Chapter Thirteen

I didn’t lock the door.

Not immediately, at least.

Because I couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The sounds downstairs were violent—furniture shattering, men shouting, a gunshot.

Then another.

And that was all it took. I snapped out of it and ran to the door, locking it with trembling hands.

My heart pounded against my ribs as I backed away, one slow step at a time, until my legs gave out and I sank to the floor.

Jillian had told me to stay put. To wait.

But I couldn’t sit here and do nothing while the people I lived with—the people I maybe started to care about—were under attack.

I crawled to the nightstand and yanked the drawer open.

The knife from training was still there.

Shiny. Heavy.

A piece of Jillian’s world that had somehow become mine, too.

I gripped the handle and stood, swallowing hard.

“Don’t be stupid,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t be reckless.”

But I was already unlocking the door.

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.

I moved carefully, the knife clutched tight in my right hand, listening for voices or footsteps—anything that would tell me where to go.

Halfway down the stairs, I saw it.

The front hall was a mess—blood smeared across the floor, shattered glass everywhere. Two of the guards lay unconscious… or worse.

Jillian stood at the center, gun raised.

Facing off with Reuben Grant.

My breath caught in my throat.

Reuben had two men flanking him, both armed. Behind them, Alyssa stood near the fireplace, leaning casually against the mantle like she didn’t just bring war into the house.

“I should’ve known you’d come crawling back,” Jillian said, his voice cold but calm.

Reuben chuckled. “Didn’t come to talk, kid.”

Alyssa smirked. “Shame. I had a whole speech prepared.”

I inched down the stairs, crouching low, staying behind the rail.

“Let the girl go,” Reuben demanded.

“What girl?” Jillian asked, not lowering his gun.

“Christy,” Reuben growled. “You have something that belongs to us.”

“She’s not a possession,” Jillian snapped. “And she’s not going anywhere with you.”

“She’s her father’s daughter,” Alyssa chimed in. “Which means she’s leverage.”

That word made my stomach turn.

Leverage.

I wasn’t a person to them—I was currency.

I stepped onto the last stair, heart racing. “Then maybe you should stop underestimating me.”

All eyes snapped to me.

Jillian’s jaw clenched. “Christy, I told you—”

“I’m not hiding while they threaten you.”

A flicker of something—pride, fear, frustration—flashed in his eyes.

Reuben narrowed his gaze. “You really came down here with a kitchen knife?”

I held it up. “Depends. Do you want to test how sharp it is?”

Alyssa laughed, slow and mocking. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”

“No,” Jillian said through gritted teeth. “She’s something else. She’s mine.”

That silenced everyone.

Even Alyssa.

Reuben’s expression darkened. “You really fell for her?”

Jillian didn’t answer.

He just stepped forward.

Gun raised. Eyes locked on Reuben.

“You can leave now, or you can die here. But you don’t get her.”

A beat passed.

Then Alyssa’s smile dropped.

“Kill them.”

Shots rang out.

Chaos erupted.

I dove behind the stairs as bullets ripped through the air. Jillian fired back with precision, his movements clean, controlled—lethal.

One of Reuben’s men went down instantly.

I crawled across the floor, adrenaline surging, searching for anything—anything—I could use.

I reached the fallen guard.

Took his gun.

Hands shaking, I turned the safety off like Jillian had shown me in training. Point. Breathe. Shoot.

I waited.

Reuben was screaming orders. Alyssa was gone—vanished in the crossfire like a ghost.

Then Jillian saw me.

His voice cut through everything. “Duck!”

I dropped as another shot exploded behind me.

Reuben was trying to escape, limping toward the door.

I raised the gun. Aimed.

But I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t pull the trigger.

Jillian fired first.

Reuben collapsed in the doorway, groaning.

Alive. But barely.

Silence fell.

Only the sound of my own breathing remained.

Jillian ran to me, crouching low, cupping my face. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, still gripping the gun. “No. I—I couldn’t shoot. I tried.”

His hands slid down my arms, calming me. “You didn’t have to. You froze. That’s normal.”

“I wasn’t scared,” I whispered. “I just didn’t want to kill someone. Even him.”

Jillian didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then he took the gun from me gently and set it down.

“That’s what makes you different,” he said. “That’s why they’ll never break you.”

He pulled me into his chest, arms wrapped tight around me like he didn’t care who was watching.

I buried my face against his shirt, breathing in his scent—gunpowder, sweat, and something distinctly him.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured into my hair.

“You said to stay put,” I whispered. “But I can’t lose you either.”

His hands tightened around me.

We stayed like that for what felt like forever.

Later that night, after the bodies were gone and the house was quiet again, I lay in bed beside Jillian.

Neither of us could sleep.

I turned to him. “You said I’m yours. In front of them.”

He looked at me, eyes darker in the moonlight. “I meant it.”

“And what does that mean, Jillian? Am I a responsibility to you… or something more?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then he shifted onto his side, face inches from mine.

“I don’t do love. Never have. Never thought I could.”

“But?”

“But you make it hard not to try.”

My breath caught.

“Say it again.”

“You’re mine.”

I leaned in and kissed him. Slow. Deep. Needy.

When we pulled apart, I whispered, “And you’re mine.”

Jillian smiled against my lips. “Don’t let Alyssa hear you say that.”

“I want her to.”

He laughed softly and pulled me closer.

Outside the mansion, another storm was beginning.

But inside this room, for now, there was only warmth.

And us.