Page 25 of King of Praise
Francesca approaches as she prepares to depart, Tommy hovering protectively nearby. “Well played earlier.” Her smile seems genuine now. “It’s good to be reminded why you have your reputation.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Mmm.” She studies me. “You know, I always wondered why you stayed with Zeke when you could have run your own operation. Now I think I understand. You’re a man who values loyalty over ambition.”
The observation hits uncomfortably close to truth. But before I can respond, she continues, “Take care, Micah. These are interesting times we’re entering.”
I watch her leave, Tommy following like a well-trained guard dog. Her words echo in my mind, raising questions I prefer not to examine too closely. Why have I remained in Zeke’s shadow all these years? What keeps me bound to this life when I could have chosen differently?
You know why. Loyalty. Protection. Purpose.
But those certainties feel less absolute lately. Since Naomi entered my life, disrupting carefully maintained boundaries between personal and professional obligations, my priorities have begun to shift in ways that both trouble and intrigue me.
I feelthe vibration in my pocket. My heart rate quickens as I pull it out and see it’s a text from the burner phone I gave Naomi. I scan the warehouse to ensure no one notices my reaction. The message is simple.
Naomi
Everything OK
Those two words create a tightness in my chest I struggle to identify. Relief, certainly. I’ve been worried about leaving her alone at the cabin. But there’s something else too, a warmth that has nothing to do with my role as protector.
Dangerous territory, old man.
I type a quick response.
Micah
Fine. Back tonight
I pocket the phone. The thought of returning to the cabin provides unexpected motivation to wrap things up here. But first, I need to maintain appearances, keep the focus on business.
The warehouse meeting exceeded expectations. My intervention with Tommy Moretti shifted the dynamic favorably. Nothing establishes authority quite like preventing violence before it erupts.
I’m still concerned about Francesca’s shift from our previous conversation, but she seemed to be on board by the time the meeting ended.
I wipe down the last table, ensuring no fingerprints remain. The warehouse feels hollow now, echoing with each scrape of furniture against concrete. Zeke left, trusting me to handle the cleanup. He knows I’m thorough. Plus, I have years of experience erasing evidence of meetings like this one.
My muscles ache from the tension of standing guard all evening. Watching Tommy’s every move, monitoring the exits, scanning for threats. It’s exhausting being everyone’s shield. But it’s what I do best.
The cabin keeps creeping into my thoughts. Naomi’s text sits heavy in my pocket, those two simple words carrying more weight than they should. Is she warm enough? Did she eat? Maybe she found some comfort in the baking supplies I bought.
I gather the maps and documents, feeding them into a metal trash can followed by a match. The flames consume the remaining evidence of our meeting, turning territory lines and profit projections to ash. As I watch them burn, I remember how small Naomi looked in my flannel shirt, drowning in fabric meant for someone twice her size.
But it’s the way she trembled when I touched her chin to examine the bruises on her throat that really gets under my skin. Between that and the way she lowered her eyes when I called her lovely, I can’t help but think she’s just as affected by me as I am by her.
Shaking my head, I focus on the task at hand.
The warehouse needs to look untouched, like we were never here. I do one final sweep, checking corners and shadows. Everything’s clean. Everything’s in its place. Unlike my thoughts, which keep circling back to green eyes and red curls and a strength I never expected to find in someone so delicate.
I head outside and find Zeke waiting by his car, expression questioning. Eli’s in the driver’s seat.
“You okay?”
I nod, but don’t speak. He narrows his eyes. He’s concerned and that makes me uneasy. I thought I hid my distraction well.
“You did good in there,” he continues, “but I can’t help but think something’s wrong.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I roll my shoulders, trying to release the tension. He’s asking me about Naomi without putting words to his concerns.
