When he speaks, his voice is rough with something I can't name.
"I don't know. This—you—it’s not supposed to happen. I am supposed to protect you, keep you safe, stay professional. Instead..." He exhales. "Instead, I'm lying in your bed, counting the seconds between your breaths, wondering if I'll ever be able to walk away from you."
"Maybe you don't have to walk away."
"Maybe." He turns his head, and even in the darkness, I can feel the weight of his gaze. "Or maybe I'm just delaying the inevitable. The Krajncs are still out there. There's something else going on too—something I haven't figured out yet. This isn't over, Dalla. And when it is... I'll have to go back to Dublin. Back to the Brotherhood."
The words land like stones in my chest.
I knew this.
Of course I knew this.
He's not from here.
He's not staying.
He's a soldier on assignment, and when the assignment ends, he'll leave.
But knowing it andfeelingit are two different things.
I reach out and find his hand in the darkness. His fingers intertwine with mine immediately, like they were waiting.
Like they were made to hold mine.
"Then we deal with that when it comes," I say. "For now, you're here. I'm here. And I'm not wasting whatever time we have worrying about tomorrow."
He squeezes my hand. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't have to.
"Goodnight, RJ."
"Goodnight, Dalla."
We lie there in silence, hands linked, breathing in sync.
And for the first time since Dublin, I feel something I'd almost forgotten existed.
Safety.
Not because of his protection or his skills or the gun I know is on the nightstand beside him.
Because ofhim. Just him.
I fall asleep with his hand in mine and his heartbeat steady in the darkness.
And somewhere, beyond the walls of the clubhouse, a dark sedan sits on a side road, engine idling, waiting for morning.
Watching.
Always watching.
CHAPTER FIVE
RJ
I wake up hard.
Not unusual—I'm a man in my twenties with a functioning body and a head full of dirty thoughts.
