Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Storm and the Scar Across the King’s Spine
The penthouse was on high alert when Clare arrived. Armed guards in tactical gear stood at every elevator bank and balcony access.
Sebastian was waiting in his study, a glass of untouched scotch resting on the desk before him. When Clare walked through the doors, still pale and visibly shaking, his eyes swept over her instantly, checking for injuries.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
“I’m fine,” Clare managed, though her voice shook. “Gabriel protected me.”
Sebastian looked past her to Gabriel. “Marco’s men?”
“Two scouts,” Gabriel replied. “They’re dealt with. But Marco is getting bold. He’s asking questions about Dr. Vance’s sudden interest in pediatric pulmonary patients at Northwestern.”
Sebastian’s hand closed around the crystal glass so tightly the rim fractured. “If Marco touches that boy, I will skin him alive in the middle of Michigan Avenue.”
He turned back to Clare. “You aren’t going back to your apartment. You and Oliver are moving into the secure residential wing of this tower tomorrow.”
“I can’t live here!” Clare protested. “This is a fortress! It’s a warzone!”
“It is the only place in Chicago where you and your son are safe from the people who want me dead,” Sebastian said fiercely. He rolled his chair closer, reaching out to steady her trembling hands with his warm, calloused fingers. “Look at me, Clare.”
She met his dark, intense gaze.
“I brought you into this fire,” Sebastian said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate cadence. “I will not let you burn. I swear on my life, Oliver will have his surgery, and no one will ever touch you. But you must stay where I can protect you.”
Outside, a violent thunderstorm rolled over Lake Michigan, lightning illuminating the sprawling room in cold blue flashes. The vulnerability in Sebastian’s eyes cracked open the remaining walls between them.
“Sit down,” Clare whispered, her professional instinct taking over her fear. “You’ve been tense for hours. Your lumbar paraspinals are locked up.”
Sebastian didn't argue. He transferred to the treatment table, removing his shirt to reveal the massive network of scars etched across his back.
Clare warmed her hands and began working deep into the muscular tissue beside his spine. As she pressed into the knots of tension, Sebastian let out a slow, ragged exhale.
“Seven years ago,” Sebastian said quietly into the dark room, “Marco was the one who handed me the keys to the car that exploded. He claimed he was supposed to ride with me. He claimed he had a flat tire on his way to the meeting.”
“You knew he was involved?”
“I suspected. But without Dr. Henderson’s testimony and without my legs, I couldn't move against him without tearing the entire syndicate apart. The council wouldn't back a crippled boss against an able-bodied heir.”
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Clare applied steady, therapeutic pressure to his lower spine. “And now?”
“Now,” Sebastian murmured, his hand reaching back to cover hers where it rested against his skin, “you are giving me back my strength. And when I stand, Clare, the council will have no choice.”
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