Page 45 of The Warrior's Salvation

Draco’s gaze turns icy, rage flickering in the depths of his eyes, quiet but lethal. “And how do you know all this, Lochlan? How come she’s talking to you and not me?”

I don’t flinch. “Because we’ve been seeing each other.”

His eyes snap wide, anger flaring openly now. He takes a half-step toward me, fists clenched. “You’ve been—what?”

“I’m not proud of lying to you,” I say steadily, refusing to break eye contact, “but I’m not apologizing, either. Evie means everything to me. If what she says is true—and I believe her—then she’s pregnant, Draco. And that child is mine.”

Draco looks like he might hit me, muscles taut beneath his jacket, jaw grinding as he holds himself in check. I stand my ground, ready to take the hit if it comes, willing to pay whatever price I owe for loving Evie. The noise of sirens grows louder, closer, lights cutting jagged lines across the shipping yard. Draco finally lets out a slow breath, one heavy with resignation and anger.

“She was supposed to marry Murphy,” he says, voice low, bitter. “He could’ve kept her out of this shit, Lochlan. Given her a life outside of everything I’ve done.”

“You think Murphy could protect her from men like Connelly?” I ask, voice raw. “From Doyle or any of the bastards who’d hurt her to hurt you? Murphy’s soft. He doesn’t have what it takes. You know it. She needs someone who understands this life, who’ll keep her safe, no matter what it takes. I’d die for her, Draco. I’d kill every last man in this city for her.”

Draco is quiet, his jaw tight, eyes storming as he weighs everything. The sirens are nearly on top of us, flashing lights bathing the dockyard in red and blue. He finally nods, reluctantly, the motion short and sharp.

“If it were anyone else, Lochlan—” He cuts himself off, eyes darkening. “If it had to be someone from our life, I’d want it to be you. But understand this. She’s all I’ve got left that’s untouched by this poison. You swear to me, right here, right now, that you’ll never let harm come to her. Not from the Doyles, not from the fucking cops, not even from yourself.”

“I swear it,” I say without hesitation. “On my life.”

“Then you have my blessing.” He turns sharply toward the approaching lights. “Now get the fuck out of here and go to her. I’ll handle the cleanup.”

I turn toward the car, blood cooling on my knuckles, heart steadying as I picture Evie waiting at home—alive, safe. After losing Maelyn, I never believed I'd deserve peace again, but Evie’s changed everything. She is my salvation, the only thing saving me from the guilt that nearly swallowed me whole.

31

EVIE

Mum and I wait for hours. I've never seen her this worried, though from what I can tell, they've done a really great job of hiding Da's entire world from me my entire life. I coax her into the house, make a kettle of hot water for tea. She tells me of other times like this, before Lochlan's brother took over as the head of their organization, when Da was much lower level, when he had more risk.

I sit on the edge of my seat watching her sip tea and nurse shaking hands. My stomach is churning the whole time. Twice, I slip away to throw up—morning sickness combined with anxiety. When it grows dark, my fear escalates.

I want to go back to the days of naivety and innocence. My zeal to uncover the truth thrust me into a life I'm not sure I feel safe living. Knowing my father and the man I love are out hunting down their enemies with the intent to physically harm or kill anyone who gets in their way terrifies me. Something could go wrong. Someone's blood will be shed, and I'm so scared it will be one of them.

Hovering over the toilet for the third time tonight, I hear voices, men's voices. Mum's wails of relief meet my ears slightly after, and I take a moment to slurp down some water, then wipe my face clean before rushing into the living room to find Da, Jasper, and a tired-looking Lochlan. He stands to the side with his head down as Mum squeezes Jasper in one arm and Da in the other.

I walk in, feeling tears welling up. There's blood on Da's shoes, a splotch on Jasper's shirt, but I can tell it didn't come from them. Lochlan's fists are bloodied again, and there are significant bruises on his cheeks from the fight he had earlier in my apartment with Darren Connelly. He still carries a weight on his shoulders, but it appears more from fatigue than worry, like his stress is lighter.

When his eyes rise to meet mine, I see it there too. Everything has shifted in his expression and body language. When he left, he was on a mission, and I can see just from his slouched posture that his mission is over. Connelly must be dead, or at least the threat neutralized. I want to run to him, wrap my arms around him, and sob into his chest because he's safe and my fears have all been eradicated.

Instead, I tiptoe to my father, wait for him to let go of Mum's shoulders, and lean into him when he turns to me. He stinks of cigarette smoke and whiskey, a hint of sweat and other musky smells. I've smelled it before, but not since I was a child. I've come to know it was what Da smelled like on a bad day—on days when he would pull me onto his lap and read me a story, or later when I got older, when he would sit across the table from me and seem overly eager to hear about my day.

"Da," I whisper as the threads knit together in my mind. The scent I'm smelling is gunpowder, and I've only just realized it. All three of them were together hunting Connelly and the men who put him up to blackmailing, perhaps even more things I'm too scared to ask about.

"Evie girl," he purrs, cupping both cheeks hard. He presses his lips to my forehead, squeezing my head so hard it hurts. But I don’t pull away. Tears steal down my cheeks. I grab the lapels of his jacket and sob. I thought someone was going to die, and most likely, someone did—just not them.

For that I whisper a thanks to the universe for watching over them. It doesn't make the tension release my aching muscles, but it means I'll at least be able to sleep tonight.

"I'm so glad you're safe, Da." Pushing against his chest, I pull away and look up into his eyes. There is concern there, perhaps fear too, but not anger. Not what I expected to see.

"You should be saying that to him now," he says, nudging his chin upward at Lochlan. He doesn't let go of me, though, and I smile through the tears. "We'll have to let Murphy down easy, Evie girl. He's not gonna like it, but you belong to Lochlan."

When his hands let go of me, I almost want them to stay there, to hold me captive in the moment where I’m his little girl and he's my da and nothing in the world will ever separate us or tarnish the connection we have. But when I turn my head and see Lochlan, now with shoulders squared and hands clasped together in front of his belt buckle, I know Da is right. I am no longer Draco O'Leary's daughter. I am Lochlan O'Rourke's woman. My heart and soul and body belong only to him, and forever, that will be how it is.

He stands stoically as I walk toward him, but the tears only increase as the same feeling of relief washes over me about him. He could’ve died tonight, and what would I have done then? How would my heart have continued beating?

"It's done?" I whisper before I even reach him, and he nods once, opening his arms to me. It's such a powerful feeling when they close around my shoulders, even more so when he tips my chin up and kisses me hard. My parents are here watching, Jasper too, and there is no shame in this moment at all.

"It's done, baby, and he'll never hurt you again." Lochlan says the words so tenderly, like applying salve on my wounded heart.

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