Kori’s eyes flash. “I can take care of myself. And Lana needs me—”
“What Lana needs is for you to be safe when she arrives,” Mia interrupts gently. She lifts her pant leg and pulls out a small pistol from a holster, checking it with practiced efficiency. “Trust me, we can handle Mark if he shows his face.”
Kori stares at the gun, her protest dying on her lips.
“Remember that warehouse down by the docks?” Kat says to Rory, a slight smile playing on her lips. “When those smugglers thought they had us cornered?”
Rory winces. “How could I forget? You took down six men before I even pulled my weapon.”
“Six?” Kori echoes, looking at Kat with new eyes.
Kat shrugs modestly. “I was having a bad day. They were convenient targets.”
“My point is,” Rory continues, “your sister will be in the best possible hands.”
I watch as Kori’s resistance crumbles. “Okay,” she finally agrees. “But please, be careful. And tell her... tell her I’m here waiting for her.”
The women move quickly after that, gathering what they need. Within twenty minutes, they’re heading for the garage to the SUV, Declan giving Wren last-minute instructions that she pretends to listen to while checking her phone.
The waiting is excruciating. Kori paces the library while I try to distract her with card games, books, and anything to keep her mind occupied. Night falls, and still we wait, jumping at every sound that might signal their return.
It’s past midnight when headlights finally sweep across the driveway. Kori is on her feet instantly, rushing to the front door with me close behind. The women emerge from the car first, their faces grim. Then Mia helps a slight figure from the backseat, supporting her as she moves slowly toward the house.
Even from a distance, I can see that Lana is hurtworse than we imagined. She walks with a limp, one arm cradled protectively against her body. As she steps into the light from the open doorway, Kori gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
Lana’s face is barely recognizable. Her left eye is swollen shut, a violent purple bruise spreading across her cheekbone. Her split lip is crusted with dried blood, and finger-shaped bruises encircle her throat.
“Oh my god,” Kori whispers, frozen in shock.
For a moment, the sisters stare at each other, the weight of everything between them hanging in the air. Then Lana’s face crumples, and Kori is moving, crossing the space between them to gather her sister gently in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” Lana sobs against Kori’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” Kori soothes, carefully supporting her sister’s weight. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
I step back, giving them space for their reunion, but not before I catch a clear glimpse of the extent of Lana’s injuries. The rage I’ve been containing bubbles over, hardening into cold resolve. This could have been Kori. If Mark had gotten her into that car today, this is what he would have done to her.
I exchanged a look with Declan, who appeared silently at my side. Something in my expressionmust convey my thoughts, because he gives a slight nod, his mouth set in a hard line.
“Let’s get her inside,” he says, directing the staff to prepare the guest suite next to Kori’s room.
The next few hours are a blur of activity. The estate doctor is called to examine Lana’s injuries—two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, extensive bruising, and a mild concussion. Photos are taken for evidence, though Lana still balks at the suggestion of going to the police.
“He’ll destroy me,” she whispers, flinching as the doctor applies antiseptic to a cut on her face. “He has those photos...”
“Fuck the photos,” Kori says fiercely. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, you need to rest.”
By the time Lana is settled in her room, medicated and finally sleeping, it’s nearly four in the morning. Kori refuses to leave her sister’s side, curling up in an armchair by the bed despite my attempts to convince her to get some rest herself.
“I’ll be fine,” she insists, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I need to be here when she wakes up.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Call if you need anything. I’ll check on you both later.”
She nods, already turning her attention back to her sleeping sister. As I close the door quietly behind me, my decision crystallizes. I find Declan in his study, nursing a glass of whiskey.
“I need to talk to you,” I say without preamble, closing the door behind me.
He studies me over the rim of his glass. “About Mark.”
