His nostrils flare slightly. “Still your elder.”
“Emphasis on elder.”
Hawk snorts despite himself. We go back and forth for what seems like an eternity.
Gunnar points a finger at me. “You think this is funny?—”
“A little bit,” I interrupt. “I trust her. And after all our years together, I would think you two should trust my judgment.”
“Fine,” Hawk grumbles, realizing I’m not going to budge on this. “We proceed cautiously. You stay attached at the hip.”
“Wasn’t planning otherwise.”
I head upstairs before the conversation can circle back into something uglier, before I have to articulate the part of this they don’t understand. That protecting Blake isn’t a mission parameter. It’s a blurred line I’ve already hurdled, and I have no intention of turning back.
When I crack the door, soft light spills from the hall into the dark bedroom. Blake is already in bed, curled up on her side, facing the wall, hair fanned across the pillow. Her breathing is slow and deep, sleep hovering close but not quite claiming her.
I shut the door gently, then strip down to my boxers before sliding in behind her. She lets out a soft exhale as I let my presence register before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against my chest. She fits therelike she was designed for it. Like she was made to be here with me.
I press my nose into her hair and breathe her in, asking quietly, “Did you hear us?”
“Yes,” she answers, honest and sleep-heavy. “Kind of hard not to.”
“Look at me?” I loosen my hold a little. She hesitates, then rolls over in my arms. Her eyes blink slowly as they adjust to focus on me in the near-dark. She looks exhausted, frayed at the edges, and bruised in places no one else can see.
I cradle her face gently. “I know you, Doc.” Her brow creases faintly. “I know you’re trying so hard to do the right thing. You’re trying to protect everyone. Make sure no one gets hurt.”
She nods once.
“But even when you do everything right,” I continue softly, “people still get hurt. Blake, I can’t protect you if I don’t know what you’re doing.”
She swallows hard.
“Be there,” she whispers. “Like you promised. Be my shield. While I’m being theirs.”
“Theirs?” I ask.
“Maryam and her baby,” she clarifies. “Someone has to protect them.”
I pull her back into my chest, holding her tight to me.
“I’m here. I’ve got you.” The tension in her shouldersrelaxes a fraction as I brush my lips to her temple, then her cheek. “Daddy isn’t going anywhere.”
Not now.
Not after this.
Not ever.
Abrahim’s house is not like I expected, and somehow also exactly what I feared.
It sits behind tall walls and iron gates in a neighborhood that feels curated down to the last blade of grass. The hedges are sculpted, not grown. The stone walkway gleams as though it’s never known dirt. Lights are positioned to flatter the facade, to suggest warmth without actually offering any. Everything here whisperscontrol. Wealth and respectability. The kind of compound where neighbors wave politely and never ask questions. The kind of place where no one imagines violence happening behind closed doors.
My palms are damp when Jagger reaches for me. I hadn’t even realized I was clenching my hands until his thumb rubs a slow, grounding circle against my knuckles. The gates slide open with a smooth mechanical hum, and the Jeep rolls forward.Crossing a line I won’t be able to uncross.
“You don’t have to do this,” he insists quietly, for probably the tenth time today. The words are gentle. They’re not meant to dissuade, just to remind me I have a choice.
“I do,” I answer, also not for the first time today. If I don’t, no one will say the things that need saying. And Maryam will disappear back into the silence of the archaic patriarchy like she never mattered.
