Watchdog sat at the heart of it, hunched over his station, fingers flying across the keyboard with practised ease. The glow of the monitors lit his face, sharpening the line of his jaw, casting shadows beneath his eyes.
He looked up briefly when they entered. For a fraction of a second, his gaze caught hers, and something flickered there. Then he gave a curt nod.
A flush crept up his throat, colouring his pale skin. He bent back over his work quickly, as though embarrassed to have been caught.
Clara’s chest tightened. The memory of his mouth against hers roared back, but instead of warmth, she felt the sting of rejection. He hadn’t sought her out this morning. He hadn’t said a word. She turned her head, pretending to study the drones lined neatly on the bench, willing herself not to care.
As they headed for the door, Duchess leaned close, her voice pitched for Clara’s ears alone. “Be patient. If any man on earth is worth it, it’s Jonas.”
Clara’s throat tightened. She didn’t answer but her heart betrayed her, fluttering in her chest like a caged bird.
The vehicle baywas colder than the corridors, the air smelling of oil, rubber, and stone. Engines rumbled, headlights slicing through the half-light. It was hard to believe all of this sat beneath the beauty of these Welsh Mountains.
The dogs, Monty and Scout, she’d heard her call them, padded at Valentina’s side, nails clicking on the concrete, their bodies taut with energy, alert and eager. One brushed against Clara’s leg, and she flinched before steadying, startled by the solid strength beneath that sleek coat. Even the dogs here carried an air of quiet power.
Two vans idled, their doors open. Bás climbed into one, Duchess sliding in beside him. Valentina followed with the dogs, murmuring commands that had them leaping up with practised ease.
Clara’s van was already waiting, Bishop at the wheel, Lotus climbing in after her.
“Sorry, I needed a wee. Damn kids ruin your bladder.”
Clara felt her eyebrows rise in surprise at the normal comment and almost smiled. Watchdog was already inside, buckled in, his presence filling the space even in silence.
She slid onto the seat opposite him, the vibration of the engine humming up through her boots, nerves rattling her stomach.
“Isn’t this…overkill?” she asked before she could stop herself, her voice half-nervous, half-hopeful. She gestured at the convoy, the drones, the sheer scale of it all. “Two vans, drones, all of you, just to meet my friend?”
Watchdog’s eyes lifted. For a heartbeat, she thought she caught the faintest trace of humour. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
“These men are evil personified,” he said quietly, the words flat with conviction. “I’m not taking a chance they’ll get to you. Not when I personally know what they’re capable of.”
The way he said it, low, steady, absolute, made her stomach clench.
It wasn’t a theory. It wasn’t second-hand. It was knowledge.
The truth hit her all at once, so sharp it stole her breath.
He had been hurt by these men.
Her eyes burned, her throat aching as she turned to the window, the landscape blurring as they sped past. She wanted to ask. She wanted to reach across and take his hand, to let him know she understood. But she couldn’t, not yet.
Instead, she sat in silence, the hum of the engine loud in her ears, the weight of what she now knew pressing into her chest until it hurt to breathe.
And still, beneath the fear, the longing remained.
Chapter 21
The van’sengine thrummed through the floor, steady as a heartbeat. He sat opposite Clara, the glow of the dashboard lights painting her face in soft amber. She kept her gaze mostly on the window, but every so often, he felt it slide back to him, light as a touch.
The memory of last night clawed at him still. Her mouth on his, the heat of her pressed against him, the sound she made when he pushed her to the door. It had lit him alive. And then the panic, sharp, cold, absolute, had snatched it away.
He’d left her standing there, lips swollen, confusion in her eyes, and hated himself for it.
Now she sat beside him, back straight, hands clasped tight in her lap. As if holding herself together.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But words were dangerous things, and his never came out right when it mattered.
Bishop cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. “We’re making good time. Should hit London before traffic clogs us.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Assuming Lotus doesn’t get us pulled over again,” Bishop added dryly.
