Will refills our glasses. "To Brothers who have your back."
We drink. Then Shaw and Will head out, leaving me alone in the bar with tactical planning that needs doing.
I pull up the intelligence file on my laptop. Alan Kline. Former Special Forces, multiple deployments, dishonorable discharge for excessive force during interrogations. Pattern of targeting and destroying businesses that competed with his criminal operations. Smart, ruthless, trained in exactly the tactics that make him dangerous.
Delta Force training kicks in automatically. Threat assessment: military-level skills, access to weapons and personnel, motivation to eliminate anyone who threatens his trafficking network. Target analysis: operates through shell companies and proxies, stays mobile, uses others to do direct action while maintaining distance. Elimination strategies: locate through financial trails and veteran network contacts, surveil to establish patterns, engage when he's isolated and vulnerable.
This isn't the bastard underneath emerging. This is who I've always been, just usually kept leashed by legitimate operations and legal boundaries. No internal war about crossing lines. No hand-wringing about morality or consequences. Just clinical calculation about what needs doing and how to accomplish it.
I open a separate file and start building plans that cross legal boundaries. Surveillance using the same kind of equipment I used in Delta Force. Infiltration of known associates using false identities and social engineering. Interrogation tactics not sanctioned by civilian law but highly effective for extracting information quickly.
If Monroe's federal investigation works, none of this becomes necessary. But if the situation escalates, if anyone touches Gemma or Shelby or any Brother, I'm ready to do whatever it takes. No hesitation. Just efficient violence that ends the threat permanently.
The bar's back door opens. Will returns with Gemma. Her expression is tight, anger mixed with fear.
"Gemma needs to hear the full situation," Will says.
I close the laptop and give her my full attention. "Someone left a photograph of you working with a threat message. They're trying to leverage you to stop Shelby's investigation."
Will takes over. "Shaw shadows you until this is over. If you need to go anywhere, you coordinate with Cole or me first so we can ensure you're protected."
"What does that mean?" Her voice is steady despite the fear in her eyes.
"Means you don't go anywhere alone," Will says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"You want me to hide."
"I want you alive." Direct truth, no sugar coating. "We're dealing with a professional with military training and no moral boundaries. Someone who's already eliminated people to tie up loose ends. They won't hesitate to hurt you if it serves their tactical objectives."
Gemma's jaw tightens. "I'm not running. I won't let you become something you're not because of me."
She sees it. The darkness I keep leashed, the Delta Force operative underneath the VP polish. The part of me that calculates elimination strategies and plans interrogations and knows exactly how to make threats disappear.
"I've always been this," I tell her. "Just usually don't need to use it. But if anyone touches you, Will and I will end them. That'snot negotiable, not something you can talk me out of, not a line either of us is debating about crossing."
"Cole." Her voice breaks slightly. "Don't do something you can't come back from. Not for me. Not because some asshole is using me to get to you."
I can't promise what she wants. If someone hurts my sister, there's no coming back, no staying within legal boundaries, no letting the system handle it. There's just violence: efficient, final, and without apology.
"We're going to protect you," I say instead. "Monroe's building a case, Brotherhood's coordinating to locate our target, and we're limiting tactical options. But you need to let us do our jobs. That means staying where we know you're safe, accepting Shaw's protection, and trusting that we'll handle this."
She looks at Will, who nods. Then back at me. "Okay. But promise me you'll at least try to do this the right way first."
"I promise we'll work with Monroe." That's as far as I can go. "Beyond that, I can't guarantee anything."
It's not what she wants to hear, but it's honest. Gemma hugs me again, tighter this time, then lets Will guide her toward the back exit. They'll go to their place where security is tightest, where Brothers are already positioned to watch approaches and respond to threats.
I'm pulling up the file again when my phone rings. Shelby. I answer immediately.
"They're back." Her voice is strained but urgent. "Three men moving up from the river. Military bearing, tactical movement. They're coming for the building."
I'm already heading for the exit. "Lock your door. Bathroom, tub, get low. Call 911. I'm hours out but I'm coming."
"Cole—"
"Do it. Now. Police first, then barricade yourself."
I grab my go-bag from the truck, the one I keep packed with equipment from my time in Delta Force. Night vision, sidearm, flex-cuffs, gear designed for ops that don't appear in official records.
