Page 11 of The Sentinel

He moved fast, bottle clinking glass. I pulled an earbud from my pocket while he poured, and slipped it in. I needed something to drown the noise in my head—Department 77, Ryker’s bitching, and Claire’s fucking eyes.

I tapped my phone, then pulled upThe Unseen. Her podcast. Climbing the rankings. The latest episode was too new—pier shit hadn’t dropped yet. I went back sixmonths and found the Queens cold case. The one she’d cracked wide open. I pressed play.

Her voice hit me—smoke and steel, cutting sharp. “This isn’t about justice,” she said, low and deliberate. “It’s about truth—who buries it, who dies for it.”

Fuck, she was good.

Claire had a way of getting straight to the point, with no fluff. She peeled back lies like skin, and left you raw. I listened as she laid out the case—a missing girl, a dirty cop, and evidence torched. She’d found the thread, then pulled till it snapped. That “best of her generation” line wasn’t hype. She could’ve been the female Shawn Ryan. She had grit, brains, and balls to match. Her words yanked you in and held you there.

The bartender slid my whiskey over, amber catching the dim light. I nodded, then took a slug. The burn hit my throat and settled warm. I kept listening.

“She’d been missing three years,” Claire said, voice dropping. “Cops said runaway. I said bullshit. I found her jacket in a dumpster—blood on the cuff.”

Trouble. She sniffed it out, chased it down. Liked it, too. I could hear it in her tone, that edge of thrill. Every episode had the same vibe—hunting, cutting, winning.

That’s when it hit me.

Claire could find Department 77.

I froze, glass halfway to my mouth. She was good—better than good. If anyone could dig up a ghost, it was her. I’d been hitting walls and chasing smoke for weeks, but I’ll bet she’d slice through it. That glint in her eyes at the pier, that knack for what’s buried—she’d track them. I’d been blind, too pissed to see it.

I had to play it right. To manipulate the board, to keep her in the dark. I needed to feed her crumbs, point her at shadows, and let her hunt. She’d never guess I waspulling the strings. Would never link it back to Dominion. She was smart enough to find them, and too stubborn to stop. Perfect.

I took another slug and let it burn as the plan clicked into place—use her sources, her instincts, her mic. Steer her toward Department 77 without her catching my scent. It was risky as hell. She’d be a beacon, drawing fire. It might put her in danger.

That thought thrilled me.

I pictured it—Claire cornered, gray eyes wide, adrenaline spiking. Me watching, close but unseen, her pulse racing under my scope. Something dark twisted in me. I wanted her on that edge, wanted to see her fight. Heat hit low and sharp—her naked again, sprawled, mine, that thrill turning to want.

Then something deeper kicked in.

I wouldn’t let her get hurt.

My gut clenched, whiskey souring in my throat. Why the fuck not? She was a threat—digging, daring, and too damn close. I should’ve been fine letting her burn as collateral for family, for Dominion. But there it was—some buried instinct snarling I’d shield her. Pull her back before the fire hit.

Fuck.

This woman was impossible.

I drained the glass, then slammed it down as ice rattled. Claire’s voice kept rolling through the earbud, calm and relentless. “The truth doesn’t hide forever,” she said. “Not from me.”

She was trouble—pure and uncut. She liked finding it, and she liked breaking it. That made her dangerous. And it made her useful.

It didn’t mean I couldn’t use her.

Family came first—always had. Dominion DefenseCorporation was ours—seven brothers, blood and war, built to stand. Department 77 was out there, a ghost I couldn’t nail, a blade at our throats. Claire could find it. She could cut through the dark and drag it into the light. I’d keep her blind and keep her safe, while getting what I needed.

Her voice hit again—“He thought he’d buried it. I proved he didn’t.” Cool, steady, like she knew I was listening.

I pulled the earbud out, then pocketed it. I stared at the empty glass. The plan was solid. I’d use her to end this. Ryker wanted her gone. That didn’t mean dead, just quiet. I’d make her hunt, make her mine to control. Danger or not, I’d keep her breathing.

Why, though?

I leaned back, my jaw tight. She was in my head—naked, fighting, daring me. I couldn’t shake it—her curves in that jacket, her voice slicing me raw. I wanted her under me, pinned, breaking. I wanted her safe, too. Fuck that noise.

I signaled the bartender for another round. He poured quickly and silently. I took it, letting the burn ground me.

Claire was a tool. The best I’d seen. I’d wield her, point her, and watch her cut. Department 77 wouldn’t know what hit them. Neither would she.

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