from a fight you can’t win.”

I glared at him, my chest heaving, and Sloane’s fingers tightened on mine, her touch a reminder to stick to the script, to buy the time Elias needed to track Department 77.

The park was still quiet, no signs of Marshall’s backup, but I didn’t trust the calm, my eyes scanning the trees, the beach across the street, every shadow a potential threat.

Sloane’s performance was flawless, her tears glinting in the sunlight, her voice trembling as she spoke. “What do you want from me, Marshall? Just tell me.”

He leaned forward, his voice smooth as oil. “Your hand, your name, your loyalty. In return, Department 77 leaves your family untouched, and the Carrington fortune stays intact.”

I snorted, unable to hold back. “You think you can buy her like that? You’re pathetic.”

Marshall’s eyes flicked to me, cold and calculating. “I’m practical, Dane. Something you’d do well to learn.”

Sloane’s breath hitched, her hand shaking in mine, and I knew she was pushing herself to the limit, playing the part of the broken woman while her fire burned beneath.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” she asked, her voice small but steady.

Marshall’s grin returned, predatory. “You don’t. But you know what happens if you don’t agree—your parents, your legacy, gone.”

I wanted to rip his throat out, to end this now, but Sloane’s plan was working, Marshall’s arrogance blinding him to the trap we were setting. I leaned back, forcing a bitter laugh. “You’re a real piece of work, Preston.”

He shrugged, his eyes on Sloane. “I think I’ve got what I came for.”

The meeting stretched on, Marshall laying out terms—dates, contracts, a public engagement to seal the deal—each word a nail in my patience, but Sloane played along, her tears drying, her voice gaining strength as she nodded, agreeing to his demands.

I kept up the act, my anger simmering, my hand on her back a silent promise that this was temporary, that we’d burn him down. The park remained calm, the beachgoers across the street oblivious, but I felt the weight of eyes—Department 77, maybe, or Marshall’s own men, watching from a distance.

Sloane’s performance was a masterclass, her every word and gesture drawing Marshall in, his confidence growing with each concession. I hated every second, hated seeing her play this role, but I trusted her, trusted the plan, trusted that my brothers were closing in on Department 77’s men.

The meeting was a stall, a game to buy time, and we were winning, even if it felt like losing.

Marshall stood, brushing off his khakis, his grin triumphant. “We’ll be in touch, Sloane. Welcome to the family.”

I stayed seated, my arm around Sloane, my glare boring into him as he walked away, his steps light, like he’d already claimed her. Sloane’s hand tightened on mine, her breath shaky but controlled, and I leaned close, my voice a whisper. “I love you.”

She nodded, her eyes meeting mine, fierce and resolute, the martyr look gone, replaced by the fire I loved. I stood, pulling her to her feet, and we walked back to the Bentley, my team’s comms silent, confirming no immediate threats.

The engine roared to life, and I drove away from the park, Sloane’s hand on my thigh, her presence a lifeline in the storm.

Marshall thought he’d won, but he’d just stepped into our trap, and I’d be damned if I let him touch her.

The fight was coming, and we’d be ready—together, with my brothers, with Sloane’s fire, we’d end this, no matter what it took.

But reality loves to take well-laid plans and shit all over them.

I’d just taken a right hand turn to go across the bridge back to the mainland, when my phone ran shrilly. Elias. I pressed to answer and Ryker’s voice filled the car, “Charlie, it's a trap. Get the hell out?—”

I didn’t hear the rest of the words, because a semi-truck coming from the opposite direction veered suddenly, and before I could do anything, it smashed into us, pushing us, and I knew as time slowed, what was happening.

When the Bentley’s nose tipped over the edge of the bridge, all I saw was the look of horror in Sloane’s eyes.

I reached for her as we went weightless, gravity taking us in freefall.

I don’t remember the car hitting the water.

But I do remember the darkness. So much darkness.