Page 54 of Dagger

Mason listens without interrupting, but his jaw ticks. When we’re done, he straightens up, his voice calm but heavy. “They’ll retaliate. Russians don’t let shit like this slide.”

The room goes quiet, the weight of his words settling over everyone. He lets the silence hang a moment before continuing. “Here’s the plan. We’re locking down the clubhouse. No one in or out unless I say so. We’ll double up security at every entry point. Dagger, Sledge, you’re on patrol duty tonight. Everyone else, get armed and stay sharp. I’ll reach out to a couple of our allies to make sure we’ve got backup if it comes to that.”

He glances around the room, his gaze hard. “This isn’t over. They’ll come for us, but they’ll regret it. The Reapers don’t back down.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the room, and I feel the weight of the moment settle over me. This isn’t just about theRussians. It’s about proving who we are and what we stand for. Mason’s right—when they come, we’ll be ready.

NINETEEN

CHLOE

The morning sunlightstreams through the window as I sip my tea, the warmth of the mug grounding me in the stillness. It’s a rare quiet moment, but the knock at the door shatters it, sharp and demanding.

I set the mug down, my stomach tightening as I go to answer it. When I open the door, my breath catches.

Dagger stands there, disheveled and beaten, a cut above his eyebrow crusted with dried blood. His knuckles are raw, his clothes streaked with dirt, and exhaustion pulls at every line of his face. But his eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—scan me and the house behind me like he’s expecting danger to leap out of the shadows.

“Dagger,” I say, frowning. “What the hell happened?”

“Let me in,” he says, his voice rough. He steps past me before I can even answer, his movements stiff and deliberate.

I shut the door and turn to him. “You look like you went ten rounds with a sledgehammer. Want to tell me why?”

“Later,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Right now, you need to pack a bag.”

“A bag? For what?”

He meets my gaze, and the raw intensity there makes my chest tighten. “Because it’s not safe here. Not for you.”

I cross my arms, refusing to back down. “I’m not going anywhere, Dagger. I can handle myself.”

He steps closer, his tone hardening. “You don’t understand. I got into it with some Russians last night. Things escalated, and they don’t let shit slide. If they find out about you...” He trails off, his jaw clenching.

His words hit me like a punch, but I square my shoulders, refusing to let him see me falter. “I’m not running, and I’m not leaving my home because you picked a fight you couldn’t win.”

“I wasn’t fighting for me,” he snaps, his voice rising. “I was fighting for you—for us. You think I’d let anyone come near you or—” His gaze drops, lingering on my belly, and he takes a steadying breath. “You think I’d let anyone hurt you?”

The weight of his words hangs between us, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. Finally, I sigh and point toward the bathroom. “Fine. But you’re not going anywhere until you take a shower. You look like hell.”

He hesitates, but exhaustion wins out, and he nods, trudging toward the bathroom. While the water runs, I busy myself in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon to distract from the knot twisting tighter in my chest. When he emerges, the smell of breakfast greets him, and he looks marginally better—clean, his hair damp and pushed back, though the weight in his eyes hasn’t lifted.

“Here,” I say, handing him a plate.

He drops onto the couch and eats in silence, his movements slow and mechanical. By the time he sets the empty plate on the coffee table, his head is drooping, his shoulders slumped.

“You need sleep,” I say, taking his plate.

“I’m not leaving you unprotected,” he mutters, forcing his eyes open.

I roll my eyes. “You can barely keep your head up. You’re not protecting anyone like this. Come on.”

Taking his hand, I pull him to his feet. His fingers are warm and rough, but he lets me lead him down the hall to my room.

“You’re taking the bed,” I tell him, my tone leaving no room for argument.

“What about you?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

“I’ll figure something out,” I reply, but before I can step away, his hand tightens around mine.

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