He's right.I hate it but he's right.
I head back inside the house, eyes still on every window, every sliver of night that could hide a camera lens.The yard’s dark again, motion lights cooled and useless now, and the air has that tight, electric feeling—like something's still watching.My boots barely make a sound over the hardwood as I pass through the living room and down the hallway.
Evangeline is still in our bedroom, dressed now in leggings and an old sweatshirt, her bare feet silent against the floor as she paces in tight, anxious lines.Her face is pale, and when she sees me, her eyes go to the door behind me like she's expecting someone to follow me in.
"Did you find them?"
"No."I shake my head, jaw tight."Whoever it was, they’re gone."
"Are you sure someone was there?Maybe it was just?—"
"I saw the flash, Angel.Someone was out there with a camera."
She wraps her arms around herself and her shoulders start to tremble, the adrenaline beginning to crash."He knows we're together.He knows we're here.There’s nowhere safe anymore."
"This clubhouse is secure," I tell her, even if I don’t quite believe it in this moment."We’ve got alarms on every window, and double locks.Reinforced doors.I’ve got cameras."
"Then how did someone get close enough to take pictures?"
That’s the part that keeps hammering in my skull.Someone had to breach the system—quietly.They slipped through without tripping a single alert, which means either they were damn good, or someone fed them the codes.
The thought makes my stomach twist.It’s too close.Too personal.And too easy for someone on the inside.
But I shove that theory back down for now, because the priority is clear.
“We’re moving you and the kids upstairs,” I say, voice low but firm.“Tonight.Someone got close enough to take a picture through the window.I’m not waiting around to see what happens next.”
Evangeline’s jaw tightens.Her eyes flick toward the front of the clubhouse like she can still feel the camera lens on her skin.“The kids are going to freak out.”
“They already are,” I say.“At least up there, they’ll be scared behind a locked door instead of a glass wall.”
She doesn’t argue.Just nods once and turns toward the hallway.“I’ll wake them.”
“Angel.”My voice stops her.She pauses, one hand braced on the doorframe.
She looks back.I meet her eyes.“I’m sorry.For all of this.For putting you in this spot.”
“Don’t,” she says sharply.“You didn’t put me here.Ethan did.And we’re going to end it.”
No more talk.Just movement.
Ten minutes later, the kids are gathered in the living room, half-awake and shivering in their pajamas.Blankets hang off their shoulders.Stuffed animals held in white-knuckled grips.They cluster around Evangeline, eyes wide and jittery, flinching at every creak.
Jake tugs on my sleeve.“Why do we have to move again?”
“Just being careful,” I say, crouching down.“Upstairs is safer.Better doors, fewer windows.”
He looks down at his feet.“Are the bad men coming back?”
The question hits like a punch to the chest.I force a steady breath.
“Not while I’m here,” I say.“I won’t let that happen.”
He nods and slides his hand into mine.I hold it tightly and lead the way.
We take the back stairwell, silent but steady.The upper guest wing was built for protection.One hallway, single entry, heavy doors, reinforced locks.It’s always been plan B.
A couple of the brothers meet us near the landing.No words.Just sharp nods.They melt into the shadows as we pass.
