His palm covered my mouth, and he stepped close. Too close. So close that my hands rose instinctively to push him away. Except I didn’t.
I paused.
My gaze lifted to his face, twisted in fury. A warning flickered in his eyes.
Don’t make a sound.
He… He was protecting me.
My hands dropped back to my sides. I tried to even my breath, but my body was inexplicably starving for oxygen, and I sucked in air through my nose like I’d never get to do it again.
He should have smelled of gunpowder and blood. Of metal and sweat. Instead, Lucas Scott’s scent reminded me of incense—something heady and warm and so out of place that my heart rate slowed from the intrusive confusion.
Incense?
Several sets of boots trotted down the alley, jolting me back to myself. My body was compressed so tightly against Lucas’s that anyone passing by wouldn’t see me at a glance.
“Look at this, Powell,” a voice bounced against the bricks.
“Christ,” said another. “Blood bath. I’ll get the cleanup team. Fucking Defiants.”
“Yeah, you go on,” the first man said, a little closer now. “Alley looks clear now. Colonel said to make sure the building’s empty.”
The solid thunk of a foot kicking in a door made me jump, and Lucas’s hand pressed tighter against my mouth, his chestharder against my own. After a few more seconds, the parade of boots entered the building and the heavy door slammed shut.
The alleyway plunged into silence.
Lucas’s hand freed my mouth by degrees, almost as if he thought I might scream the moment I had the chance. No way. I might have been a terrible combat soldier, but I wasn’t stupid.
Lucas Scott was a cold-blooded killer. His attacks weren’t survivable. In his wake, he left no prisoners. But he was also the only thing standing between me and capture. He’d committed fratricidal treason by eliminating his own men to keep me safe. I’d have to dwell on thewhysof that some other time because in that moment, I recognized him for what he was: my deliverer.
I would not scream. If he could get me out of this alley alive, I’d do anything he asked. Awaiting instruction, I gazed into his eyes, obscured by the darkness except for a tiny glimmer that proved he was indeed human.
“Run,” he said. “Take Yorktown north. Run and don’t stop.”
I nodded, frantic. He withdrew, and I pushed off the brick wall. Later, everything would hurt—my arm, my face, my soul—but right then, the adrenaline held it all at bay. It gave me the energy, the drive, to escape.
Eager to put his instructions to use, I almost didn’t hear the deceptive softness of his voice as he spoke my name.
The look on his face gave me pause. It was familiar somehow, that awful mix of rage, desperation and despondency. It reminded me of how withdrawn I’d been of late, how cold this life had become.
“This doesn’t happen again,” he said. “Tell them to do better. The agreement wasonecontact. If they waste you, they lose me. That is non-negotiable.”
Six interminable heartbeats passed.
If they waste you, they lose me.
Why? What value was I to him? If I died, and a new contact was sent, his secret would still be contained.
But I didn’t question it. If Lucas Scott wanted to value my life, who was I to argue?
“Run,” he said once more.
So I ran.
5
Heartless
