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"If you try to move me, Owen, I swear I'll hit you. I made a promise to Riley, to Morgan. I can't abandon them now. You of all people — a fucking Marine — should understand that you don't leave a man, or a woman, behind. This is my stand, my fight, and I have to protect them."
A tense silence envelops us, the air charged with unspoken emotions and the gravity of our situation. Owen's gaze never leaves mine; it’s a battle of wills that neither of us is willing to lose. It's love against love, and it's tearing me apart.
"Dani, think about this. What if you get hurt? Or worse... I couldn't live with that."
But I swallow my pain and keep my voice unwavering. I won't be broken. There's too much on the line, including the life of a baby.
"We're staying," I assert, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "We have to see this through, for them, for us. No matter what it takes."
His eyes flare. Rage and love burning with equal measure in those intense blues of his; eyes that have always held my heart.
"You're insane. Think. See this logically. As soon as the Santoros arrive tomorrow, people are going to die because they know who I am. We have to leave."
My mind is already made up. There's no turning back.
I heft the coffee cup. "You know I won't miss. So, you have a choice, Owen: either leave on your own, or stay here with me and see this through."
He lowers his gun, but pierces me with a determined look. Owen O'Connell never was the type to know when he was beaten.
"This isn't over," he says.
I sit down on the couch in our suite's living room, a spot that gives me a perfect view of the bed and the door. If I have one weak point in this whole mess, it’s Owen O’Connell, which means I have to keep him at a distance.
"Figured you'd say that. I'll be staying on the couch tonight, and I'll be keeping watch. If you try anything, you'll learn what it's like to have a coffee mug crack your skull open. Are we clear?"
Chapter Twenty-One
Striker
Soft moonlight bathes the room as I watch Dani's chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber. It took hours of waiting in bed, laying still, breathing deep, giving her the impression that I was long gone to exhaustion, to get to this point. Hours of waiting for her to let her guard down. Now, she's out, beautiful even though she's my enemy. Tucking the blanket around her, I feel a pang of loss in my heart, but push it aside.
This situation is more than a solitary Marine can handle. I need help to deal with this conflict. I need my brothers.
Climbing out the window, I land softly on the cool grass, the compound’s fence casting long shadows under the starlit sky.
I approach, keeping hidden behind hedges and manicured shrubbery at first, surveying the surroundings to be sure of the gaps in security, and then I make my move. It's easy enough to climb, and then I'm on the other side, heading for Costa Oscura.
I begin to jog.
Just like back in the day, I have a long way ahead of me, miles before I can rest. Only this time, I don't have to run in combat boots and with a giant pack on my back. I get to do it in civilian clothes and with the lead weight of love strapped to my heart.
A handful of hours and twenty torturous miles pass.
The streets of Costa Oscura are eerily quiet, with only the distant sound of the ocean breaking the silence. Streetlights cast a golden glow as I make my way to Reid's Repairs, the clubhouse, my mind a whirlwind of emotions and plans.
What now?
How do I deal with this war between love and duty?
I continue to run.
The familiar sight of the club's shop looms in the darkness, its usual bustle now a ghostly quiet. Inside, the MC members — Bullet, Rook, and Thunder, stand like silent specters, their faces grim. Smokey, Hawk, and Ghost greet me with nods, their expressions tense. I don't know much about them other than their reputations and the scant stories Smokey's told me, but it's easy to pick out which one is Ghost, the former intelligence officer turned biker — he's lean and toned, bearing the scars and tattoos that tell the story of his tumultuous journey, with eyes that pierce right into me.Yes, that's the look of a fucking spook.The other one — tall, muscular, with short hair and eyes reminiscent of a feral animal — must be Hawk. Smokey looks ready to kill, and I don't blame him. The last thing I'd want if I was in his position is a midnight meeting with the man who's supposed to be guarding my little sister.
"I was sleeping, Striker. Now, I'm not. What the fuck is this about?" Rook grumbles. He looks ready to kill, too, but that's his normal look, so I'm not surprised.
"If the big baby needs a nap, the chair in my office is pretty comfy. Go take a lie-down," Bullet says.
"Is that offer only for him, or is that open to others who might want a nap? Either now, or maybe every Friday around one in the afternoon?" Thunder asks.
