Page 31 of Claimed By Daddy

“I’ve got it handled,” I gruff.

“Yeah…” he snarks with an eye roll. “Totally handled. You looked like you were standing before a fucking firing squad when I walked in.”He’s right.I don’t know if Cillian knows, but we both know he’s intuitive as hell. And if I know my friend, which I do, he’s going to listen to whatever his gut is screaming at him. “And you need to fucking tell him already.”

I leave Nikolai standing in the kitchen, heading upstairs to remove the reason I snuck out of the apartment from the pocket of my suit jacket. After stepping into my room, I close the door and pull the slim velvet box from beneath my suit. I run my thumb over the soft exterior, pushing at the latch to open it.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Eavan whispers, startling me as she slips into the room and quickly shuts the door behind her.

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim, snapping the box in my hand closed and stowing it behind my back. “It’s not safe for you to be in here.”

“It’s fine,” she softly insists, reaching for me and tucking herself into my side like she was made to fit there. “We’ve got a few minutes. Cian is in the shower.”

“You okay, princess?” I ask, knowing the answer. Her eyes still hold the fear that flooded her face during the Sargsyan’s call.

“Better now.” She nuzzles closer as I wrap my arms around her. Not missing a thing, she reaches for my hand and asks, “What’s in the box?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” I slide it before her and let her take it from me.

She opens it carefully, eyes widening as she sees the platinum chain. It’s delicate and feminine. Hanging from it is a small, weathered charm in the shape of an antique skeleton key—simple, understated, and hiding a secret.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she lifts it from the box. “It’s beautiful, Enz.”

“Let me?” I take it from her and reach around to clasp it at the nape of her neck when she pulls her long red hair out of the way. Closing the clasp, I place a light kiss at the nape of her neck before she lowers her hair. The chain rests below her collarbone, the charm settling over her heart.

“It’s perfect.” She touches it gently. “But why a key?”

“Because it’s to my heart, princess.” It might be an omission of the truth, but itdefinitelyisn’t a lie.

Rising onto her toes, she places a light kiss against my lips. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to.” I lightly cup her cheek.I need this. Hidden in the charm is a micro-GPS tracker, triple-encrypted and military grade. I had Hawk help me with it after the call from Sargsyan yesterday. She’ll never know I’m tracking her. But if anyone takes her, I’ll have eyes on her location within seconds, chasing into the depths of hell to rescue her if I have to.

She rolls the key between her fingers as she stares up at me with those gorgeous eyes of hers. “I’ll never take it off.”

“Good.” I cup her other cheek and pull her face up to mine. Her warm breath feathers over me as our lips meet delicately. Rubbing my thumbs over her cheeks, I pull her closer as her lips part slightly—an invitation I eagerly accept. My tongue explores the softness of her mouth, relishing in her like it’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure of kissing her. While fisting my shirt, she moans into my mouth as our kiss deepens—both of us quickly growing needy for each other. A need we can’t tend to right now. I pull back, both of us breathless, and I pant, “You should go. Before we get caught.”

“Ok.” She nods, begrudgingly walking to the door. Cracking it open, she checks to ensure the coast is clear.

“We can finish this later,” I gravelly whisper, gripping herchin and planting one last kiss on her lips before she steps into the hall.

I take a minute to change from my suit into a pair of dark jeans, a Henley, and boots—something more fitting for this evening—before heading downstairs. Jagger is standing at the island with Nikolai and Cillian, a tactical arsenal spread out over the granite countertop. Cillian tosses a tactical vest at me as I join them. “Wear it. For all we know we’re walking into a fucking setup.”

“If it’s a fucking setup,” I grumble, strapping on the vest, “they bleed.”

“Fuck that,” Nikolai exclaims. “They fucking bleed no matter what.”

The night air is thick as we approach the old cannery in Greenpoint. The building looks days from being condemned, the rusted exterior and crumbling brickwork a testament to years of neglect after the factory closed. If it weren’t for the two BMWs and the Lincoln parked before it, I would think we were at the wrong location.

Cillian, Nikolai, and I move with purpose, our steps deliberate as we enter the cannery. The heavy metal door creaks, announcing our arrival to the traitors meeting inside. The room falls silent, surprised eyes shifting toward us as we step further into the abandoned building.

Fitzpatrick, Montano, Vasiliev, and a couple of guys from all our families, whose names I don’t know, all stand, their hands all reaching for their guns. “I wouldn’t,” Nikolai warns, pulling the charging handle on his AR-15 to load a round into the chamber.

“You think you can just waltz the fuck in here and dictate terms with us?” Fitzgerald, the apparent leader of this little rebellion, scoffs. “I don’t fucking work for you.”

Cillian’s gaze locks with Fitzgerald’s. “If you work for me, you work for him.”

“Then maybe I don’t work for you anymore,” Fitzgerald retorts, his voice unwavering—a couple of the men behind him suddenly looking a little less convincing. “Maybe we all don’t.”

“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t,” I lament, tapping the muzzle of my Glock against my thigh. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here to end this.”

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