Wraith goes silent, breathing hard through his nose.
“And,” I say evenly, like we’re talking about weather, “if that happens before you can react? Because Damien is a snake, not a blunt instrument. He won’t lunge. He’ll smile. He’ll lean in. He’ll press a gun to my ribcage and keep talking in full sentences.”
The silence that follows that is heavy. Saint is no longer lounging. Ash’s hands are white-knuckled on his glass. Vale’s grin is gone. Rook watches me, ever exasperating and unreadable.
There. Good. We’re past posturing now.
I lift my chin. “Then I’ll need to be armed to the teeth.”
Ash makes a sound like he’s about to choke. “Absolutely—”
“Done,” Rook says at the same time.
My brows lift.
Rook doesn’t even look at Wraith. “Ronan fitted her last night, in case you forgot Ash.”
Wraith exhales, slow. I feel the heat of him beside me, almost smug. “Correct.”
That pulls Saint’s mouth into something like a smirk. “Then, it’s decided.”
Vale tips his chin toward me. “Show him, little queen. Make daddy proud.”
I roll my eyes but pull the edge of my jacket back just enough for Rook to see the leather rig snug against my ribs, the handle sitting exactly where my fingers fall. Wraith’s work. His palm, his fit. It’s intimate. I feel a pulse of satisfaction off him when Rook’s gaze lands there, and realizes I’ll never walk without protection again.
Ash leans forward slightly, voice low. “Do you know how to use it if someone’s already on you? Not at a distance. I mean close. Point-blank.”
“Yes,” I say.
He watches me for two long beats, then nods. “You’re with me when we’re done here,” he says. “We’re drilling that until I say stop. I know you’re trained, but I want to see how quickly you move.”
A warmth hits low in my chest that has nothing to do with the wine. It’s not lust. Not exactly.
It’s… being kept. Being sharpened. Being prepared.
And I want it.
“So,” Rook says. “Here’s where we are. Ruskin claims Damien has a meet tomorrow afternoon. We’ve got a narrow window — he’ll be at a mid-tier syndicate shell we’ve had eyes on before. Cameras are shit. Foot traffic is predictable. We watch. We don’t touch.” He pauses. “Yet.”
A slow thrum runs through the table.
Saint nods once. “We post outside. We run comms silent. I’ll watch the street.”
“Vale and I take interior sweep,” Wraith says. “Make sure there’s no second exit.”
“You’re not both leaving me outside,” Ash mutters.
“Lysander,” Saint says mildly.
Ash scowls down the table. I hide the way my pulse skips at the name. He only lets them use it when he’s not thinking about it.
Rook’s gaze cuts back to me. “You will do exactly what I say. You don’t improvise. You don’t wander. You don’t decide you’re playing hero. You move when I move, you stop when I stop, and if I say run—”
“Irun,” I finish.
The corner of his mouth lifts, very slightly. “Good girl.”
Heat flashes through me so fast I have to steady myself. Wraith makes a low sound that is not disapproval. Saint looks faintly amused, like a priest who’s given up on pretending he’s above this.
