Page 72 of Protect Thy Enemy

It’s childish but I’m well past caring.

Whatever his deal is, he can keep it. I have better things to do than waste energy trying to figure out Holden Grant.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The tension between us hasn’t eased by the time we pull into the warehouse lot, but Grant, or Andrew, or whatever the hell I’m supposed to call him, looks like he couldn’t care less.

He’s always been composed, but this is different. The brooding edge I’m used to is gone, replaced by something completely different. It’s unnerving how easily he shifts, like flipping a switch.

He cuts the engine and turns to me, his voice low and hard. “When we get inside, let me do the talking.”

I bristle immediately, but before I can argue, he adds, “Shaw’s the type who’ll test you just because he can. He’ll pick apart your brain, and if you push back in your regular pain-in-the-ass way, it won’t be me he’ll punish, it’ll be you. And I’d rather not kill him before the mission is completed."

That shuts me up fast, though the words sting more than I care to admit. He’s not wrong, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

He doesn’t move, only stares at me in slight disbelief.

“What?”

“I thought I was going to say a lot more to get you to listen.”

That causes me to roll my eyes. “I listen.”

His dark eyes linger on me for a second longer, calling bullshit without even saying a word. He steps out of the car, and I follow, falling into step beside him as we approach the building.

The air inside is damp and stale, the weak light from a single bulb swinging overhead casting long shadows against the concrete walls. Our footsteps echo, the only noise in the otherwise empty space.

The man from the surveillance photos is waiting. Shaw.

He’s leaning casually against a rusted support beam, his hands in his pockets, but there’s nothing relaxed about his presence. His eyes track us like a predator sizing up its prey. Everything about him, from the way he stands to the faint smirk on his face, screams control—screams dangerous.

Beside him stands must be Cruz, one of his 'associates'. He's a hulking man with a scar that cuts from his temple to his jaw who doesn’t move or even blink, his hard gaze locked on us as we approach.

“Andrew and Amelia Smith,” Shaw drawls, his voice smooth and cool, laced with amusement. “The honeymooners.”

Grant doesn’t miss a beat. “We’re here to work, not for pleasantries.”

Shaw’s smirk widens just slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Straight to business. I like that.” He pushes off the beam, stepping closer. “Anyway, Fallon’s paranoid, and for good reason. He’s made plenty of enemies, and most of them wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in him if they had the chance. Your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Understood,” Grant says evenly.

Shaw’s gaze flicks to me, lingering for a moment too long, but he doesn’t address me directly. Instead, he circles us slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey.

“I don’t care who recommended you or how many jobs you’ve handled. You fuck this up, and it’s not just your reputations on the line, it’s your lives. Fallon’s trust doesn’t come easy, and neither does mine.” He stops in front of Grant, his smirkfading. “You keep him safe, and you stay out of the spotlight. No bullshit, no mistakes. Are we clear?”

I’m not quite sure those two things aren’t synonymous, but I don’t say that. I keep my mouth glued shut as themasterordered.

I almost roll my eyes at that.Almost.

Grant nods, his expression unreadable. “Crystal.”

Shaw steps back, his sharp gaze sweeping over us one last time. “Good. Because I don’t give second chances. Cruz will brief you on the details.”

Cruz steps forward, handing Grant a slim folder. His silence is…unnerving. Does the man talk, or does he just stand around looking like he’s straight out ofTheGodfather?

I guess that’s pretty hypocritical for me to say. I haven’t said a word either. I guess both of our masters have us on lock.

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