Page 35 of The Warrior's Salvation

He reaches for my hand, but I turn toward Mum and realize what's happening. My da told him about Darren Connelly, about the danger. That's why he's here. He thinks he's going to whisk me away to safety that I don't want or need. I'm safe enough with Lochlan, and he's the man I want.

"Mother of God," I grunt, covering my face with a palm.

"Evelyn Elaine, watch your language." Mum's tone is harsher than I expect it to be. I hear her shift in her seat uncomfortably and picture her smiling in embarrassment at Elvin. I don’t know what she knows about Da or his businesses, the crimes he's committed, but I can't just blurt it out. What I know and what I've learned aren’t something to just announce at a family coffee.

"Mum, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well." I uncover my face and smile politely at Elvin. His offer does seem genuine, and if he knows anything about what my father is involved with, his protection would be genuine too. I just can’t do this. I'm too emotional, and I might throw up. So I turn their game against them.

"I'm so fatigued right now. Da has asked me to stay home to rest up, so that's what I should do." I stand, smoothing my hands down my skirt. I'm not marrying this man no matter what anyone says. And I don't know how to tell them yet, but I will. "Thank you for stopping by. We'll talk another time."

"Evelyn, don't be rude," Mum hisses, standing, but I push past her and ignore her entirely. Jasper is gone when I walk through the kitchen, bowl still sitting where he was at the table. I head to my apartment and lock myself in. If I can't get out, then no one else needs to come in. I have thinking to do.

I need to figure out how to tell Lochlan about the baby soon. If I'd have done that already, Elvin wouldn't have shown up at my parents' house. And I need to figure out how to let them all down easily.

As I change into my own sweats and T-shirt, I curl up into bed and think how glad I am that at least Darren Connelly is off my back. I never should have thought I could protect my father. I should've said something right from the beginning.

26

LOCHLAN

Draco’s pacing like a fucking animal, shoulders coiled tight like he’s gonna snap and take someone’s head off. The blinds are half-closed, light slashing across the desk and striping the floor like a goddamn interrogation room. The silence between us isn’t quiet. It crackles. Tastes like rage and burnt coffee.

“I’ve been getting calls,” he mutters, low and hard. “From people who used to owe me favors. They’re jumping ship, pulling their names out of any deal I touch. Like I’ve got a fucking disease.”

I watch him. He’s not spiraling. Not yet. Draco doesn’t spiral—he dismembers things slowly, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to fight back. But he’s close. His rage is too controlled. That’s when it’s most dangerous.

“Cormac Doyle’s running his mouth,” I say. “Leaking names. Connections. He’s turned half the TDs into cowards.”

Draco stops moving. His eyes cut to mine, flat and murderous. “I gave those bastards protection. Political cover. Free rides and padded contracts. And the second things get noisy, they toss me to the wolves.”

I let the silence drag for a breath and watch him anxiously scrape a hand over his face. “They’re not doing it loudly. They’re using back channels. Quiet pressure. You’re not being indicted—you’re being erased.”

He exhales hard, the kind of sound that should come with blood on the floor. “You got an answer, then?”

I nod slowly. “We burn a body. Not literally. Not unless we have to. But we give them someone they can crucify.”

He stares at me like I’m handing him a knife. I am.

“Tiernan Callahan,” I say. “Little prick’s been skimming since the minute you gave him a keycard. He wants to be important? Fine. We make him the story. Tech boys can rewrite his logs, bury your name, make it look like he’s been doing deals behind your back.”

Draco doesn’t answer right away. He just walks to the window, drags one blind down with a snap, watches the street like he’s picturing where the bullets might come from.

“He won’t go quietly.”

“Then we send him off in pieces.”

A beat passes. Then he mutters, “Do it.”

Draco walks out without a word. The door clicks shut behind him, but the weight of him still clings to the room. After a moment, I stand, move around the desk, and lower into his chair. It creaks under me like it knows I don’t belong. Everything here feels wrong—like sitting in another man’s skin. They want me stationed, obedient, useful in a way that doesn’t draw blood. But I’ve never been good at pretending.

The silence doesn’t leave. It freezes slowly around the bones of the room, tightening in my chest like a belt cinched one notch too far. I sit with it a moment longer, then pull the chair in and turn to the monitor. Draco’s login’s already active. His files are right where he left them. All I have to do is dig.

Whatever Doyle’s feeding to the press didn’t come from thin air. This leak isn’t a lucky guess or someone stumbling into the wrong server. It’s precise. Someone on the inside gave them a map.

I start with the network logs. Every access point leaves a mark, even if they think it doesn’t. Our tech crew likes to boast about security, but they’re only good at burying things after they go wrong. I want to see who cracked it open in the first place.

The financial logs are messier than they should be. Someone’s been inside them in the last seventy-two hours. Multiple times. Same user. I sort through the timestamps, and my stomach tightens when the name pops up.

Evelyn O’Leary.

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