"I've got some stuff I have to take care of with one of our deals," Vincent told me as he pulled up behind Tuxedo. "What time do you think you two will be finished?"

"It typically takes a while." I pursed my lips as I thought. "I can just have Dante take me home after." Vincent gave me a pointed look; one I knew meant he didn't believe me. I rolled my eyes. "I promise."

"You had better," he muttered, snagging the front of my t-shirt. It was one I had thrown on in a rush barely twenty minutes ago when we had returned to my apartment to let Dexter out. He yanked me towards him, and laughter spilled from my mouth as he kissed me.

"Yes, sir."

There was a deep rumble in his chest, and his pupils blew out. "Watch it, princess."

Another giggle escaped me, and I pecked his nose before hopping out of the SUV. Once the back door to the club fell shut behind me, I heard the engine rumble away. The smile was still on my face when I popped my head into Dante's office. He was bent over a spread of files, his face screwed up in concentration. He grumbled under his breath before running a hand over his shaved head. Curious, I knocked on the doorframe.

"C'mon in, Jules," he said without looking up, beckoning me forward.

I sank into the folding chair across his desk from him. "What's up?"

"I'm pretty sure this party next weekend is going to give me an aneurysm."

"Are they being demanding?"

"No." Dante huffed, his chocolate eyes meeting mine. "It's the guest list."

"Anything I can help with?"

"Unless you have enough pull to make them take this shit somewhere else, no."

"What's wrong with it?"

He turned the page towards me, pointing out a few of the names. "These are some major players in the crime world. While I know this shit goes on here all the time, it stresses me the fuck out. I know all of them, and because of my past they all view this place as neutral ground and act accordingly. But still."

"All the time?" He nodded. "Why have you never told me any of this before?" Dante had confided in me about his breakout from the gang years ago. Why had he never shared anything more? If things like this were common, these players being here often enough he recognized them by name, why had he never told me?

"I keep the darker side of this business away from all of you. That way, if anything ever went down, you all could claim ignorance." He gave me an assessing look, his eyes scouring my features in a way that made me squirm. Dante may not be old enough to be my father, but damn if he didn't make me feel like a delinquent child sometimes. "Something tells me that no matter how much I try to protect you, you're not going to be able to claim that for much longer."

My cheeks heated. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Jules," he said, a hint of amusement dancing across his face. "You have ignored every single warning I've given you in regard to Monroe. And I'm not blind. I've known Vincent for a long time, maybe only in passing, but his reputation proceeds him in this world. He's never had a woman at his side. Not until you."

"I'm not –"

"Oh, yes, you are."

It was my turn to huff. "Care to elaborate?"

Dante looked like he was mulling something over before he leaned back in his chair. He tapped the pen in his hand against the desk, causing the ballpoint to click in and out a few times. "I'm guessing you know about Alana?"

The name caused me to sit straighter in my chair. "Yes," I said, feeling my eyes widen.

He nodded as if he had expected as much. "She was with him every step of his ascension. From the moment he killed Graham until the day she died, Alana was in the background of the gang. She made sure to help Vincent in any way she could while still staying on the legitimate side of the business. Until she was murdered."

My brain short circuited.

Oh, Vincent.

"What?"

"You didn't know?"

My nose burned as tears pricked the back of my eyes. "He's only told me that she died. I didn't know –" A sob caught in my throat.

"I'm sorry, Jules," he said, leaning across the desk to take my hand. "I didn't realize you didn't know the whole story. I wouldn't have said anything."

"How?" I pressed, trying to take slow, steady breaths.

"I don't know the finer details. It's been kept under wraps. It's the only flaw in Vincent's reputation. Everyone knew she was his weakness, and someone who was still loyal to Graham decided to exploit it. Then he vanished. The general consensus is that Vincent put him in the ground."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"He's never allowed himself to get attached to anyone else. In the past four years, there hasn't been a whisper of anyone outside of the gang meaning anything to him." His eyes implored me to put the puzzle pieces together.

"Until me," I breathed, the realization crashing into me with the force of a Mack truck.

Making sure one of the men was always with me.

Checking his surroundings before he kissed me.

"Being mine is going to put a target on your back."

"I want you safe, always."

Every precaution he had taken with me flickered through my mind like a ticker tape. My heart constricted. It had always been there, from the very beginning. Maybe it had started differently, but he knew that any association with the gang could've put me in danger. Even before there were feelings involved. It had never been about me going to the police. A beautifully crafted ruse, to make sure I was safe. To make sure I wasn't collateral damage in a world I had wanted nothing to do with.

And now?

Now I was the very thing that could bring Vincent Monroe to heel. And if word got out, if it hadn't already, what would happen to him? To all of them?

To me?

"Breathe, Jules," Dante coaxed, squeezing the hand that he was still clasping.

The breath that whooshed out of me was audible. My hand slipped from Dante's as I slumped in my seat, letting my head fall back. As I gazed at the ceiling, I tried to regulate my breathing. I was going to be fine. We were all going to be fine. I knew what to do if anything ever happened. Vincent and I were the only ones who had the code the safe house. And beyond that, none of the guys would let anything happen to me.

And I wasn't going to let anything happen to them. Any of them. If I could help it.

Something settled in my chest, my spine turning to steel as I raised myself back up. No matter what happened, Vincent and I would face it. There was a reason Vincent hadn't told me about Alana being killed, and even if it was nothing more than not wanting to revisit old wounds just yet, I could respect that. But we needed to proceed with caution in everything to do with our relationship. I would not be the next person someone thought they could use against him.

Looked like I was going to be doubling up on my training with Jack, because I was not about to be a liability.

Clearing my throat, I met Dante's warm eyes across his desk. There was something new in his gaze as he stared at me. It was like, for the first time, he was seeing me as something other than the girl he had taken under his wing all those years ago. As someone he didn't have to protect anymore. And that pride on his face, it was worth every fight we had in regard to Vincent. Because we both knew I wouldn't be the same if I had never met him.

"Well, this inventory isn't going to sort itself," I said, standing and making my way out of his office.

His laughter was of the startled sort, bursting out of him in a quick staccato as he tried to choke it back. My lips twitched and I glanced over my shoulder at him. His flashed his teeth at me in a blinding grin. When he came up next to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. It was a comforting gesture, no doubt meant to let me know that he still had my back.

And then he shoved me into the doorframe before heading into one of the coolers.

Prick.

* * * * *

"It's about damn time you just let me drive you," Dante grumbled as he pulled up outside of my apartment.

"Only because I promised I would."

Dante shot me a dirty look. "So he asks you to not walk, and you listen. But me?" He huffed, an indignant set to his mouth.

"After the talk we just had? I'll start listening to you both."

"See to it that you do." He leaned over and ruffled my hair, earning a glare that I was hoping was at least half as intimidating as I wanted it to be. Muttering under my breath about how insufferable he was, I hiked my bag onto my shoulder. We said our goodbyes, and once I had cleared the door to the lobby, I saw him pull away with a wave.

My mind kept running over everything that had happened today as I stepped further into the building. Before I had even looked up, the crisp, cheap smell of the room deodorizer Kyle used in the halls was replaced with something else. Something cloying. The smell of copper permeated the air to the point that I scrunched up my nose. When I finally looked up from rummaging around in my purse for my keys, I dropped the entire thing to the floor.

"Vincent," I breathed, falling to my knees beside him. "Oh, Vincent."

He grunted before cracking open his eyes. And from the pinched look on his face, it was no small feat. When our gazes collided, he looked so shocked it was almost comical.

"What're you doing here?" he ground out, teeth clenched like he could keep the pain at bay by sheer force of will.

"What am I . . ." I trailed off, confused. "What are you doing here?" He shook his head and tried to sit straighter against the door. My eyes took in his split and bloodied lip, the cut across his cheek, and the bruising decorating his face faster than I thought possible. Cataloging every injury, trying to figure out where the worst of it was. And then the smell of copper registered again, and I looked down.

There was so much blood.

It was welling out of a spot on his abdomen. Biting my lip, I moved my hands to the hem of his shirt. He had my wrists in a vice-like grip before my fingertips so much as grazed him.

"Don't," he ordered, voice like frostbite.

"What happened?" I demanded, snapping my gaze to his. He was never that cold with me anymore, and there was no way I was going to let him get away with it.

"Deal went bad. Fucker stabbed me."

"We have to get you to –"

"No hospitals," he cut me off. "Not with who I am. They'll call the cops the second I walk through the door."

Cursing profusely under my breath, I threw everything but my keys back into my bag. My hands were shaking so badly it took me a few tries to fit the key in the lock, but once I did, I swung the door inward. The security system was disengaged in record time, and then I threw my purse into the center of the room. Bracing myself, I bent down and made to maneuver one of his arms around my shoulders.

"You can't carry me, princess."

"No, but I can't just leave you out here in the hall to rot. So, help me. I need to get you inside." My tone brooked no room for argument. He just grunted his response and then together we were able to heave him off the ground. Kicking the door shut behind me, I helped Vincent to the couch before easing him onto it. My muscles screamed at me to just drop him, but thanks to Jack I had the discipline to keep hold of him so I wouldn't hurt him anymore than he already was.

Ignoring his protests, I drug my coffee table to the couch so that I could sit closer to him. A million thoughts came at me quicker than I could stop them as I reached for the hem of his shirt again. Taking a deep breath, I took the fabric between my fingers and lifted it away from his skin. The low ripping sound echoed dully around the room, and Vincent let out guttural snarl. The wound pooled anew as I pushed his shirt up to the top of his ribcage. When the fabric was removed, it took the weak scab that had formed with it.

There was so much blood.

The damage was worse than I expected. The hole was ragged, pumping blood in rivulets down his stomach. Cursing, I stood. "Lift your arms."

"What?"

"Now," I snapped.

With as much of a glower as he could muster in his current state, he did as I said. I whipped the ruined shirt over his head and pressed it into a ball against the wound. Vincent grunted but placed his hands over mine in the next instant, applying pressure.

"What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Hold that," I ordered, standing in a smooth movement. If he wasn't going to see a doctor, I was going to have to do something. He was losing blood fast, and I didn't know how long he would make it if we didn't get that bleeding under control.

"Where're you going?" he called after me.

I ignored him as I snatched my phone from my bag on the way to the kitchen. With it pressed between my cheek and shoulder, I began rifling through my junk drawer to see if I had anything that could be of help.

"Well, hello, sugar," a familiar voice echoed down the phone.

"I need to talk to Brandon."

Lucas noticed the snap in my voice in an instant, and I could almost see him sitting up straighter. "What happened?"

"It's Vincent. Give the phone to Brandon. Now."

Once upon a time, Brandon had told me he took care of most injuries in the gang. If anyone could fix this, it was him.

"Jules?" his voice asked less than a full second later.

"Vincent was stabbed," I said, pausing my searching to focus on the conversation. "He's losing blood fast, and I don't know what to do."

"Fuck," he swore. "When he didn't meet us, we figured he was with you, but –"

"Brandon, focus." My hands started to shake. "Please."

"Right. Where was he stabbed?"

"Stomach."

A litany of curses sounded down the line. "How much blood has he lost?"

Glancing back out to the living room, I had to restrain the cry that wanted to break past my teeth. Vincent was pale, leaning towards gray. And I could see the sheen of sweat encasing his body from here. The once-white shirt he had pressed against his gut was almost fully stained burgundy.

"Hard to tell. I don't know how long he was here. But there's a lot of blood in the hall and it doesn't seem to want to stop even though we have pressure on it."

"We're too far," Brandon said, his voice thin. "We're over an hour away covering some shit that went down with one of the shipments."

"He doesn't have an hour," I spat, feeling my own blood freeze in my veins. I couldn't lose him too. "Brandon, what can I do?"

"How strong is your stomach?" he asked, a note of strained hope flaring in his tone.

"Why?"

"You're going to have to cauterize it."

_____________________________________________

Dun dun dunnnnnnnn

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