For a long moment, he stares at me, chest rising and falling with harsh breaths, the conflict raging openly across his rugged face. I can see the war inside him, the need to keep me safe clashing violently with the deeper need to let me in.
“I can’t lose you,” he says finally, voice rough and broken. “Not you.”
“Then don’t push me away,” I whisper. “Let me help. Let me be part of this.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns away, grabbing a clean shirt and pulling it on with stiff movements. The silence between us stretches, heavy and painful. I know in that moment he’s already made his decision. He is going to try to handle this alone, to lure Charlie into a trap without backup, to keep me out of harm’s way, even if it means breaking what we have just begun to build.
I can’t let that happen, but I also know arguing more right now will only make him shut down harder.
While he moves into the living room to check his gear and make calls, I slip quietly into the bathroom, heart pounding. I grab my phone and send Cal a quick, urgent message explaining the video threat and Jax’s plan to go alone. I tell them where I suspect the drop will be and ask them to be ready with backup. Then I delete the message thread, splash cold water on my face, and step back out with a calm expression I don’t feel.
Jax is already lacing up his boots, pistol holstered at his hip, tactical vest in place. He looks every inch the dangerous ex-SEAL, but I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches too tightly.
“I’m heading out,” he says without looking at me. “Stay here. Lock the doors. Don’t open them for anyone but me or the team. I’ll call when it’s over.”
I nod, throat tight. “Be careful, Jax.”
He pauses at the door, turning back to look at me one last time. His eyes hold mine, filled with regret and something deeper, love, perhaps, even if he hasn’t said the word yet. “I will. This ends today.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
I wait exactly sixty seconds, then grab my own jacket and keys. I am not going to let him walk into this alone. Not after everything we have shared. Not after he has finally startedletting me in. I slip out, heart racing as I head toward the Boathouse. Cal and Rhea will be there. They will help me.
I’m not going behind his back out of defiance. I’m doing it because I’m smart enough to know that partnership sometimes means forcing the issue when the man you love is too stubborn to see it.
I’m going to make sure he comes back to me in one piece.
Chapter Twelve - Reaper
The pier looks different in the gray aftermath of the storm. It’s battered but still standing, the wooden boards dark with moisture and scattered debris. I chose this spot deliberately. Open sight lines, familiar terrain, and enough shadows to set a believable trap. The video threat gave me twelve hours. I intend to end this well before that deadline.
I park my truck two blocks away and approach on foot, the duffel bag slung over my shoulder containing a decoy package that looks enough like the ledger cylinder to fool a quick glance. My side throbs where the fresh stitches pull with every movement, but the pain keeps me sharp. Focused. I left Isabella in the apartment with strict orders to stay put and to keep the doors locked. The memory of her fierce hazel eyes challenging me still burns in my chest. She was right about one thing. I am terrified, but fear is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Not when her life hangs in the balance.
I reach the designated spot near the end of the pier, the same area where the heist went down. The lights are dark now, the exhibit space cordoned off with yellow tape that flutters in the breeze. I set the duffel down and step back, scanning the surroundings with practiced eyes.
Minutes tick by in heavy silence. Then three figures emerge from the shadows near the docked boats, moving with the confidence of men who think they have the upper hand. Charlie himself is here. His polished suit replaced by dark clothing, but the arrogant tilt of his head is unmistakable. Two larger bodyguards flank him, armed and alert.
“Mr. Harlan,” Charlie calls out, voice carrying across the damp boards. “I see you decided to be reasonable. The ledger?”
I keep my stance relaxed but ready, hands visible. “It’s in the bag. Once you get it, we both walk away. Isabella never sees or hears from you again. That’s the deal.”
He laughs softly, a cold sound. “You tough guys are all the same. Always thinking you can dictate terms.” He nods to one of his men. “Check it.”
The bodyguard steps forward, and the moment he bends to open the duffel, I move.
My hand drops to my pistol in a smooth draw. Two quick, precise rounds that drop the first bodyguard before he can straighten. The second man reacts fast, raising his own weapon, but I am already closing the distance. I fire once more, hitting his shooting arm, then launch into him with a brutal shoulder check that sends us both crashing to the wet boards.
He swings a heavy fist. I slip inside the arc, driving an elbow into a nerve that makes his arm go numb instantly. He grunts in pain and tries to grapple, but I use his momentum against him, sweeping his legs and slamming him down. My knee pins his chest as I deliver a sharp strike to the side of his neck, putting him out cold.
Charlie has drawn his own pistol, but I roll away just as he fires. The round splinters wood near my head. I come up firing, two shots that force him to dive behind a piling for cover. I advance low and fast, using the pier structures for cover, suppressing his position with controlled bursts.
He’s better than I thought he’d be, but he isn’t trained like I am. I flank him from the side, coming around a weathered shrimp boat hull. When he pivots to track me, I’m already there. I close the final distance in a rush, knocking his pistol aside with a forearm block and driving a palm strike upward into his chin. His head snaps back. I follow with a knee to the midsection that doubles him over, then wrench his arm behind his back, forcing him face-down onto the boards.
“Game over,” I growl, pressing my knee into his spine while securing his wrists with zip ties from my vest.
He laughs through the pain, spitting blood onto the wood. “You think this ends with me? There are others. The ledger names families who won’t let this go quietly.”
Before I can respond, the sound of approaching boats cuts through the air. There are multiple engines, moving fast.
