Because Beckett Cole might not trust me. But he saw me. And that was far more dangerous.
13
Beckett
Ishouldn’t have touched her.
Just a brush of my fingers over her wrist, nothing more. But the way she looked at me when I did—like I’d pulled back a curtain she’d spent years nailing shut—hit harder than any round I’d ever taken.
I told myself it was tactical. Keep her calm, keep her talking, keep her alive. But deep down, I knew better. It wasn’t tactical. It was instinct. And instincts like that got men killed.
Elara Voss wasn’t supposed to be my problem. She was supposed to be an asset, a variable, maybe even a threat. But the second she whispered about breaking, about already being shattered—I saw more than a polished mask and Hydra’s shadow. I saw a woman who’d been standing in hell for too long and still hadn’t collapsed.
And damn me, I wanted to be the one who made sure she didn’t.
I stepped back, putting distance where there hadn’t been enough. My hand curled into a fist at my side, like I could squeeze out the heat still clinging to my skin.
“Don’t,” I said, harsher than I meant. Her eyes flicked up, startled, guarded again. “Don’t look at me like I’m the answer. I’m not.”
Her chin lifted, armor snapping back into place. “Then what are you, Beckett?”
What was I? Her guard. Her jailer. The man standing between her and Hydra’s bullet. But the truth pressed heavier, sharper: the man already too close, too invested, too willing.
“I’m the one who keeps you breathing,” I said finally, voice low. “That’s it.”
She studied me like she was trying to strip the lie from my skin. Maybe she could. Hell, maybe she already had.
Silence stretched again, thick with everything unsaid. I forced myself to move back to the door, to reclaim my post, to pretend I hadn’t just crossed a line I swore I wouldn’t.
Guard the asset. Don’t trust her. Keep your distance.
But the ghost of her voice stayed lodged in my chest, soft and breaking:What happens if I already have?
And I knew—whether she was lying, whether she was dangerous—it didn’t matter anymore.
Because I was already hers to break.
14
Elara
The room felt colder than usual, all the chairs were full, and the guys were laughing at something. Cyclone was already there, laptop open, data streams spilling across the wall in a language only he seemed fluent in. Oliver and Gage leaned against the far side of the table, chuckling, watchful. I always thought of them as killers; that’s what I was told every day for eleven years.
And then there was Beckett.
He stood off to the side, arms folded, jaw locked, like he hadn’t slept. Like he hadn’t moved from my door all night. He didn’t look at me when I walked in. That should have made it easier. It didn’t.
River wasted no time. He was wearing a swimming trunks with a t-shirt that read “Best Dad in the World.” His eyes were sharp as he tapped the screen. “Hydra’s scrambling. Warehouse was a take-down. They’ll push back. We’ve got chatter about a convoy moving west—cash, product, personnel. We need confirmation, and we need leverage.”
Everyone’s eyes flicked my way.
The “asset.” The traitor who was supposed to hand them Hydra’s secrets on a silver platter. Are they forgetting I hired them to guard me?
I straightened my shoulders, ignoring the burn under my bandage. “Convoy means Grand is nervous,” I said evenly. “He doesn’t move resources unless he’s cleaning house. You follow that trail, it’ll take you to his stronghold.”
“Or into a trap,” Oliver muttered.
Beckett’s gaze finally cut to me. Hard. Sharp. But not dismissive. He wanted to see how I’d answer.
