I shifted the Bentley into drive. I wasn’t taking chances anymore, not with her, not with the woman who’d burned herself into my soul. The Bentley roared through the streets, closing the distance to Juneberry in seconds, my focus razor-sharp as I pulled up to the curb.
Sloane stepped out from the cafe’s gate, her blonde hair catching the morning sun, her eyes finding mine with a mix of relief and determination. She climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up, her presence filling the car with a warmth that eased the knot in my chest.
I was about to speak when my phone dinged again, the sound sharp in the quiet. I glanced at the screen—Marshall: *Meeting set. Now. Isle of Palms. Here’s the location.* The pinned location came next.
My jaw clenched, the timing too perfect, too calculated, like he knew exactly when Sloane got in the car.
I cast a glance at Sloane, who was looking out the window at her parents climbing into Quentin’s car, their faces unreadable.
A surge of possessiveness roared through me, primal and fierce, and I gripped the wheel, my voice low. “Maybe you shouldn’t come to this, Sloane. I can handle Marshall alone.”
Her head snapped to me, eyes flashing, and I knew I’d stepped into a fight.
“Are you serious?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You think I’m sitting this out after everything?”
I saw the martyr look in her eyes, like she was ready to throw herself on a grenade, and it set my teeth on edge.
“What do you think’s gonna happen?” I asked, keeping my tone even despite the heat rising in me. “You planning to die for this?”
She didn’t flinch, her gaze fierce. “I’ll do anything to keep my family safe.”
I laughed, a short, harsh sound, shaking my head at her naivety.
“The whole point of a battle is to come out alive, not to plan your funeral. This isn’t one of ‘those’ meetings, understood?” She held my stare, her jaw tight, but finally nodded, relenting, and I pressed on, softening my voice. “You’re playing a part, Sloane—tell Marshall you’ll marry him, whatever it takes to buy time. Elias is close to finding where Department 77’s hiding. Time’s what we need. Then we can bag up Marshall and the rest of them.”
She exhaled, her shoulders easing, and I revved the Bentley, the engine purring as we headed toward Isle of Palms, the public park across from the beach our destination.
The drive was quiet, the city giving way to marsh and ocean, but the tension between us simmered, Sloane’s resolve a mirror to my own. I stole a glance at her, her profile sharp against the window, and felt a surge of pride—she’d changed, her confidence a weapon, and I trusted her to play her role, even if my every instinct screamed to keep her far from Marshall.
The park came into view, its green expanse dotted with picnic tables, the Atlantic glittering beyond, and I spotted him—Marshall, sitting under an umbrella at a table, still dressed like a country club prick, his khakis and blazer a mockery of the danger he posed.
I parked, turning to Sloane, my voice steady. “Ready?” She nodded, her eyes fierce. “Let’s put on an Oscar-worthy show,” I said, and we stepped out, her face already shifting, tears rimming her eyes, her shoulders drooping like a woman defeated.
We walked across the grass, the ocean’s roar a low hum, my boots sinking into the soft earth as I scanned the park for threats—Department 77’s operatives, Marshall’s backup, anything.
Sloane stayed close, her performance flawless, her steps hesitant, her breath hitching just enough to sell the act.
I played my part, my face a mask of fury, the pissed-off lover who didn’t want to lose her, my hand twitching like I might deck Marshall at any moment.
He looked up as we approached, his grin all teeth, like a shark smelling blood, and I wanted nothing more than to beat that smug look off his face. He extended a hand, his voice dripping with false charm.
“Charlie, Sloane, pleasure to see you both.”
Sloane’s voice trembled, perfectly pitched. “Let’s just get this over with. I want my family safe.”
Marshall’s eyes gleamed, and he rubbed his hands together, leaning forward. “Very well. Let’s make a deal.”
I sat rigid, my fists clenched, every muscle coiled as I fought the urge to lunge across the table, to end him right there.
Marshall’s grin widened, like he knew he was pushing my buttons, and I forced myself to stay in character, my voice a growl. “You think you can just take her? You and your Department 77 buddies?”
He chuckled, unfazed, his eyes flicking to Sloane, who kept her gaze down, tears tracking down her cheeks, her performance so convincing it twisted my gut.
“It’s not about taking, Dane,” he said, his tone mockingly reasonable. “It’s about what’s best for everyone—Sloane’s family, your family, the balance of things.”
I leaned in, my voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for her.”
Sloane’s hand brushed mine under the table, a silent signal to keep the act going, and I felt her strength, her fire, grounding me even as I played the role of the desperate lover.