Routine steadies me. Always has.
Jersey peeled first, dripping across the warped floorboards. Pads tugged free, dropped neat in a corner. Tape ripped from my wrists, knuckles raw again under the strip. The rest follows—boots, jeans, undershirt. All heavy, all sodden, all stripped until I’m down to skin and scars.
The radiator clanks once, fails to cough out heat. The storm outside rattles the glass. And I stand there, bare under the flickering light, breathing slow until my pulse evens out.
The bathroom door creaks. Steam spills out thick.
And Elias steps through.
Fresh bruises purple across his ribs, but the hot water’s given him more than clean skin. It’s given himattitude. His curls drip down into his eyes, his grin is sharp and cocky again, his shoulders loose where they’d been locked tight. Naked but for a towel knotted low on his hips, he looks at me like he’s daring me to notice. Daring me to look.
And I do.
Because I’m only human.
His grin widens when he catches it. “Shit, Captain,” he drawls, dragging the towel across his hair, water still beading down his chest. “You get prettier every time I look.”
The storm rattles the windows like applause. The inn creaks around us like it’s listening.
And Elias Mercer—cocky, reckless, twenty, dripping wet—just tilts his head and keeps grinning at me like he knows I’m seconds from snapping.
I move before the smirk can split any wider.
One step, then another. My hand closes around the edge of his towel, knuckles white against the damp cotton. I yank him forward, hard enough that his chest bumps mine, water still dripping off him in rivulets. His breath catches, his grin stutters for just a second—before it comes back feral.
“Cap—”
I cut him off. My mouth brushes his ear.“You really want to test me, pup?”
His breath shudders out. The grin twitches, crooked, almost breaking—until he swallows, eyes blazing, and tilts his chin up. “Maybe I do.”
My grip tightens on the towel. My other hand fists in his curls, jerking his head back just enough to make him look at me. His mouth parts on a sound he swallows too late.
I lean in, forehead almost touching his, my voice nothing but gravel and threat.
“You keep running that mouth, and I’ll put it to better use. Right here. Against this wall. Until you can’t even remember how to grin.”
The towel slips a little lower on his hips. His chest jerks with a broken breath, ribs straining under bruises. And still—still—he grins.
“Say when, Captain.”
My eyebrow lifts slow. Heavy.“So panic was replaced by attitude, then?”
Elias doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, my brain right now has two settings—panic, and the filth you told me to make me breathe. So…yes.”
My jaw ticks.
That mouth. Always running. Always daring. Always begging for me to shut it the fuck up.
My hand moves before I even think about it. Big, unyielding, wrapping around his throat. His pulse jumps under my palm, wild and fast, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. He leans into it. My thumb presses under his chin, forcing his head back, making him look at me.
Those eyes blaze up at me, wild and wrecked, towel slipping lower at his hips. His grin trembles but doesn’t die.
“Careful, pup,” I murmur. “You think I won’t remind you which setting you belong in.”
His throat works under my grip, a broken little sound spilling out—half laugh, half gasp. His hands twitch at his sides, not lifting, not grabbing, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
“Y—you mean the filth setting?” he rasps.
