"Your turn," Connor insisted, moving behind my wheelchair and propelling me toward the stool where Dr. Teller waited. His fingers brushed against my shoulder—a casual touch that somehow carried the weight of shared experience, of mutual protection.
I allowed him to guide me, finding myself oddly moved by this role reversal. For days, I had been the protector, theshield between Connor and a world that wanted to use him. Now he stood beside me, determined to ensure I had the same safeguards he did.
"Mr. Montgomery is quite right," Dr. Teller observed as he prepared a fresh set of instruments. "If Harris is targeting Connor, you're at risk as well. These people rarely limit themselves to a single approach."
I nodded, already having reached the same conclusion. Harris wouldn't hesitate to use me as leverage if he couldn't get to Connor directly. The man collected people like others collected art—prized possessions to be acquired, displayed, and eventually discarded. The thought of Connor in his hands made something cold and dangerous unfurl inside me.
I removed my jacket and rolled up my sleeve, presenting my arm to Teller with practiced efficiency. This wasn't my first medical procedure, after all. The months after my accident had been an endless parade of needles, scalpels, and clinical hands probing at my broken body.
Connor moved to stand beside me, our eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding. There was vulnerability in his gaze, but also determination—the same steel core I'd glimpsed when he'd faced down his family, when he'd chosen to trust me despite having every reason not to trust anyone.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, echoing the question he'd posed earlier, but this time with gentle teasing.
I offered him a small smile. "I've had worse."
The antiseptic swab was cold against my skin, the familiar medicinal smell transporting me momentarily back to the hospital—to the moment I'd been told I would never walk again.
I'd faced that news alone, my hospital room empty of visitors except for Jake and my other frat brother, and the occasional business associate who'd come more out of obligation than concern.
This time was different. Connor's fingers found mine as Teller administered the local anesthetic, his grip warm and reassuring. The role reversal was so complete it was almost amusing—the younger man comforting me, offering strength I hadn't realized I needed.
"You're next on Harris's list too, aren't you?" Connor asked quietly as Teller made the small incision. His eyes, fixed on my face rather than the procedure, held a dawning realization. "If he can't have me, he'll try to hurt you."
The question cut through my careful defenses, laying bare the truth I'd been trying to shield him from. I'd been so focused on protecting Connor that I hadn't fully considered how he might feel about the danger to me.
"Possibly," I admitted, seeing no point in lying. "Harris isn't used to losing. Men like him take it personally when something they want is denied them."
Connor's grip on my hand tightened. "This is my fault."
"No." My response was immediate and firm, despite the strange sensation of Teller inserting the tracker beneath my skin. "Harris's obsession is his own issue, not yours."
Connor didn't look convinced, but before he could argue further, Teller announced, "All done," and applied the butterfly bandage to my arm. The procedure had been as quick and painless as promised, yet it felt far more significant than its clinical nature suggested.
Jake approached from the computer terminal, nodding in satisfaction. "Both trackers are online and functioning perfectly. The encryption is military-grade—no one's hacking this system." He looked between us, his business demeanor softening slightly. "You're as protected as technology can make you."
I rolled my sleeve down, covering the small bandage that now matched Connor's. There was something strangely intimate about it—knowing we carried identical technology beneath ourskin, that our locations and vital signs were now linked in Jake's secure system.
Another bond connecting us beyond the hasty marriage certificate and the unexpected chemistry that had brought us together.
"Thank you, Jake," I said, meaning it despite my lingering uneasiness about the whole situation. "And you, Norris. I appreciate the discretion."
Teller nodded, already cleaning his instruments. "Always happy to help an old friend, Julian. Though I admit, this isn't what I expected when Jake said you needed urgent medical assistance."
Connor helped me back into my jacket, his movements gentle despite the efficiency. I noticed how he kept his bandaged arm slightly away from the fabric, the only indication that the procedure had affected him at all.
"Let's go home," I suggested, suddenly wanting nothing more than the privacy of the penthouse, away from clinical lights and watchful eyes.
Connor nodded, and the relief in his expression told me he felt the same. As we followed Jake out of the lab and back toward the elevator, I found myself watching Connor's profile, struck again by how quickly this stranger had become someone I was willing to risk everything to protect.
The elevator ride down was quieter than our ascent had been, both of us processing what had just happened. Connor stood close to my wheelchair, our bandaged arms occasionally brushing against each other—a silent reminder of the lengths we were now willing to go for each other's safety.
The lobby of D'Amato Technologies was bright with afternoon sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, a stark contrast to the artificially lit lab we'd just left.
Connor squinted slightly as we emerged from the elevator, his hand resting lightly on the back of my wheelchair.
"Should we call for a car?" he asked, scanning the lobby with the newly developed wariness that came from knowing he was being hunted.
Before I could answer, I spotted Michael striding across the marble floor toward us, his expression even more grim than usual. His eyes flicked briefly to the bandage just visible at my wrist, but he asked no questions—one of the many reasons I valued him.
