Chapter 844
Beside her, Alistair Thorne worked the secure tablet without pause. His fingers moved across the screen with surgical precision, managing the fallout, silencing the press, and coordinating security for their next move. He looked tired. The faint shadow of stubble on his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes only made him look more dangerous — more intense.
Skye glanced at him, feeling a swell of emotion tighten her throat. He had walked through fire for her. Again.
“You need to stop,” she said softly.
Alistair’s hand paused. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the hard edge of the King of the Underground softened.
“The market doesn’t sleep, Skye. And neither do our enemies. If Celeste Cain liquidates Kensington Global, she vanishes — and the codes to that prison in Nevada vanish with her.”
𝗗o𝘄ոlo𝖺𝘥 𝘗𝘋Fѕ 𝘧𝗿𝖾е о𝗇 𝗀a𝗹𝗻𝘰𝘃𝘦𝗅𝗌.𝘤om
“The enemy is never truly dead,” Skye said, shifting gears aggressively as she drifted around a corner. “Put the tablet down, Alistair. Just for a second.”
A corner of his mouth twitched upward. He set the device on the dashboard and reached out, his hand covering hers on the gearshift. The scent of him — cedarwood, rain, and something uniquely masculine — filled her senses and grounded her.
“We will get them back,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her knuckles. “Parker. Victoria. We won’t let them rot in the desert.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He squeezed her hand. “Rest your mind, Skye. We arrive in an hour. Whatever is waiting for us at Julian’s, we face it together.”
Skye closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, listening to the steady beat of the engine. “Together,” she echoed.
But peace was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
When the wheels screeched onto the gravel driveway of the Vance Estate, the reality of their war came rushing back. The sky here was gray and weeping, a thin drizzle that coated the ground in a slick sheen.
A convoy of black SUVs waited near the garage. Leaning against the lead vehicle — a silver Aston Martin that looked like a sleek bullet — was Julian Vance.
Julian looked pale. His skin had a translucent quality that highlighted the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and he leaned heavily on a cane, his leg still recovering. Yet his posture was defiant. He wore a charcoal suit that cost more than most people’s houses, and his smile was sharp enough to cut glass.
Alistair stiffened beside her as they stepped out of the car. “Why is he here?”
“He’s an ally, Alistair,” Skye reminded him, though she could feel the tension radiating off him.
“He’s a variable,” Alistair corrected.
Julian pushed off the car as they approached, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome home, heroes. I trust the drive was less explosive than the gala?”
“Julian,” Skye said, stepping forward to inspect him. “You shouldn’t be standing out here in the damp. Your leg.”
“My leg is fine,” Julian dismissed, though a flicker of pain tightened his eyes. “Besides, I couldn’t miss the war council. And I brought a housewarming gift.” He gestured to the black SUV behind him. The rear window rolled down with a low hum.
Skye’s breath hitched.