Silence fell, broken only by their harsh breathing. Greyson pushed himself to his feet, scanning the apartment for any remaining threats. Seven officers. All dead.
Shadera stood in the center of the carnage, blood spattered across her face and clothes, the stolen gun still gripped tightly in her hand. She looked savage and beautiful, her eyes wild, her chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline.
“Are there more?” she asked, eyes assessing.
“No,” Greyson answered, then paused, uncertain. “Maybe. I can’t be sure.”
Their eyes met across the bloodied floor, both drunk and disoriented from the attack, both aware of how close they’d come to death. Something shifted in the air between them, a current of energy that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with survival, with being alive when they should be dead.
Shadera’s arm rose slowly, the gun now trained directly at Greyson’s chest. Her hand was steady despite the alcohol in her system.
“Drop it,” he snarled, but didn’t raise his own weapon in response.
“Why should I?” Her voice was dangerous. “Give me one reason not to put a bullet in you right now, complete my contract, and walk out that door.”
Greyson stepped toward her, unflinching as the gun tracked his movement. “Because you’d never make it past the first checkpoint.”
“Try again.”
Another step.
“Because if you kill me, my father will burn the Boundary to ash.”
“Not good enough.” The gun didn’t waver.
He took a final step, close enough now that the barrel of the gun pressed against his sternum. He could feel her breath on his face, see the pulse jumping in her throat, and his hands twitched at his sides. Need filled his veins at the masterpiece she was covered in their shared violence.
“If you shoot me,” he said, his voice dropping, “it will only make me want to fuck you.”
Her mouth parted, pupils dilating. She licked her lips, and the sight made his cock harden as she held the gun steady against his chest. Then, deliberately, she flicked off the safety.
“If you even think about it, I will kill you.”
Greyson grinned, the expression feral and hungry. “Then I’m already a dead man.”
Her breath hitched at his words and for a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then Shadera pulled the trigger.
The gun discharged with a silenced crack just as Greyson spun away, the bullet grazing his side, tearing through fabric and skin. Pain bloomed hot and sharp, but instead of falling back, he surged forward, his own gun firing instinctively. His bullet grazed her thigh, drawing a line of red across the black fabric of her pants.
“You shot me,” Shadera gasped, looking down at her leg in disbelief before raising her eyes to his face.
“You shot me first,” Greyson countered, his free hand pressing against the wound in his side then coming away red.
They stared at each other, both bleeding, both breathing hard, the air between them electric with something that had been building since the moment she’d entered his life.
One heartbeat passed. Then two.
Greyson wasn’t sure who moved first as they collided with the force of two storms meeting. His gun clattered to the floor as his hands found her waist, her back, her hair. Shadera’s weapon fell beside his as her fingers dug into his shoulders, his neck, pulling him down to her with desperate strength.
Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongues and fury. She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and he groaned as he backed her against the counter. His body pinned hers as his hands tangled in her curls, pulling her head back to expose her throat. He bit at the tender skin there, drawing a gasp from her that sent fire through his veins.
This is a terrible fucking idea, a voice in the back of his mind warned.The worst possible idea.
His body didn’t care. His blood sang with the need to possess her, to claim her, to make her his in the most primal way possible. Her hands clawed at his back, nails digging into his skin through the torn fabric of his shirt. The pain only fueled his desire, a sharp counterpoint to the pleasure of her body against his.
This was wrong.
