She finally met my eyes, and the vulnerability there made my chest ache. "These people, they talked about feeling safe for the first time. About not having to be strong every second. About having someone who saw them falling apart and caught them instead of walking away."
"Is that what you want?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"I want . . ." She paused, gathering courage like armor. "I want to not be afraid all the time. I want to matter to someone enough that they notice when I'm struggling. I want rules that make sense and consequences I can count on and someone who won't throw me away when I'm too much."
"You're never too much," I said firmly. "You're exactly enough."
"Is that what you want to be to me?" she asked, direct as a blade. "My Daddy? Not just the word but everything it means? The rules and punishments and aftercare and all of it?"
My answer was immediate, no hesitation. "You already are my Little. I want to be the Daddy you deserve."
She studied me for a long moment, those mismatched eyes seeing everything—my certainty, my hunger, my desperate need to do this right.
"Okay," she said softly. "But I need to understand all of it. The contracts and limits and everything."
"We'll go through it all," I promised. "Every detail, every negotiation. But first, I need to teach you something."
Her head tilted, curious.
"If you're going to be mine, really mine, out in the world with me, you need to be able to protect yourself. You have a price onyour head, but I’m not keeping you in here any more. So, you need more than street fighting and luck."
Something shifted in her expression—surprise maybe, that I was thinking about her safety beyond these walls.
"When?" she asked.
"Now," I said, standing. "Unless you'd rather teach Bear to play dead."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "He's hopeless at it. Keeps wagging his tail when he's supposed to be deceased."
"Then let's teach you something more useful than playing dead," I said, offering her my hand. "Let's teach you how to stay alive."
Thehomegymsmelledlike rubber mats and determination, that particular scent of effort that had soaked into the walls over months of training. Eva stood in the doorway wearing my workout clothes—basketball shorts cinched tight with a drawstring, tank top that kept slipping off one shoulder—looking like a child playing dress-up and a dangerous woman simultaneously.
"This is stupid," she announced before I'd even finished explaining the plan. Arms crossed, chin raised, every line of her body screaming defiance. "I already know how to fight."
"Do you?" I moved into the space, noting how she tracked me with her whole body, never letting me get behind her. Good instincts, poor execution.
"Street rules," she said, listing them on her fingers. "Eyes, throat, balls. Fight dirty, fight fast, run faster. It's kept me alive this long."
"Against drunk marks and handsy dealers, maybe." I circled her slowly, watching her pivot to keep me in sight. "Against trained killers hunting for a scalp? You'd last thirty seconds."
Her jaw clenched. "I survived four years on the streets."
"By running and hiding. By being small and quick and lucky." I stopped directly in front of her, close enough to see the gold flecks in her green eye. "Luck runs out, Eva. Technique doesn't."
"Fine." She dropped into what she probably thought was a fighting stance—narrow, weight on her toes, ready to bolt rather than engage. "Teach me your fancy moves."
I moved behind her before she could track me properly, hands settling on her hips. She froze, every muscle going rigid under my touch.
"First problem," I said, keeping my voice clinical despite the way her proximity affected me. "Your stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced."
I nudged her feet wider with my own, trying to ignore how good she smelled. My hands adjusted her hips, tilting them slightly, and she made a small sound that went straight through me.
"Weight even," I continued, voice rougher than intended. "Not forward like you're about to run. You stand your ground first, run second."
"That's the opposite of smart," she protested, but her breath had quickened.
"That's the difference between surviving and living." I stepped back, needing distance before I did something stupid. "Again. Show me the stance."
