They always looked so put together. So real. So successful.
The temperature of the water is perfect when I finally strip off and climb into the bubbles. It stings all the places whereI’m bruised and grazed, but I breathe through the pain until it subsides.
I groan when I finally lie all the way back, sinking beneath the water to wet every part of me. When I surface, I close my eyes and try to ignore the feeling of being watched. I’m in a hotel room, by myself, who knows how many floors up.
I’m safe, I tell myself again.Even if only for tonight.
The warmth helps a little. My heartbeat slowly steadies. My eyelids get heavy. For now, I can breathe.
I cling to that and let the quiet take me.
Adrik
The feed from the suite is silent, but I can almost hear the way her breath trembles. Her body moves carefully, as if every shift of weight might hurt. Her fingers clutched the cushions like she’s anchoring herself to something soft for the first time in a long time.
It affects me more than it should.
I sit back in my chair, but the tension in my muscles feels like coiled wire, hot and tight, refusing to let me slip into the calm I rely on. Control has always been instinctive for me, a constant hum beneath my skin. But watching her, something in that control falters, like a misfired current.
I told my men to put her in the Winner’s Suite so she’d be safe. That’s the lie I tell myself. Safety is part of it, yes, but the truth is darker and far more possessive.
I didn’t want anyone else near her.
Her face softens when she sinks into the bath. Not completely. She’s still tense, still listening for threats that aren’t there. But there’s a shift, a faint loosening in the set of her shoulders, that threatens to smother me. Watching her dip beneath the water, I hold my breath with her and count the seconds.
I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want her.
It makes no sense. I’ve spent my adult life enjoying women as and when I see fit. They’ve been nothing more than a distraction at the end of a busy day.
But this woman?
When I look at her, it isn’t distraction I want.
She lifts her hands to massage shampoo into her hair, her face scrunching into a wince. I saw the bruise on her ribs when she got into the bath. It darkens her skin in a way that ignites something violent inside me. Not the cold precision I use when dealing with enemies. This is something primal. Something territorial.
Someone did that to her. Someone chased her through this city, possibly even the state, like she was prey.
My jaw tightens until it aches. I force my fingers to unclench, but the effort only sharpens the urge beneath my skin.
My phone buzzes.
I tear my gaze away from the monitor long enough to glance at the screen. It’s Damian. The background check. Good. I want answers. Now.
"Korolyov," I say quietly.
"Boss." His tone is clipped and straight to the point. One of his finer qualities. "Her name is Jasmine Boothe," he says. "Twenty-two. Originally from Henderson. Was in the system from the age of eight. Got her diploma and moved to Las Vegas as soon as she turned eighteen. Houseshare deal, working from home jobs, mostly admin stuff. Been living with a Matthew Kane for just under a year."
"That name is familiar."
"It should be," Damian says, his tone shifting. "Kane works enforcement for the Iron Serpents. Mid-tier crew. He’s been off-grid for forty-eight hours. Word is he’s looking for her. Hard. Puta price on her too. Claims she has done a runner with money owed."
The spark in my chest erupts into flame. Is that why she was here? To win money to pay back money she stole?
The thought doesn’t fully solidify.
Her fear. Her bruises. The way she keeps glancing over her shoulder even inside a suite only accessible by my staff. It all clicks into place with brutal clarity. Someone like Kane doesn’t just go off-grid. He’s hunting.
"And he hurt her?" My voice sounds calm to my own ears, but Damian hesitates like he can feel the danger underneath it.
