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“No, everything else is good,” Jaxon answers immediately, but he doesn’t look up.

A few minutes ago, he was pointing out flaws in a tactical plan in front of a room full of people he barely knows. Now he’s staring at the blueprint like he wants it to swallow him whole. Duncan makes a note on the map and moves on. Just like that, Jaxon’s assessment is accepted and incorporated into the plan.

My gaze drifts back to him. The former Marine who somehow believed he had nothing to contribute. The man who spent the last several days questioning his own worth. Yet within seconds, he identified a vulnerability the rest of us missed. Something tight settles in my chest. Something unfamiliar. It’s not the usual possessiveness or protectiveness. It’s something else. I recognize it a moment later.

Pride.

I’m proud that he spoke up. Proud that he trusted his instincts. Proud that when it mattered, he didn’t stay silent. Most of all, I’m proud that everyone at this table now sees what I’ve been seeing from the beginning. Jaxon is far more capable than he gives himself credit for.

At 6:45 sharp, Declan, Finn, Ronan, and Dad leave to take their positions around the warehouse. Once in place, they’ll relay information back to us. Mom and Colton head back to Ronan’s place. The room grows quieter after they leave. More focused. The countdown has begun.

I find my attention drifting to Jaxon. Not difficult considering I’ve spent most of the day doing exactly that. He picks up the Kevlar vest and slips it on without assistance. Most people fumble with unfamiliar equipment. Jaxon doesn’t. His movements are efficient. He tightens one strap. Then another. Checking the fit with a quick tug before adjusting it again.

The precision catches my attention. Every movement he makes has a purpose, no wasted motion, no hesitation. The same way he studied the blueprint. The same way he moves through a kitchen. The same way he made a bed this morning.

Years of training made visible through muscle memory. For a moment, it’s easy to picture him in uniform. Preparing for a mission. Running through equipment checks. Making sure everything is exactly where it needs to be before stepping into danger. Most people become nervous when faced with violence. Jaxon becomes focused. The last traces of uncertainty disappear from his expression as he secures the final strap.

I hate that it is. The thought appears unexpectedly. The twist in my gut is sharp. Immediate. I don’t want him to be comfortable putting on body armor. I don’t want him to have years of experience preparing for situations like this. Yet here he is.

My gaze lingers on him a second longer than necessary. Because, despite everything, I find the sight strangely compelling. Jaxon, preparing for a fight, is a very different man from the one who curled against me this morning. Both are real. Both are him. And I find myself equally fascinated by each.

Jaxon and I sit in the back of the SUV as Duncan drives. The interior is quiet except for the occasional crackle of a radio that breaks through the hum of the engine. Updates, position checks, and confirmations. Everything is proceeding according to plan. We’ve been over every detail, every route, and every contingency. Everyone knows their assignment. Everyone knows where they’re supposed to be.

I reach across the space between us and take Jaxon’s hand. His fingers immediately tighten around mine. Giving his hand a squeeze, I wait until he looks over at me. The streetlights passing outside throw shifting shadows across his face.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I’ve already told him this multiple times. Logically, there is no reason to repeat it. Jaxon heard me the first time. Yet I continue saying it. The behavior is irrational, and I dislike it, especially in myself.

His thumb brushes across the back of my hand. The movement is small—barely noticeable—yet somehow more effective than any verbal response. For a moment, neither of us speaks. I stare out the window, watching the city pass by. Ignoring the uncomfortable truth sitting in the center of my chest. The repetition isn’t for Jaxon. It’s for me.

Chapter 41

Jaxon

The feel of Conor’s hand wrapped around mine grounds me. The steady pressure gives me something to focus on besides the knot tightening in my stomach. I’ve been in dangerous situations before. More than I care to remember.

My training and years of service prepared me for uncertainty. For violence. For the possibility that I might not come home. But this is different. In the military, everyone knew the risks. We all signed the same contract and accepted the same possibility. The men surrounding me tonight didn’t. They are here in this mess because of me.

Conor keeps reminding me that he won’t let anything happen to me. That he’ll protect me. That everything will be okay. I know he means it. My fingers tighten around his hand. If it comes down to his life or mine, there isn’t a choice. Not for me. Mine is forfeit.

The conclusion settles into place with the same certainty I’ve used to make a hundred other difficult decisions. Conor has a family. People who love him. People who need him. An entire future waiting for him.

I have…

My gaze drifts to our joined hands. The thought dies before it can finish. Because a week ago, that answer would have been easy. Nothing and no one. Now the word catches in my throat. And for the first time, I find myself hating the calculation. Because for the first time in a very long time, I want to survive too.

The warehouse comes into view as we turn through the gates. The building looks exactly like it did on the blueprint. Cold. Industrial. The kind of place people pass every day without giving it a second glance. I find myself counting automatically. Every entrance, window, and potential exit. Old habits, some things never leave you.

We already know what to expect. Two men outside on patrol. Four inside the warehouse itself. At least that’s what the latest update reported. The outbuilding I spotted on the blueprint has already been secured. Finn couldn’t determine exactly how many people were inside, but when he jammed the door, he heard multiple voices. If someone decides to use that building as a quick reaction force, they won’t be reacting to much.

The SUV rolls forward. My gaze sweeps the property again. Looking for changes. Looking for something out of place. The thing about plans is that they rarely survive first contact. Something always changes. Someone always misses something. The trick is recognizing it before it gets someone killed.

Beside me, Conor’s hand remains wrapped around mine. A reminder that despite how familiar all of this feels, I’m not doing it alone this time. For years, every dangerous situation was mine to navigate on my own. Mine to survive. Tonight, there are people positioned around the warehouse. Ready to move if things go sideways.

We exit the vehicle without a word and move toward the entrance. Duncan leads the way. Conor and I fall in behind him. His strides are confident, like he’s walking into a board meeting instead of a rundown warehouse to meet with mobsters.

I don’t know why that still surprises me. I’ve seen enough of the Murphys by now to know this is simply who they are. Whether they’re negotiating a business deal, planning a family dinner, or dealing with dangerous men, they approach each situation with the same certainty. The same assumption that they belong exactly where they are.

Duncan reaches the door and doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t check over his shoulder. Doesn’t pause to gather himself. Just opens it and walks inside. Most people project this type of confidence, but the Murphys seem to genuinely possess it. If they’re concerned about what happens tonight, they hide it better than anyone I’ve ever met. Or maybe they simply trust the plan, trust each other. I take a steady breath and follow them inside.